Even in my dream it was early morning and I was sitting on the deck of a boat which was floating in placid waters with thick fog around me. I was alone on the boat, somewhere in the distance multiple chimes were ringing softly, a soft breeze dispersed the melodic low notes of a flute intermittently. Somewhere in the distance a ray of green light was bouncing off and above the dark waters. Everything was still and tranquil. A little movement under the water deflected my attention away from the light. Before I could move, a hand crept up from the waters tapping the boat close to where I was sitting. A dark rough palm bereft of etched lines turned up and I could see the wrinkled skin on the other side with tough protruding knuckles on fingers that had short pale nails. I didn’t move, I couldn’t move – for a few minutes that hand floated along the boat like a periscope of a submarine jutting out. I couldn’t make out if the fingers were trembling or were still, but they were half bent inward, towards the palm, as if wanting to hold something or maybe something had just slipped out of it. Seconds later there were big and small bubbles popping up from under the water around the hand which was slowly moving up showing the sturdy wrist. A hairy arm made its way out, reaching closer and closer to me. I moved away from where I was sitting. And then, I think I heard a voice coming from under the water. I bent down slightly trying hard to hear, but the sound of the wind chimes got louder and louder as I craned closer. I couldn’t see the water now, it was all fog on which the boat was floating. Translucent green fog. The ray of light was still bouncing, now in the air. Suddenly it was all still, there was no breeze, no chimes, no ripples in water, even the boat was not moving. I felt I was floating on a sea of clouds. Lying down on the deck I was peering hard in the white depth desperately looking for the hand and straining my ears to pick up the voice and the piercing howl of the flute. A few minutes must have passed like that when I heard a familiar rhythm faintly leaving the surface of the clouds, followed by gradual exposition of a long musical note or an aalaap which reverberated, its echo rocking the boat in a violent spasm. It was the song of the dead boatmen. Peace was devoured.