The Charismatic Krabi

As it was a Monday morning we could not avail the speed boat service that ferries passengers from Phuket to Krabi. That's why, we drove down. It was a three hours drive in a private luxury van on a silky smooth road, spent in indulgence on local fruits and local music played by our driver on his recorder. The sun was smiling joyfully and the smell of Andaman sea was calling us with open arms. In the beginning of this journey I was slightly upset as I wanted to sail down to Krabi. But all other ingredients were so skillfully assorted for me that when my mood changed from sulky to merry I can't remember. And by the time we reached Krabi, my heart was brimming with zealous exuberance. It was a picture perfect frame.

Now you must be wondering that I am readying your mind for some thrilling adventure or some spooky mystery. After all, stories can't be built without conflicts, preferably anti-climaxes!......On the contrary, in real life we wish for the exact opposite, especially when two strangers who have tied their  knot few days ago, bungee jump into a trip....that too to a foreign land. Yes, I am talking about my relationship. And by God's grace this trip actually worked as a catalyst to bring us into sync.

After dumping our our baggage in a prettily decorated honeymoon suit we rushed to the beach. Thus we discovered we have another "common liking".... The sea.

It was 4pm when Ao Nang beach showcased itself as a sprawling white beach gaudily studded with shells and corals. While my husband busied himself in clicking pictures, I engrossed myself in collecting shells.As my eyes fell on the sea,I saw few tourists wobbling down the long tail boats on an apparently mid-sea and swaying towards the beach with suitcases on their heads. On enquiring we found that they were coming from Phi Phi island. On  further enquiring we came to know: during high tides as the long tail boats leave passengers few miles away from the sea shore, they have to walk their way to the beach. Seeing this, I took a sigh of relief and congratulated my husband's decision on driving down for we were just not traveling light.

Gradually I realised that the sea was turning bewitching and I couldn't resist myself from walking towards it. As I was hurrahing in, I could feel someone hold my hand and lightly pull me back. I turned around and saw that it was him. He was feeling concerned about me. This made the butterfly in my heart flutter its wings with glee. I jumped and hopped and splashed water, while the waves kissed us as hard as they could.

It was around 5:30 pm when the sun had started winding up for the day, making the little world of Krabi sparkle in its Amber glow. The long tail boats were retreating..... It was the time for all to come back home.

We perched ourselves on Ao Nang's lap and watched in amazement God' s oil painting on Nature's canvas:

In our eyes we see each other,

In our minds we dream;

Our hands held together, 

Shadows have come closer,

As we are taking a walk 

Towards the eternity.

The frothy waves tickle our feet,

And the large ones try to push us away,

In love, with passion we cross the hurdles,

Until we are able to make our way.

At sunset: still holding hands,

We couch ourselves on the sand.

We set our eyes towards the horizon...

To see the dawn of our

New Life's New Day.

And when the night pulled its curtain we got up from the beach and ambled back to our hotel room sipping mojito from a bamboo shoot pitcher and munching on fried prawns freshly tossed at a road-side stall... Sharing and humming and looking forward to a tomorrow.

Cheers to Krabi !!!!!We thank you from the bottom of our heart.

......................photo courtesy Boudhaayan Paul.

My Journey by Namkhana Local

 Silent Cry

It was a hot summer afternoon and the sun was smiling with utmost pleasure. My colleague and I were deputed to go to our Council’s main office at Wellington. Like always, we decided to travel by local train. As we were getting late, we hastily bought tickets for ourselves and jumped on to the first train that arrived on the platform. Considering the crowd, I guessed, it was Namkhana Local. In spite of all its squalor, we customarily rode on to the ladies compartment, made our way through the crowd and luckily managed two seats for ourselves.

While I was squeezing in, I noticed a lady in her 20s, wearing a cheap but flashy sari, sitting in front of me. She was carrying one child on her lap. Another was sitting beside her while the third  one was hanging on the window beam. From their conversation it was clear that these were her children. Though they were not triplets, they could not be graded above the age-range of toddlers. When I was making myself comfortable  I felt  a bag  beneath my seat. This was common in local trains. So I didn’t pay much heed . The children were creating such ruckus that my entire attention got diverted towards them. And I must not forget to  mention: everyone was feeling irritated!   

