Blue Waters and Blue Feelings
Hide-and-Seek with Death
Though the eyes had opened
right at 6 o'clock, I kept on lying on bed as if I was bewitched by sleep. It
was in a way so nice to keep lying motionless like a log, but when I tried to
move an inch, oh, pain ruled all over. The body ached so much, as if it
was whacked thoroughly. Yesterday's fourteen-hour non-stop walk came to my
mind. I had hardly ever walked for more than four or five hours a day before.
Yesterday's thoughtless and unplanned walk had been the longest one in my life,
really. I've realised one must take every step with good calculation in advance
if he's out on a long journey. I promised never to repeat such silly act in
order just to cover a few more kilometers. The old saying that one cannot reach
his destination in time if he hurries kept on occurring to me.
I threw
secret glances towards Rajnarayanji and then towards Rangrikji. They too were
awake but were pretending to be asleep. I asked Rajnarayanji in a whisper, 'How
is it going?'
Truth was spread over his face.
Moving little he spoke, 'Not bad!'
Men from the monastery were already
astir. The little morning had begun to
tease us mischievously through a little window of the building. Today too we had to walk one more part of the
journey. Very reluctantly, I got up at half past six. At first my legs couldn't
hold my body weight when I tried to stand. The calves were so badly aching that
it was almost impossible to take a new step. I fell to the khaat
clumsily and began to massage the most
painful parts. A picture drew in my
eyes, imaginary picture of the long way I was to cover today. The scene of
yesterday's walk replayed in front of my eyes, and I fancied soft, fluffy
cottons of optimism and joy after the completion of this journey. A faint smile
escaped my lips.
I pushed all these thoughts aside and turned
to Rangrikji and said 'I don't think I can walk any more today. I can't walk a
step.'
'Stroll around in the cool
air for some twenty minutes', he spoke from his bed, ' and everything will be
alright.'
Rajnarayanji got up and we two plodded on to the tap.
Sure enough, the body felt somewhat relieved after a stroll for a while in the
cold air under the Humla sky at Yalabang in the morning of 13th
Bhadau. The aching body felt some relief after the caress of the cool breeze. I
flushed my hands, feet, and head too. Now I believed I could go on with today's
walk much more comfortably.
When we returned to the monastery,
Rangrikji was already up. He was rubbing Relaxil ointment on his paining legs.
And then he went out. He was sprightly when he was back. We gathered our
belongings and got ready to leave.
Here I must speak something
about the hospitality and affection we'd enjoyed at the monastery. One fact is,
the lama in the monastery was Rangrikji's distant mama, and therefore we
too addressed him as our mama. And, Rangrikji himself was a respectable autari
lama. His father was a learned and
revered autari lama. Therefore, here we were on a very comfortable
journey: Rangrikji was in our company. But it would be unfair to say that the
lama had been so hospitable and helpful to us just for that. I believe it's
lama culture to help, love and treat their guests so cordially. I found them
very considerate, and caring. I had a wrong notion about lamas when I was
young. I was terrified and would maintain a safe distance from them or simply
run away. I used to take lamas to be cruel and heartless. Though that notion
had erased by and by, I think it had still not completely been washed away.
That too is now wiped off- the natural outcome of the interaction and
friendship with the lamas and Bhotes this time. A profound affection and
reverence for them have woken up in me, I've taken this as a very handsome
achievement from this travel.
The time was secretly
slipping away. Probably it was planning to befool us. But we caught it so
tightly that it could go no further when he refused to take us along. We had to
bid farewell to mama and others at the monastery. But mama was
not going to let go of us so easily. A man of heart as large as the earth, his
love was as large as the blues.
We ate khura with
radish chutney. People call buckwheat roti khura here in this region. I
relished khura very much, and even asked for one more loaf. Boundless
satisfaction and joy spread over mama's face.
Rajnarayanji packed our belongings
for the help. Yesterday's forced walk had tired the help out; he too was not
fully well yet. However there was a long distance ahead to cover. One had to do
something worthwhile since one was in the land of the doers. One was to live
since one was given a life. He carried his share of load that's why. We-
Rajnarayanji and I- too picked up our shares. But, since Rangrikji was too
tired, a mere walk was an uphill task for him. Seeing this, mama had got a young
man from the monastery to carry his backpack up to Muchu. Muchu was going to be
today's halt. We started climbing down the hill, our baggage on our backs.
