Well of death

Well of death

It was 1931 Summer Holidays. During these days after breakfast we venture out to mango groves, steal mangoes (it was fun to be chased by the gardener), roam around the fields and jumping into irrigation wells to keep ourselves cool. That day five of us set out and after stealing some mangoes from Jabbar garden went to the foot hills.
There was a deep well, not the irrigation kind. we looked in. The water was deep below and we thought it ideal to cool ourselves. Deeper the well cooler the water. Suddenly one of us had an idea. Jump into the well from the over-hanging palm tree.
While others were looking up the tree and down the well gauging the risk involved I was half way up the tree. I reached the top and looked down. It was frighteningly deep. Undaunted I aimed the jump to the center of the well.
I was falling ... falling ... still falling ... still falling. Started thinking how much longer the descent. It looked like eternity. Then I touched the water with a heavy splash with out-stretched hands. The impact was heavy as though it was rock not water. I lay exhausted for awhile and slowly made my way up the spiralling steps.
Later in life whenever I happen to see such jumps, I will remember that day and reflect how foolish I was to venture the dive without knowing if it was rock or water at the bottom and the water was sufficiently deep for the jump.
Evidently it was deep enough or you would not be reading this!