As the train whistled in to Jadavpur, the lady wiggled up. She started pulling out bags and baggage not only from the bunkers, but also from the hollows under the seats. Even I was asked to raise my legs. And guess what came out???? Three live roosters  , all tied up together and shoved inside a nylon bag!!!! At that point of time I exactly felt what most of you are feeling now....exasperated!!!

This lady, along with her children and her baggage and three roosters had to get down at Ballygunge, which was two stations following Jadavpore.  The sight was unnerving! The girl that was sitting on her lap refused to get down. She was desperately clinging on to her mother, while the second daughter was hopping about ready to get down at any station. Whereas,  the eldest one, also a girl, was simply perplexed. This mayhem was enough to antagonize all her co-passengers.  After all, nobody wanted to look like war victims even before they reached their destinations.

 In exchange of  the scorn that she was receiving, all that she could reciprocate  was a prayer to tolerate her for two more stoppage. When few ladies exclaimed and cursed her for travelling alone with unmanageable children,  she promptly confirmed with a smile of conviction that  her husband would come to receive her at the Ballygunge station.

Saying that, she resumed her business. I could see that she desperately  needed help. And after a point of time I couldn’t help myself from lending my hand. My friend along with some other passengers discouraged me, fearing her to be a pickpocket of some sort, but I chose to follow my heart.  She seemed to me a meek victim of her situation and not the victimizer.  I asked my colleague to hold my bag as I got up .

At first the lady was reluctant to take my help. Then her better judgment accepted it. I carried two of her travelling bags along with that nylon one occupied by roosters. Surprisingly, those were not making me feel disgusted anymore. We nudged and pushed and maneuvered our way through the crowd, to the door and found a vantage point for ourselves. She would get down from the train with her daughters while I would hand-over the luggage to her husband.

The train reached platform. She got down with her children. Then she stretched her hands towards me asking for the luggage. I was looking for her husband and his absence startled me . I inquired, “ Where is your husband?” Her response was a smile. This time a plaintive one, as if she knew that her husband would not be coming. Before I could question any further , the train whistled out of the station.

I stood at the gate and saw her struggle with those luggage and children. Gradually she faded away from my sight. I hope she has found someone to help her. She needed it.

With a sigh I budged my way through the passengers and reclined to my seat... wondering what difference can a “ Girl Child’s day”, a “ Woman’s Day” or a “ Mother’s Day” make where the basic scenario is like this ?                   

       

God Business

 This year 22^nd  of May was the twelfth marriage anniversary of my uncle and auntie. They decided to celebrate it along with their two boys at Jaganath Dham , aka Puri. They  took a flight to Bhuwaneshwar, the capital city of Odisha and reached their destination on that very day.

2015 or 1422 (as per Indian calendar) also happens to  be the year for the celebrations of the Nava- Kalevera ceremony. It is an auspicious event where the hearts of Sri Jaganath, his brother Balaram and his sister Subhadra  are replaced from one idol to another. Coincidentally my uncle and his family’s stay coincided with the phase of Daru (wood) change . On such auspicious occasions the temple remains closed in order to maintain sanctity. But luckily, my uncle and auntie got a chance to do a special Darshan as the temple had opened just for one hour early in the morning. The rest of their Odisha trip went smoothly. The children enjoyed the sea, my auntie satisfied her shopping spree and my uncle satiated his appetite for good food.

 They landed in Kolkata on 25^th  of May and came to our place for the evening tea. While binging on gaaja, a special sweet from Puri, they started sharing their travel experiences.

Gradually the conversation drifted to the Pandas(God men) of Puri. As the discussion became more intense my mother suddenly pointed towards me and asked, “Remember that incident where we visited Puri temple with grandma. “ Oh yes! How could I forget that?” I answered . “ It was not just a hilarious episode but an eye-opener too.” “Really !” blurted my uncle.  I saw even my auntie was looking at me with round curious eyes. It meant I was expected to narrate the story. Therefore, in rumination I began:

Have you heard the contemporary Bengali song? “ Ma dekha de noi taka de” (Holy mother, either reveal yourself to us, or show some money to us. ). Our pilgrimage to Puri’s Jaganath temple compelled me to believe that, unless you monetarily satisfy the medium (guru),you won’t be able to commune or even see “dekha” the Goddess i.e. “ Ma”.

Hearing this my auntie exclaimed, “You are so true! What a lucrative business they have made out of it!” I smirked,  and continued.

