There is something about the mountains which beckons one. That calls out to you time and time again. Which doesn’t let you forget. There is magic spelt in the mountains. There is something mysterious awaiting, some lingering suspense, some hidden secret. It is this fantasy that intrigued and drew me towards the mighty Himalyan Tirthan valley.
There is the constant sound of the flowing Tirthan in the valley-the gushing waves, the gurgling streams. There is never a time when the river is quiet. Yet, at night there is a silence. A stillness that is both welcoming yet foreboding. A quietude I wanted to feel, yet one that somehow scared me.
One of my most memorable experiences in the valley is sitting with friends under the open sky, with the Himalayas in the backdrop, and watching the stars -the milky way. Few sights have captivated me as such. A vast expanse of pitch black, dotted with innumerable lights. An occasional shooting star. A perfect Orion and Little Dipper.
I find it faintly comforting to know that the scene I gazed at that night (and for several nights after) will not change or cease to exist anytime soon. It will not find its way into mundane nothingness. Nor will it pass into everyday mediocrity. It will stay to witness seasons and apocalypses. To collect all its stories through generations. To watch down upon mans’ crude temporary creations. It is “where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit”
There is peace in the mountains. There is wisdom that it hides among its flora. Kindness, that flows down from its glaciers to meet human needs. Fury, that erupts in an avalanche. And its little faithful messengers-who have made the mountains their home, who have earned more trust than man ever will.
The mountains are alive. With songs they have sung for a thousand years.
By: Noyonika Bose