Before She Drown
Anlá sat on the edge of the boat, dangling his bare feet in the warm water. He watched as the lotus petals floated smoothly downstream, disappearing under bridges that hid them from view. The water was murky, smelling of algae and warmth, and the banks were alive with the noise of a festival. Drums beat, the air was filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts and incense, and in the distance, the laughter of children playing with lanterns could be heard. But Anlá paid no attention to it. His gaze was fixed on the river, on its dark, endless depth.
He remembered his father's words: the river always takes something and returns something. The water was always the same — wide and heavy, it could nourish, but it could also take away. He felt its power, like something alive, governed by its own laws.
Suddenly, among the reflections dancing on the surface, Anlá spotted a shadow. He squinted, trying to make it out. And at that moment, a scream pierced the air from the shore. It was panicked, sharp.
Anlá quickly turned. On the dock, a little girl, no more than eight years old, had fallen into the water. He saw her hands flailing in the air, and then they vanished beneath the surface.
Without hesitation, he jumped into the water. The cold hit him immediately, compressing his chest and stealing his breath. The water clung to him, draining his strength, but he didn't stop, paddling with desperate determination. His heart pounded in his ears, and in the distance, on the shore, shouts could be heard. The girl was not screaming. She was simply splashing, not knowing what to do.
Without feeling tired, Anlá dived, and felt the water slip from beneath his feet. Where was she? Where was the girl? The water dragged him down, but he kept fighting.
And then, when her head reappeared on the surface, Anlá saw her eyes — wide open with fear, staring directly at him. There was not only fear in them, but perhaps something more — a silent plea for help. He could not leave her.
Without hesitation, he grabbed her under the arms and, with effort, pulled her to the surface. She was astonishingly light, like a doll, but the water kept pulling her back. He paddled tirelessly, ignoring the icy cold that wrapped around his body. He moved forward until, at last, he felt the soft mud and sand beneath his feet — the shore was so close.
When they reached dry land, someone's hands caught the girl. She screamed, and from the crowd, a woman's piercing voice rang out:
“My girl!” She rushed to the child, hugging her tightly as if unable to believe she was safe. “Oh God, you're alive...”
There was anxiety in the air. People gathered, some trying to get closer, others shouting, trying to help. One man, with an angry expression on his face, shouted:
“Water! We need help, now!”
The crowd murmured, discussing what had happened, but all attention was focused on the girl. The woman wouldn't let go of her, repeating:
“My girl… It's going to be okay, darling, you're safe…”
Anlá stood a little aside, feeling the cold seep through his clothes, the water still clinging to his skin. He paid no attention to the hustle and bustle around him, waiting neither for thanks nor praise. His focus was entirely on the girl and on the fact that he had saved her. This brought him an inner peace, as if his action was not random but had a deeper meaning.
Without waiting for anyone to say anything else, he turned and stepped back into the river. At that moment, there was no room for hesitation — his boat was only a few meters away, and he needed to return.
The water enveloped him again, penetrating to the bone with its cold, but now Anlá felt a sense of relief. He swam towards the boat, understanding that perhaps he should not have intervened. But it was too late now.