We paid Rs.150 per head for a near view of the idols. Charges for the sacred food, personal  Panda(the priest who would guide us inside the temple) and auto fair were to be kept aside. Not only that, on touching the feet of individual deities each member of our family paid a homage of Rs.10. To this my uncle added, “ Now it’s Rs. 20. But the Pandas of the temple will bless you only if you pay Rs. 50 or more.” “Really!” we unanimously exclaimed and raised our eye brows. Then I was requested to resume.

After paying the sum we were asked to follow our hired Panda and repeat the holy enchantments which he uttered while revolving around the Gods. On completing the parikrama on the slimy floor, my Grandma touched Sri Jaganath’s feet ones again and donated another Rs. 10 note at his feet. According to the temple-panda that sum was just not adequate and he wasted no time to be vehemently vociferous about it.  My Grandma stood flummoxed while my father, being how he is, obstinately stuck to his stand----- either Rs. 10 or no money. The verbal dual went on for quite a few minutes . God knows where it would have led to if our Panda had not intervened as a mediator. He too had his own interest.  After all, other clients were waiting for him! But his efforts served no ends because this infuriated the resident panda furthermore .Moreover, all the resident pandas stationed near the idols ganged up against us and started using abuses and slang.

It turned into a cacophony worth public attention. While everybody directly or indirectly participated in this mayhem, my eyes fell on Subhadra’s idol.  She looked somewhat different. As I scanned on, I could spot a cockroach crawling up and down her nose. Poor she! Couldn’t even scream or throw away that irksome, creepy insect. All that she could do was to wait patiently for the resident panda to finish the monetary dispute. Then with the help of some divine providence turn to see her face.

  Being a woman myself, I couldn’t bear the sight anymore. Come on! I can’t imagine a cockroach crawling on my face. I had to do something about it and I did.

  I shook those money- monger pandas out of the dispute by shouting and pointing the cockroach on the Goddess's face. At first they didn’t even pay any heed. Only after a few moments when one of them noticed that the devotees were laughing at them, he looked at her and realised his mistake.

Thus the dispute came to an end. My father reminded them that their primary duty was to serve the Gods and not hackle over money. Saying that, all of us left the temple. This embarrassed the pandas and provided humour to the people around, but brought me face to face with a stark reality of life: Money is more coveted than Nirvana.

“And you are right indeed.”,said my uncle with a sigh. “Now a days you are not even eligible for bhog (holy food) if you don’t pay a homage of a minimum of Rs. 2000. It seems even God’s blessings are only meant for the wealthy ones.”     

Beautiful Bengal------- Memories of my Bankura Trip.

In my opinion rituals are like distortions that occur as an outcome of Chinese Whisper. Usually remote facts about a heroic personality accumulate to form a legend, which in turn gets associated with religion to form a myth and the myth becomes a custom through practice of some rituals.

Such is the ritual of worshiping ‘Kola Bou’ during Durga Puja. The scriptures say, since Lord Ram could not prepare an idol of Goddess Durga, he symbolized the trunk of a banana tree, adorned with nine different types of leaves, as her almighty and worshipped to invocate her, in order to gain victory over Ravan. But according to the local myth, Kola Bou was a spy sent by Lord Shiva, to accompany Maa Durga to her matrimonial house and keep a close watch on her. In any case she is very important and it has become a custom to immerse her with the idol of Maa Durga after Dashami Puja.

Last year, we went out for a trip to Bakura on the brink of the Bijoya Dashami dawn. We crossed the districts of Howrah, Hoogly and Burdwan to reach Bankura. In essays on our country’s national integrity, we usually discuss the cultural diversity found among the various states of India. But this trip brought me to the realization that variety is not only found among the different states, but each district, especially those in Bengal, bears its own ethnic heritage.  

    

And we noticed this as soon as we entered Bankura around 11A.M. As I told you we

started our journey on Bijoya Dashami, the day on which the idol of Maa Durga is immersed in some lake or river. But we were astounded to find that; here the Kola Bou was given more importance than the Goddess, herself. The former was carried in a palanquin escorted by four hands- men who were holding the palanquin with one hand and a sword with the other. The Kola Bou was wrapped in a sari varying from cotton, printed to expensive silk (Baluchuri), ------ depending on the budget of the Puja. In some cases we also saw that the palanquin along with the bearers was given shade by a huge umbrella, and the umbrella bearer had to match his speed with the four palanquin bearers. This symphony of actions was teemed up by a procession of women carrying pots full of water, children and other men who participated in the ceremony. Barefooted, all of them went to the near by river to immerse the Kola Bou. 

