Something draws my attention on a dry bush in the open fields in the Indian monsoon, season of water in the stormy skies and of new life on earth. I draw close to examine with caution the enticing surprise on the branch. At once I recognise the unmistakeable relic of the renewal of life in spring when all bodies grow with the vigour of youth and with the bursting strength of mother nature in their veins. There it was, hanging from a thorn on the highest branch of the bush: the recently discarded slough of a young growing snake. All of a piece, silky, transparent as the new bride’s veil. I disengage it carefully, I hold it in my hands with wonder, and I think wistfully of the snake that abandoned its wrapping in order to grow.

It is comfortable to have one’s suit made to order by nature itself in perfect fit of the latest cut. The snake can boast of it with justified pride. Perhaps it gets fond of the suit and thinks that with it there will be no more problems in tailoring for the rest of its life. But the body grows, and the suit gets too tight. The suit becomes uncomfortable. It cannot house the mature reptile any more. It has to be discarded.

Not an easy task. One feels lazy at the change. The folds hold on tight. They even warn us there is danger as the snake is exposed and defenceless during the change of clothes. But life beckons and the moment arrives. The snake scans the horizon, waits for safety, chooses a bush, hooks on the end of its sheath over a thorn, and begins to wriggle out, curve by curve, inch by inch, leaving behind the worn-out slough, and emerging bathed in the bright shine of the new suit. After repeated efforts it shakes itself free, and is back on its way with the new-found relief of the expanded body. The old covering would not do any more. To grow, one has to change one’s skin. Even if it hurts.

I go around looking for a thorn to help me in my own growth. I want to hang from it the slough that is choking me. It prevents me from growing. It served me well in its time, and the patterns on its texture were beautiful as fashions in snakes go. But I have grown up and do not fit any more in it. It is bursting at the seams. I was fond of it, and was used to it. I feel sorry to have to let it go. It accompanied me a long time. My life for many years, my habits, my opinions, my ways of thinking and my ways of judging, my convictions and my devotions, my image and my history. It was all very comfortable, very pleasant, very worthy. But if I want to grow, I have to change. If I remain imprisoned for ever in my first skin, my members will not develop and my mind will not open up. I have to undergo the tribal ritual of deconditioning if I want to go ahead in the spring of the spirit. And the process is not once and for all. Next spring I’ll change my skin again to go on growing and to go on living. The skin of the soul has to be changed if the soul is to grow into the fullness to which it is destined. We have to find the thorn, hook on to it, and pull. It is painful, but necessary. The snake knows it.

I am stroking in my hands the discarded slough. I think of the snake, far from here by now, which had the courage to leave it behind. Beautiful fabric of symmetrical scales. Beautiful but, by now, obsolete. The jungle experience encourages me to follow nature’s ways. I’m going to change my skin.