Last June, I went to the Terai for my holidays. I lived in those pretty thatched houses and saw varieties of trees and fruits. I witnessed the green fields, stretching in front of me as far as my sight could reach. I used tube-wells for the first time in my life, and I found my hands reach out the tube-well handle even without any purpose. No wonder, I loved the place.

There was one thing that amazed me quite a bit. During my stay at the Terai, I came across a number of ponds.  And surprisingly, a log always looked out of the ponds.

The logs did not grasp my interest at the beginning. But as I saw more and more of these logs, I was confused. Now why would anyone even think of such a weird task? Burying the log upright exactly at the center of the pond? Or was it that the ponds naturally formed themselves around such logs? Logs attracting water, like in the case of magnets?
Out of curiosity, I asked my uncle.  The story began.

The log in the pond means the pond has been married to another one. And from the very past, we have this tradition of marrying ponds. If we do not, the ponds get angry and ruthless. They drown our children, swallow them alive. No one allows their children to go nearby an unmarried pond.
Married ponds are happier. They are gentle with the children.

I could almost feel the disappointment in his face. But married ponds? Whoever heard of that? I scoffed at the story. Not for pretty long though, for I realized that had I been brought up in this community, the story would have been different: a matter of pride, perhaps.