But, to our utter disbelief the idol of Maa Durga along with her children was left in the pandal. On asking, a local person said that the spirit of Maa Durga existed in the Kola Bou and the idol was built only as a manifestation of belief. For this reason the Kola Bou was immersed where as the idol is left to be weathered. The same structure that had been used this year would be used in the next year and the year next to that.

            We were not just surprised but impressed by this environment friendly custom. In most of the cases age old rituals become painstaking and hassle some as they are handed over from one generation to another. But this particular ritual not only saves transport charges of carrying the idol to the water body but also prevents silt formation on the river beds.

Later, that day, when we saw the terracotta tile with “Beautiful Bengal” inscribed on it, at the reception table of the Bishnupur tourist lodge, we unanimously said, “No Wonder! Our Bengal is beautiful.” But one question keeps on lingering at the back of my mind ----- is this beauty only found in suburbs and not in cities?                             

The Echoing Waves of the Gopalpur on Sea.....

I heard This Tale From The Waves

The purple sea,

Had called his soul.

Driven by the spell

He left his home.

Her eyes had tears,

But uttered no word.

He boarded the Yacht

And gave her a word.

“I shall have a good catch

And come back soon;

When the red sea couches the sun

And awaits the moon.”

His mast was high,

And his sail was tight,

The orange sea twinkled

In his eyes so bright.

Thus he set out

With the sun

And she too knew

He would return.

 Tossing on the opal ripples

The Yacht had reached the horizon.

And she in her mundane work,

Wished the day had shortened.

On seeing the sun

Completing his voyage,

Her restless heart pined

To hear his voice.

She rushed to the harbor

And tried to sight his Yacht.

Alas! All her anticipations were lost.

As, the sea from red

 To grey had turned,

Eventually all the colours,

To black had succumbed.

But he didn't return.

The following day showed

The same old spectrum;

Only that it had failed

To bring back her husband.

Ten decades have passed;

The shanty has been washed,

But the hours of retreat

Still echoes her jingling toes.

And her sari sweeps the surfs,

Her wails can be heard,

On the new-moon shores

Of  Gopalpur.

A SEA-GULL BROUGHT THIS NOTE TO ME 

My yacht is sailing

On the crystal ripples.

I’ve sailed too far…

Guided by the star,

Befriending winds,

Accompanied by tides,

Evoked by the moon;

Rowing hard.

Hark me not!

With the morning shells,

Nor with the mid-night turtles;

As I’m on my voyage…

To that green patch

Beyond the horizon.

--------------------------------------------------------

 Just 16 km away from Berhampore, the commercial hub of southern Odisha, lies the tiny town of Gopalpur on the Bay of Bengal. It used to be a popular sea port in the medieval times. But now apart from tourism, fishing is the most important source of income for the inhabitants of this place. Be it in the ancient times or the modern times, sea is the most important entity of this place.

The hotels here are constructed on the beach. One can spend the day by sitting on the balcony watching the kaleidoscopic changes of the sea transforming itself with the movement of the sun. Or  stroll down to the shore to collect sea shells during the dawn or feel the turtles twitching around the feet after dusk. I went there in April. Maybe because of the season, the sea looked mesmerizing.

 The place is no less awe-inspiring to its denizens. On one hand, it is like the benevolent mother who provides them bread and butter. On the other hand, it wishfully takes away their lives whenever she chooses to. Each morning the fishermen leave their shanty for a good catch without any assurance of coming back .The saga of their struggle does not end here. Phailin, the super cyclone that hit Odisha in 2014 has left Gopalpur in debris. Still the people here have not succumbed to despair. With their indomitable will power and faith in the Divine, they are trying their best to stand up on their feet. And I must add that they have succeeded to a great extent.  

    

For all these reasons, Gopalpur on Sea has become my muse for this verse piece. Through this poem I have tried to pay my tribute to these brave hearts who take birth, thrive, breed and perish in the clutches of this ravishing beauty----- The Sea.

What the Thunder Dragon Consumes.... Bhutan Food trail.

Whether we live to eat or eat to live, food forms an integral part of every culture. A lot about the people and the place can be explored by understanding their culinary habits.

 For example, at Jaigaon, an official India- Bhutan border, we could see momos and phuchka/pani puri being sold in the same food carts.