The building we'd halted at was the
residence for lamas of the Yalabang monastery. The monastery reposed
comfortably, revealing its grandeur and glory, just beneath the residential
building. We were in front of the monastery first. Mama unlocked the monastery
gate. We took off our shoes and entered. A large hall for worship, prayer and
hymns and a huge statue of Lord Buddha meditating atop a slightly elevated
place right in front. Some more statues flanked it. Beneath it were burning oil
lamps and they looked like clusters of twinkling stars in the sky. My eyes felt
everything. I can't say what, but an inexplicable emotion surged in me when I
stood in front of the statue, and slowly I bowed deep down. And laden with
reverence, I touched the feet of Lord Buddha. I swam deeply into the boundless
sea of peace and satisfaction. I was enchanted by the brilliance of spotless
beauty and charm. Rangrikji picked the moment and took my photograph from
behind. And I took his.
'I think,' Rangrikji said,
'this must be the largest of the monasteries in the whole of Karnali Zone.
According to mama Rangrikji's family, and Rangrikji himself, has a great
contribution in the construction of this monastery. The artistic designs carved
all over the monastery were by the artist who was hired all the way from
Kathmandu by Rangrikji himself. And now the roof had started leaking during
rain. Therefore the District Development Committee (DDC) had given words that
they'd provide steel roofing for the monastery. I wished they had got
the steel soon and the faith of these people was saved in the form of this
monastery for all times.
Now we were walking along the
narrow path that passed by the yard of the monastery and disappeared into the
south. Soon this joined a wider path and preened itself. We trod on this new
path. ''Hey! Who are you? Where are you going?" I felt as if the trees and
bushes standing around us were asking us. Instead, we sprinkled our thin smiles
all over them and continued our journey leaving them behind. Some of them
appeared to have understood us whereas others stared at us blankly.
The mama from the
monastery said goodbye to us and returned.
We followed the path downhill for almost half an
hour. Though we couldn't reach the end of it, we reached a small Bhote village
named Yangar. Green fields. Green trees.
Green apple trees. Yangar was well into its youth. There was a hydroelectric
powerhouse there. Some women were washing clothes in the clear water that came
out of the powerhouse. Last night Yalabang was swollen with pride with electric
lights produced here. So nice it would be if small projects like this were
launched at other places too! Better it would be if the government itself
launched them; if not, encouragement, atmosphere and support should have been
provided to the public. And the autocracy of darkness would fade away to some
degree from other villages too, and the tragic story of poor people searching
for their uncertain future in the dim light of diyalo lamps would come to a
happy ending sooner!
Rajnarayanji rested himself
on a stone near the gurgling transparent water, his bag on the ground. I followed
suit. The help and Rangrikji too arrived. They wished to go on slowly, leaving
us behind. But my eyes were fixed on the red apples hanging thickly in a green
tree. I was never able to take my eyes off them. After quite a while, I can't
tell which but a soft corner allowed my suppressed desire to germinate, I
turned to Rangrikji and said, 'These apples here must be very sweet and juicy,
right?
'Want to eat? Let's do it…'
he spoke.
A bunch of local kids swarmed
around us. Dressed in awfully dirty and wornout clothes, they had some
textbooks and notebooks with them. Their noses were stuffed with snot. They
looked at us with sort of quizzical eyes. I talked to one of them. He said they
went to the school at Yalabang. Rajnarayanji asked one of the boys to call the
owner of the apple garden. We bought the apples for six rupees at the rate of
three for two rupees. We started to bite one apple each and kept other ones
into our bags for later.
We resumed our walk.
All Bhotes have kept dogs at
homes at Yangar. Dogs started barking loudly at us from all directions. The
villagers looked strangely at us.
Today too, our way ran along
the banks of Karnali. Now the way was level, and now it climbed steep down to
the banks of Karnali. And soon it would climb steep up to the chest of the
Himalaya and lay flat there. It was easy to walk level, but when we were to
shove off the stones to make way steep up or down the hill, I felt as if I was
carrying the continuum of a journey on. Wherever the way was too difficult, we
saved the ruggedness in our cameras.
The more the day grew mature,
the hotter the sun. I even cursed the sun at times. My impulses were triggered
especially when I flowed everywhere in the flood of sweat together with the
sunshine. My dresses would go thoroughly soaked and stuck into my body. The
union was that of a form and a shadow, love and a lover. It was me who lived in
a city and preached that we should toil and shed sweat, it was me who advocated
for the labour through writings. Now I understood the real difference between
talk and action.
I must speak some more about
the remoteness and inaccessibility of the path. It was terribly difficult; I
still tremble just to mention it. It was not just at one or two places that it
was impractical to break rocks to make way, and a few logs were laid and stones
were 'paved'. At places support was given to the logs from below. And at places
the stones were so well arranged that they made stairs. One was only to climb
up or down all the way. One had to play hide-and-seek with death now and
then. Though coward at the thought of
death, I was bravely facing it here. You see, one does it when there is no way
out. They say the heroic death one faces while carrying out his duties is worshipped
whereas that of a coward's is despised. We repeatedly fought death; we
repeatedly played hide-and-seek with him. But I remembered my near and dear
ones all the time.
