?We had no choice. Sadness was as dangerous as panthers and bears. the wilderness needs your whole attention.?
? Laura Ingalls Wilder
The cold winds sting every exposed bit of skin. Our faces are too numb to be felt, my nose taking the appearance of a ripe berry. It's been a long day. A friend got sick and we had to double back. Huddled together in our tents we wrap our hands around bowls containing piping hot soup. My limbs and shoulder are crying with relief. The last few remaining sun-rays glance off the white mountain-face. We gaze at the horizon, mesmerized at the mosaic of colours.
I chuckle to myself as I recall the crooked landscapes we used to make as kids. The first sketches we fancy are hills. Interestingly, most of us haven't seen them in reality till then. Yet, they come so easily to us. Maybe we are all children of the hills, forever yearning to go back. The mind meanders.
The gurjars start herding their sheep to lower meadows passing wry smiles behind shielded faces and a hello every now and then. Each smile lights you up and you can't help but smile back. They offer us some milk. We offer to pay and they take the money rather unwillingly. It is a different world, this place. Still untouched, ethereal. Makes you cringe at the silly notions we live by down below. Our guide hollers out. The meal is ready. The first proper one we will have in a long time. It was insipid in all probability, something I would have skipped in my hostel mess. But right then it tastes better than any gourmet cuisine. Each morsel is a delight. Our pretensions forgotten, we lick our fingers clean.
Sometimes you can find a home in the wild
Late realization strikes. It's time to wash our hands. The mere thought makes me shiver. Steeling our minds with a few nervous laughs we summon our limbs to action. The water is icy cold but washes away all the fatigue. I have a strange urge to take a plunge but good sense prevails. The chill is biting even as little dandelions mockingly dance in the wind.
Someone spots a bear across the valley and out comes our zoom lenses. It's surreal to see him up close in the wild. The mighty Siangad roars assuringly in the valley below. That guttural and soothing lullaby of the hills. The colossal mountains gaze down on us even as the sun disappears in one final riot of colors. A little foraging and we have the camp-fire ready. Dried pine cones crackle. Stories and songs abound. I toss in a few juniper leaves. A steaming mug of milky tea and biscuits is passed around. My cellphone makes one final beep and dies out. I'm home.