We had to simply cross the gate in order to reach Phuntsholling. Indeed, the world seemed different on the other side of the gate. There were no hawkers and hardly any rubbish could be seen dumbed here and there. Just beside the gate we spotted Peyjorling, a restaurant with two entrances and a small courtyard on which benches were laid.

  We Indians are formatted to think that one section would be “ veg”, whereas the other section would be “ non-veg”. But here it was different. They said one section served authentic Bhutanese cuisine, while the section which had the bar served “normal” food like chicken, chowmein ,rice/fried rice,  thukpa and cheese momo. Like us ,you too must be wondering, what is so extraordinary about  Bhutanese cuisine that it had to be segregated?

To decipher  that we had to cross the partition and take a look at the board with the day’s menu ascribed on it. What we saw was a range of Datsi: ema datsi(plain cheese curry), shamu datsi(mushroom cheese curry), kewa datsi(potato cheese curry) and a range of Pa. The word Pa means fried in their language. And they served fish pa( dry fish), pork pa and beef pa. Each of these items came along with rice, pumpkin soup and eeze. Instead of water they poured butter milk into our glasses which is popularly called Suja. And all these came at a reasonable rate, ranging between Nr.70-  Nr. 150 per plate.

Pork Pa, Pork Ribs Pa, pumpkin soup,eeze and suja 

Beef Pa(left),kewa Datsi(right)

Red rice, corn fried rice,kewa datsi, shamu datsi,
 fried cottage cheesepumpkin soup,suja

These were the popular items. Now let me come to the flavours. Like the people in Bhutan, their cuisine is very simple in nature. Apart from salt, pepper and a variety of chilies, they hardly use any spice. This is primarily because other spices are not produced in the region. Well, talking about food production, we were surprised to know that The Thunder Dragon gets all its meat, be it chicken, beef, pork or fish from India, simply because their religion condemns animal slaughtering. Very recently, some districts have started their own poultry farms in order to get easy supply of eggs. This is the reason why the price of food in Bhutan rises with the distance of  a place from India as well as its escalation in altitude. 

By the time we reached Thimpu, Bhutanese New Year Carnival had begun. Most of the shops and restaurants were closed. As we had planned to have our lunch at the market place, we did not even place an order at the hotel where we were staying. So, based on online food rating we hailed into The Bhutan Kitchen. Since it was an auspicious Period, they were only serving vegetarian food. They charged Nr.450/- per buffet meal. As it was already late, we decided to zero in at that restaurant. Honestly speaking, though the décor was impressive, our culinary experience was appalling. Apart from suja, they served us: red rice, corn fried rice, Shamu datsi, kewa datsi, pumpkin soup and fried cheese(probably made from yak milk). With the feeling of being robbed we devoured as much as we could .

  In order to reach the parking lot, we had to walk a mile. We could sense festivity in the air and the capital was musing in its jocund spirit. Suddenly we bumped into the Clock Tower. The place looked like the nucleus of an atom, as  if the entire country was moving in to that place. Various food sellers from far and wide had put up stalls. Chairs and tables were set.  Musical bands were stringing tunes to popular tracks. And the ever thickening crowd made its way into the gallery where they ate, chatted, giggled and swayed to the tunes . It was indeed a befitting sight that truly manifested the country’s “ Gross National Happiness” .The ambiance made us regret our decision of having lunch at The Bhutan Kitchen. Not only did the stalls offer authentic cuisine from different districts of Bhutan, some of them served oven fresh pizza, patties and other bakery items. Be it Kizom Café at Phuntsholling or those stalls in Thimpu, the bakeries in Bhutan never failed to live up to our expectations. Quite obviously, we plunged in to food once again.

It was there that we saw, the much talked about BAFRA, Bhutan’s very own Royal Food Police. We saw their offices at check points, but it was for the first time that we spotted the officers in uniform, inspecting the food-stalls and doing their work. 

Carnival at the Clock Tower

The Food Stalls

From Thimpu, we drove to Paro . Personally,  I felt there are more apple trees than houses at that place. And why wouldn’t it be that way. Whenever a layman thinks of Bhutan “ Druk” comes to his mind.  There are also other local brands which are as good if not better than Druk. All these fruit processing companies thrive on the surplus fruit harvest of the country.

