Staring pointlessly at a clear blue sky above me and standing at once in two different countries, I feel the breathe of the hills. A yellow moon. Silence. Peace. Whispers.
“O listen! For the Vale profound”
The strong wind from the west is guiding the white orographic clouds with it. Towards the east. We plan to go the same way.
Like the ever continuous waves in an ocean, this wind seems to come back every time, with new found vigor. Stings. Faltering the discolored collars of my rugged jacket. Helpless skullcap. Lungs pumping for a little more supply of oxygen. Short of breath. It hurts. It feels good too.
Standing somewhere in the Singalila range, on my left hand resides with pride the ice capped peaks of Nepal Himalayas. Mt. Everest; Sagarmatha as they call it here tops it all. “Show us your face once for heavens’ sake!!” We scream..
In the right stands our own Mt. Kanchenjunga. In between standing me, sandwiched. Dry golden dead grass underneath my shoes vanishes in the horizon, rest with the clouds. A hint of green in between.
Down below stand the forests of West Sikkim. The hide and seek of sunrays. Sans light. Sans darkness. Silence prevails. Moist wood all around. Weeds growing happily. Some are poisonous. Rain is not an alien here; it comes without any prior notice. The sound of a flowing river, the aroma of orchids. The chirping of wild birds. ‘Oriole’ bird.
Days here turn to darkness faster than our imagination. Unprecedented silence in the air. Rain gods conspiring against us, it seems. Have to settle down for the night fast. A fear of the unknown creeping in. The forest lies ahead, to eternity. Trees standing in row, as if soldiers standing in some kind of a war formation. In silence. Waiting for a signal.
No food left in our bags. Some chewing gums. A few sips of juice maybe. Water pouch.
The flowing river nearby does not only make the terrain green, it makes it dangerous. The presence of moisture in air and on rock. Near complete darkness. A bruised leg. Death trap as you may call it.
Burned tree trunks. Burned souls. Witnesses of some battle from the pages of history staring at our nakedness. Smiling at us maybe. We can only smile back. Huh! Barbs & spikes fighting with my jacket. Leaving a mark. Descending at a pace more than the fall of darkness, making us forget the pain of the circumstances. The joy of freedom over escaping from a near death situation. It all started with “Sir ji, very few people have ever tried this before” some SSB officer cautioning us, laughing at our back.
Nature cut rocky steps, roots of some unknown plants, fossils, smelly moss. Monochrome moss. Nature is still conspiring against us. & what are we doing?? Overcoming the darkness and the fear of the unknown by the spirit of returning home. Sound of the flowing river accompanying us. We have to reach where it hits base. The hunger for food is long dead. A lot of questions in our head. Very little answers. No solutions. Sonam “Common, give us some clue”
It always seems like a never ending movie. Recurring. But amazes me every time. Like some addiction, intoxication. Hallucination. Running, descending. Nothing else matters. Nobody speaks. Only footsteps. Phantom listeners.
[West Sikkim. Route: Uttarey – Phokte (via Chewa Bhanjan)& back in a day. Time taken: 16 hours. Distance: 30kms. Trail: Rocky & Moist (Tough). Guide: Sonam]
Pinch of Imagination & Dramatization added.
“O listen! For the Vale profound”
The strong wind from the west is guiding the white orographic clouds with it. Towards the east. We plan to go the same way.
Like the ever continuous waves in an ocean, this wind seems to come back every time, with new found vigor. Stings. Faltering the discolored collars of my rugged jacket. Helpless skullcap. Lungs pumping for a little more supply of oxygen. Short of breath. It hurts. It feels good too.
Standing somewhere in the Singalila range, on my left hand resides with pride the ice capped peaks of Nepal Himalayas. Mt. Everest; Sagarmatha as they call it here tops it all. “Show us your face once for heavens’ sake!!” We scream..
In the right stands our own Mt. Kanchenjunga. In between standing me, sandwiched. Dry golden dead grass underneath my shoes vanishes in the horizon, rest with the clouds. A hint of green in between.
Down below stand the forests of West Sikkim. The hide and seek of sunrays. Sans light. Sans darkness. Silence prevails. Moist wood all around. Weeds growing happily. Some are poisonous. Rain is not an alien here; it comes without any prior notice. The sound of a flowing river, the aroma of orchids. The chirping of wild birds. ‘Oriole’ bird.
Days here turn to darkness faster than our imagination. Unprecedented silence in the air. Rain gods conspiring against us, it seems. Have to settle down for the night fast. A fear of the unknown creeping in. The forest lies ahead, to eternity. Trees standing in row, as if soldiers standing in some kind of a war formation. In silence. Waiting for a signal.
No food left in our bags. Some chewing gums. A few sips of juice maybe. Water pouch.
The flowing river nearby does not only make the terrain green, it makes it dangerous. The presence of moisture in air and on rock. Near complete darkness. A bruised leg. Death trap as you may call it.
Burned tree trunks. Burned souls. Witnesses of some battle from the pages of history staring at our nakedness. Smiling at us maybe. We can only smile back. Huh! Barbs & spikes fighting with my jacket. Leaving a mark. Descending at a pace more than the fall of darkness, making us forget the pain of the circumstances. The joy of freedom over escaping from a near death situation. It all started with “Sir ji, very few people have ever tried this before” some SSB officer cautioning us, laughing at our back.
Nature cut rocky steps, roots of some unknown plants, fossils, smelly moss. Monochrome moss. Nature is still conspiring against us. & what are we doing?? Overcoming the darkness and the fear of the unknown by the spirit of returning home. Sound of the flowing river accompanying us. We have to reach where it hits base. The hunger for food is long dead. A lot of questions in our head. Very little answers. No solutions. Sonam “Common, give us some clue”
It always seems like a never ending movie. Recurring. But amazes me every time. Like some addiction, intoxication. Hallucination. Running, descending. Nothing else matters. Nobody speaks. Only footsteps. Phantom listeners.
[West Sikkim. Route: Uttarey – Phokte (via Chewa Bhanjan)& back in a day. Time taken: 16 hours. Distance: 30kms. Trail: Rocky & Moist (Tough). Guide: Sonam]
Pinch of Imagination & Dramatization added.
