I’ve travelled to almost 20 plus states in India and may be more than 80 districts. While almost every place has its own unique characteristics, there is one place which I feel the word unique can’t describe.
The place is a cold desert, where we had travelled from the bordering state. They say that the other route from the state capital is very picturesque but it was considered unsafe. We could have taken a flight, but for the experience of life- shear luck- hadn’t.
As one leaves the lush green hills of the bordering state the vegetation gradually becomes sparse. And so does the habitation and population. And then those tracts begin amidst high and barren mountains, sandy in colour but rocky in constitution. Innumerable small temples like structure seem to guard the route (located in strange and far off points on the hills). I don’t know what they mean! Remembering some God, some beloved or something else? And then gradually even those disappear and so do the thousands of flags around some forlorn monasteries.
For hours one travels in emptiness and monotony, almost barred and banished of all actions in life. A casual look outside the window to see the unbounded depth below could send chill down the spine. It feels as if one has moved far away from the earth to an unforeseen land, may be the heavens, but with all its habitants having being disbanded to some other land already.
As a belief sets in that the cold barren sandy mountains are forever, one might cross over a small bridge interlinking the passage across the mountains with a deep valley beneath.
When the Purple night begins to set, the habitation and shelter remain undiscovered. Under a Purple sky, millions of silent stars mourn some silent secret buried within their heart, with chilling cold in the air- a few tents of ITBP could be the last hope. ‘Not here but there, boulders roll down from heights around this place’, someone might say as you carry your shivering body ahead.
Next morning, the voyage upward continues to a distant land and at times one might feel that this unending journey is the only reality of life, in this or the next world. The hustle and bustle of the world- the illusions of life of the mortals- one leaves behind and begins to forget. The hollowness and emptiness of one’s soul, this journey personifies.
And then a rare sight of a yak, the last living thing left on the earth after the Day of Judgment or a pair of horse playing with the soul mate and trying to recreate the world, oblivious of anything in their territory, triggers a ray of hope- there is life beyond.
In the journey one could halt at a monastery; the architecture, the material of construction, the collection of the sacred scriptures- everything is a curious difference in itself but without the exception of solitude and dreariness. But what is more striking on the expedition is whatever few faces one crosses are without an inkling of expression.
Was I there? Am I visible? Or am I a soul already- a ghost invisible. The absence of life and abundance of fears unknown- of death or God or nature or the enemy whosoever wiped out life of those tracts and in whose reverence those stone faced bodies bend innumerable times- one begins to feel its omnipotence.
One reaches the highest of all the high passes, with black stone hilly tract in the adjacent areas and the contrasting white lime formation, which is desolate as everything else. It could remind of the pieces of white and the pieces of black in our soul, in its solitary existence.
But at some point in eternity, the action would restart somewhere- a few more vehicles, a few more monasteries and an unknown person rolling those cylinders with their magical chants engraved. Or to break the spell, to wake you from the eternal sleep- a resonation deep sound of some instrument would come. What would still draw your attention is that even that haunting sound touches some corner of your heart- still dormant and unexplored.
And every bare hall of the palaces once adorned would remind you of the ephemeral nature of youth, wealth, power, lust, greed and arrogance. Of wars that took place, of sabotages that occurred and of the era bygone; of our momentary lives and our eternal struggles; of fleeting opportunities and our ever continuing blunders; our seemingly misplaced belief of unwavering occupation and the truthful emptiness of everything that surrounds us and within.
One could also bring a few lapis lazuli, or Iranian Turquoise, some curios of yak bones, a few metal wares, some glimpses of nature’s beauty- pristine but sad.
One could also return richer in wisdom if one learns how solitary the soul is in its long journey. At some moment the realization strikes and sinks in that the life is short and physical and worldly gratifications transient. There is something beyond the outward attractions, some ‘gunas’ or skills, something which takes us closer to our inner self, our soul. And there are interactions, beyond physical, where that ‘guna tatva’ meets its expectation and a ‘wow/ really brilliant’ impact is felt.
There is no harm in appreciating that, there is no infidelity in that, no shame either. Because that is when a soul is interacting with another soul, the way it interacts with nature and may be unison could be longer- one never knows because that is unexplored.
We might then unknowingly be exploring ‘life’ amidst our existence in the ‘cold deserts’; our soul may be attempting to build relations which 'we' could not.
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