Blink.
She was standing outside a shrine in the midst of towering mountains. Something that looked suspiciously, wonderfully like snow lay in haphazard patterns on the slopes. All around her, people huddled under blankets rented at a hundred rupees a night. The air was thick with smoke from wood fires, the crisp fragrance of pine cones, mild wisps of incense coming from the direction of the shrine and the chants of a million shloks. She had never felt this way before...utterly calm, completely at peace. She closed her eyes, breathed in the night air. A drop of something cool and wet dripped gently onto her cheek. Rain? Dew? A teardrop? Who knew? She stretched her arms wide, trying to hug the universe, the mountains and everything in between. Her fingers brushed a passer-by, startling him into exclamation. She smiled, a little embarrassed, a little apologetic, and inexplicably free. She would come here again. She would.
Blink.
The monastery did look out of reach. No, out of bounds. But that was not because it was situated right at the peak of one of the highest hills in the region. The trek, she could manage. She enjoyed the rush of thrill and peril that a trek gave her. No, it wasn't the height. It was the peace. The way the monastery was completely at home amid the fourteen shades of green - she could see at least that many from where she stood - on the hillside. Beyond it all, the sky was the colour of a baby's eyes. There was something about the monastery that whispered absolute peace and pure simplicity - the simplest sort, the most difficult to find. She knew she would feel welcomed when she stepped in. She only wondered if she deserved the peace. Well, there was only one way to find out. Flinging her satchel over her shoulder, she began the trek. And every time she faltered or hesitated, every time she felt she had lost her way, she would accidentally glimpse the glint of sunlight off the ancient brass bell over the door, or the vivid red and yellow of the bunting against the emerald of the mountainside. She knew she was meant to go there. She knew.
Blink.
She had been here before. She had been here so many times, she had lost count. She knew the pale blue and mild purple of the mountains. She knew the tiny shack at the beginning of the trail. The wizened little man there, who sold tea for six rupees a cup (milk and fuel were hard to come by, as he often explained in defence of his prices) also insisted on selling her a ticket. She couldn't get there without a ticket, he warned her. She wouldn't be allowed in. She wondered which place he was talking about...but she never wondered too hard, because she knew, just knew, that she would get there in due course, ticket or no ticket. Sometimes, she gave him a hundred-rupee note in exchange for a crumpled square of paper with illegible writing on it, just to humour him. At other times, she would head on without bothering to reason or haggle. She knew of the lake at the centre of the mountains. Deep, blue and placid, the lake could only be reached via a steep precipice whose nuances she sometimes found herself familiar with, and at other times regarded with vague dread. And she knew she would have to wait at the ledge for the others to catch up. So she waited.
Blink.
She looked down the ravine and into a page out of Sleeping Beauty. The castle rose out of the dense green foliage - the densest she had ever seen - its turrets gleaming in the moonlight. Tall, arched gateways and curving stairwells. It ought to have seemed sinister, she supposed, but it had too much of the touch of the fairy-tale. Parts of it protruded from the leafy lushness of the valley, and the remainder played hide-and-seek. Even from the edge of the ravine, it was difficult to miss the marble smoothness of the walls. Somewhere close, a waterfall gushed down the slopes and snaked past the castle, disappearing into nothingness beyond. Suspended over it all was an eerily perfect, buttery moon, bathing - literally bathing - the scene in shimmering, creamy silver. She wondered how much of it was fact, and how much she should credit her imagination with. All fact? All imagination? She wondered.
Blink.
She closed her eyes, opened them and closed them again. Life, as they knew it, was waiting to be resumed. Life, as she knew it, was busy weaving mysteries. It scared and awed and thrilled her. She couldn't wait to see what it was. Meanwhile, she continued to live life as they knew it. She lived.
Blink.
She smiled.
She was standing outside a shrine in the midst of towering mountains. Something that looked suspiciously, wonderfully like snow lay in haphazard patterns on the slopes. All around her, people huddled under blankets rented at a hundred rupees a night. The air was thick with smoke from wood fires, the crisp fragrance of pine cones, mild wisps of incense coming from the direction of the shrine and the chants of a million shloks. She had never felt this way before...utterly calm, completely at peace. She closed her eyes, breathed in the night air. A drop of something cool and wet dripped gently onto her cheek. Rain? Dew? A teardrop? Who knew? She stretched her arms wide, trying to hug the universe, the mountains and everything in between. Her fingers brushed a passer-by, startling him into exclamation. She smiled, a little embarrassed, a little apologetic, and inexplicably free. She would come here again. She would.
Blink.
The monastery did look out of reach. No, out of bounds. But that was not because it was situated right at the peak of one of the highest hills in the region. The trek, she could manage. She enjoyed the rush of thrill and peril that a trek gave her. No, it wasn't the height. It was the peace. The way the monastery was completely at home amid the fourteen shades of green - she could see at least that many from where she stood - on the hillside. Beyond it all, the sky was the colour of a baby's eyes. There was something about the monastery that whispered absolute peace and pure simplicity - the simplest sort, the most difficult to find. She knew she would feel welcomed when she stepped in. She only wondered if she deserved the peace. Well, there was only one way to find out. Flinging her satchel over her shoulder, she began the trek. And every time she faltered or hesitated, every time she felt she had lost her way, she would accidentally glimpse the glint of sunlight off the ancient brass bell over the door, or the vivid red and yellow of the bunting against the emerald of the mountainside. She knew she was meant to go there. She knew.
Blink.
She had been here before. She had been here so many times, she had lost count. She knew the pale blue and mild purple of the mountains. She knew the tiny shack at the beginning of the trail. The wizened little man there, who sold tea for six rupees a cup (milk and fuel were hard to come by, as he often explained in defence of his prices) also insisted on selling her a ticket. She couldn't get there without a ticket, he warned her. She wouldn't be allowed in. She wondered which place he was talking about...but she never wondered too hard, because she knew, just knew, that she would get there in due course, ticket or no ticket. Sometimes, she gave him a hundred-rupee note in exchange for a crumpled square of paper with illegible writing on it, just to humour him. At other times, she would head on without bothering to reason or haggle. She knew of the lake at the centre of the mountains. Deep, blue and placid, the lake could only be reached via a steep precipice whose nuances she sometimes found herself familiar with, and at other times regarded with vague dread. And she knew she would have to wait at the ledge for the others to catch up. So she waited.
Blink.
She looked down the ravine and into a page out of Sleeping Beauty. The castle rose out of the dense green foliage - the densest she had ever seen - its turrets gleaming in the moonlight. Tall, arched gateways and curving stairwells. It ought to have seemed sinister, she supposed, but it had too much of the touch of the fairy-tale. Parts of it protruded from the leafy lushness of the valley, and the remainder played hide-and-seek. Even from the edge of the ravine, it was difficult to miss the marble smoothness of the walls. Somewhere close, a waterfall gushed down the slopes and snaked past the castle, disappearing into nothingness beyond. Suspended over it all was an eerily perfect, buttery moon, bathing - literally bathing - the scene in shimmering, creamy silver. She wondered how much of it was fact, and how much she should credit her imagination with. All fact? All imagination? She wondered.
Blink.
She closed her eyes, opened them and closed them again. Life, as they knew it, was waiting to be resumed. Life, as she knew it, was busy weaving mysteries. It scared and awed and thrilled her. She couldn't wait to see what it was. Meanwhile, she continued to live life as they knew it. She lived.
Blink.
She smiled.
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