The wind blows, like a child swooping gracefully with outstretched arms, rustling grass, flowers and leaves. Everything ripples so softly, it seems to blend into the background of everything around – the earth, the sky, the water, the plants and the buildings. The red brick building is alive with sounds of maids hollering in a tongue I don’t understand and vessels clinking. Was that the handle of a water-filled steel bucket falling on itself? The water would be clear, to be used for cooking. And here is some water in a stone tank, a bowl snug in earth. Blue lotuses, seven of them, soak the sun and patiently let dragonflies buzz over them. The tall cactus forgot to grow and burst into seven leaves, lush like the petals of a flower in bloom. The stone bench is rough and sun-warmed below me. Would there be fish in the lotus pond? The rockery behind the pool is like the remains of the wall of a fortress. Stones – rough, uncut, of evahshape, cling to each other. The unskilled gardener pruned this rose bush, which now has dried in confusion of being hacked. It is woody and prickly. Why do flowers go, leaving behind thorns to define a dead bush? An elfin Christmas tree, in its slenderness and lacy grace, sways its tip like the head of a dancing doll. Is there a treasure in the pond? Guarded by the fort-like rockery? Was the rose bush trying to get to the treasure and got cursed? I don’t know. But looks like, there is a blue lotus treasure in the pool.