 Although the government has built authorized “ farmer’s- market” for the buying and selling of fresh vegetables and fruits, yet we saw some make-shift stalls on the sides of the spiral roads. Mostly they sold oranges, red/golden apples, radish and yak cheese. People like me, who have tried yak cheese in other places must try the Bhutanese cubes. I found them the softest and juiciest of all. I also advise you to keep your eyes open as you might find vans selling seasonal fruits at really cheap rate. Can you imagine we found oranges at Nr.1/-

 each.

In Paro we stuck to the food offered by our Perli Cottage. We did so for two reasons: a)we didn't want any more culinary misadventures, b) we got heavenly food at our hotel.  On one of the days, the chef had cooked Saksha maru for us ---- Bhutanese chicken curry. Trust me, it is a must try in Bhutan!

Last but not the least:  liquor. Bhutan is also renowned for its brewery. Drinking there is not a habit, as we could hardly spot a drunken stupor. It is rather their custom.  Drinking together symbolizes family bonding and acceptance of friendship. We could not lay our hands on “1906”---- premium vintage whiskey which is dispatched into the market only after 15 years of controlled fermentation. Nevertheless,  we brought some at an unimaginably low rate and were not disappointed by the quality.

With that our trail ended. It was time for us to cross the border to return to Jaigao. We tucked in our mouths raw beetle seeds rolled inside lime smeared beetle leaves and munched our way back home. Good Bye Thunder Dragon! We enjoyed your hospitality. Long live the King!

     

A Trek into The Tiger's Nest

For those who don’t know about Taktsang Monastery (Bhutan):

Taktshang  Monastery was built in 1632. It is said to be constructed at the precise location where Guru Padmasambhava, the harbinger of Mahayana Buddhism in Bhutan, had meditated. Taktsang literally means "Tiger's lair",  According to the legend related to this, it is believed that Padmasambhava (Guru Rinpoche) flew to this location, in 8^th  century, from Tibet on the back of a tigress from Khenpajong^. This place was consecrated to tame the Tiger demon. An alternative legend holds that a former wife of an emperor, known as Yeshe Tsogyal, willingly became a disciple of Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambahva) in Tibet. She transformed herself into a flying tigress and carried the Guru on her back from Tibet to the present location of the Taktsang in Bhutan. In one of the caves here, the Guru then performed meditation and emerged in eight incarnated forms  and the place became holy. Subsequently, the place came to be known as the “Tiger's Nest”. I t is also said that after the death of Guru Rinpoche in Nepal, his body was said to have been miraculously returned to the monastery by the grace of the deity Dorje Legpa; it is now said to be sealed in a chorten in a room to the left at the top of the entrance stairway. For all these, and many more reasons Tanktsang monastery has become an important site of pilgrimage for Buddhists. From the 11th century, many Tibetan saints and eminent figures have meditated in Taktsang in order to attain great realisations.
 Geographically, this monastery is positioned 10 kilometers to the north of Paro and hangs on  a precipitous cliff at 3,120 metres above the Paro valley, on the right side of the Paro Chu (‘chu’ Bhutanese means ”river or water”). The rock slopes are very steep (almost vertical) and the monastery buildings are built into the rock face. Though it looks formidable, the monastery complex has access from several directions, but a mule track leading to it passes through pine forest that is colorfully festooned with moss and prayer flags is the most popular track.

Our experience of the trek:

We really didn't know all that! As we reached Bhutan on the eve of Losar (Bhutanese New Year), we couldn't get permit for Punakha, which in a way gave us a day’s off. Desperate to make full use of our trip , my brother and I decided to “ try out some trekking” . We asked Vicki Bhaiya(driver cum owner of the Beat, provided to us by the travel agent) to suggest us ­­---  a one day trek route. He promptly served us with the idea of trekking to Taktsang Monastery. He said, “ If you are an expert hiker you would need two and a half to  three hours to reach the monastery. But I feel your parents would not be able to make it.” To the last statement, even my parents agreed. Coming to us, we were  more eager to test ourselves than finding out information about our destination.

Vicki Bhaiya  drove us through the silent valley of dry apple orchards to the foothills from where our trek would begin. We reached there around 8:30 A.M. It appeared to be a popular Buddhist pilgrimage site. The first thing we noticed was a man selling  walking sticks for fifty bucks. We wanted to take it, but on rent, because it would be useless after the trek. He refused. Instead he suggested,” You young people! Why would you need walking sticks? Go just like that!!!” We bought his advice and started our uphill trail. There we also promised the girls who were selling curios that we would “have a look” at their stalls on our way back.

Honestly speaking, it was not a kind of trek where we would have to scale a mountain. It was rather a difficult hike where the track was made by mule hoofs and the steps were wedged by tree barks and mountain rocks. A reproachful local veteran along with his lithe legged acolyte preceded us. I noticed that they were walking in some divine tandem. It looked quite clear that the veteran had been to this place quite a lot of time. May be he had some beautiful memories associated with this place. May be wanted to re-live and relish those memories   by ruminating on them while trotting up the hill! Or maybe he just knew the adequate tempo of the trek. I really don’t know for which particular reason, the man and his accomplice were walking at a slow pace. That is why, they fell behind us while we moved ahead. 

               

My brother being a fitness freak,  could climb fast. Moreover, his 6’’2’ height, like always, provided natural boost to his speed. Compared to him I am rather puny. That is why, while he was walking in leaps and bounds, I was staggering and gasping for breath.

So I considered distracting myself by plugging in my headphones and listening to music. Gradually ,my mind started pondering :

If God had made man in his own shape, why had he crippled ‘man with limitations and restrictions? God must have made the unconquerable mountains in his own shape. Or the unfathomable oceans in his own shape. Maybe the lethal snakes or the mighty lions, or the soaring falcon ….. Man has been cowed down by many such elements since times begun. Then why man calls himself done in the shape of God? God must be looking like the great banyan tree who is ageless and benevolent with his resources….All these creations  have infinite energy to understand and work according to the WILL OF GOD. Unlike them, we even manipulate God . Like the construction of the monastery at the epoch point. The monument itself stands as an example of man trying to overpower and interfere with Nature. If that be the case, from where did man find the energy? How could man’s defiance of his shortcomings, be his driving force? What is pulling my brother up? From where is he finding his energy? Is finding energy a matter of practice  ?I should have accepted my limitations and brought a walking stick. How dare I consider myself indomitable?

By then, I had started having palpitations. I could actually feel the Eve’s curse running from my peritoneal region to every minute cell of my body. I called my brother. Poor soul, he rushed down. I could see that he had become nervous. His face was turning as pale as mine. Actually, he too was suffering with me, though vicariously. I was nauseated and moaning with stomach ache. I could hear my brother say: “Energy is a state of mind. Buck up! Buck up!” But my body seemed to be a burden for me....a load that I could not carry anymore . Suddenly I felt some acidic liquid gorging  out of my mouth. I vomited all that I could. That made me feel relieved.

 Seeing me coming back to myself, my brother gave a sigh of relief. But he insisted me to wait at the cafeteria till he completed the trek after which we would get down together. He was too afraid to take the risk of letting me come along with him. I was also taken  over by dilemma. I was feeling better, but couldn't muster the confidence. Then we saw that veteran with his acolyte  crossing us. I asked them , “ How far is it?” The man uttered, “ Not very far! Just one-third is left. Surrender yourself to the will of the All Mighty and he will take you there. After all, energy is a state of mind. It comes from divine submission.”

I resumed my trek. I was feeling much better. I had submitted myself to the infinite energy named God. The energy that makes mountains unconquerable and oceans unfathomable, the energy that made the monastery get built …. The energy that is quintessence of life….  irrespective of all shapes, size and forms. The energy that is all pervasive.

And guess what, the energy carried us right into the Tiger’s Nest, the precise location where Guru Rinpoche meditated and took eight incarnations.It is a 40 feet deep cavern. The end could be reached only by treading four flights of precariously adjusted planks transformed into ladders. We reached till the end. Surprisingly,  I was not scared, even while standing at the edge of the cliff face. Actually, by then, I had submitted myself to the Will of God .

Our hearts were filled with contentment as we trotted down. We kept our promise of buying little curios from those girls and happily drove back to the hotel, too eager to share our experience with our parents.

As we were doing so, the  manager of our hotel joined us. He interrupted ,” I’m glad to know that you were lucky enough to enter the Tiger’s Lair, but I’m afraid you have not completed the trail!” We were taken aback by the statement. “ Have you visited the monasteries at the back of the main temple? I believe then you would have taken more time!” 

Yes, he was right. We had not visited those temples. Simply because we neither hired a guide, nor did we do any homework. Or maybe this was a divine cue for us. The Energy wants us to make the trail again. This time, with the right spirit so that we can complete it. Would you like to join us???  Get ready with a pair of good trekking shoes and a heart strong enough to imbibe the energy. Then let us know!!!!