Dust to mud to dust!

                               

They had come here to escape. Escape from their demanding jobs,  their life at breakneck pace, constantly living from crisis to crisis and escape getting at each other’s throats.

One fine day, they stopped midway through their fight and hurling accusations at each other. Anisha stopped to observe herself, as in an out of the body experience, she realised, this was not her, what had their relationship come to? As did Rohan.

They had an emotional meltdown; recalling their courtship days, years ago, filled with love. They would walk hand in hand, discussing everything under the sun, inhaling the petrichor, as they sipped hot chai, munching freshly roasted peanuts and had no qualms in voicing their differences. Of course, those were few and far between. But everyday was a present, a celebration and nothing was complete till they had shared it with one another. When did it change?

Anisha said, “We need to break away from  this self-imposed hell. Can you come with me? I want to go find our loving selves…. Live life meaningfully!”

“Yes! Lets do it before we change our minds!”

And they took the first flight out, that they could find. Their hearts felt heavy. Weighed down by guilt, remorse, and regret. They looked forward to this break like two truant teens. When the flight announced the approaching landing they realised, the recklessness of their adventure. They were landing in Leh! The first thing they realised was that they didn’t have warm clothes. No wonder people looked at them strangely!

With caution thrown to the wind they first bought suitable woolens at the airport itself. Anisha laughed loudly recalling the number of times she had wondered at the ridiculousness of apparel stores at airports. Warm in their newly acquired garments they proceeded to the exit, wondering which hotel to pick. There appeared a smiling local, touting a home stay in a local cottage near the Alchi Monastery.

Their city sheen had long departed, and the freshly minted teenlike romantics jumped at this adventurous opportunity. As they followed Tserring to his brand new Innova, Anisha and Rohan couldn’t stop thanking their stars. In a trice they jumped in, rubbing their by now frozen palms. Already their cheeks had acquired a heightened glow as, the eyes sparkled.

The magnificence of the towering peaks unlike any they had seen so far, all shades of brown, muddy in appearance at times reminiscent of the dunes of Rajasthan captivated them with their sheer gargantuan size. Men seemed no larger than ants in comparison.

The mountains in the region were unique. Huge was an understatement. And the lack of vegetation. Stark naked, devoid of any cover, and any other hue but brown, golden brown, sienna, ochre, and umber. The rustic beauty stood out against the backdrop of the bluest of skies, with not a cloud to mar it.

The fantastic smooth roads were an eyeopener, a culture shock, after the potholed creations of Mumbai. As they zipped on, with the Indus flowing beside, clean, blue, and inviting, a grove of green Poplars here and there, a clump of verdant bushes edging the banks, they were rendered speechless. Having had no time beforehand to read up about the place or any idea about it, they happily submitted to the assault on their senses by Nature’s beauty.

The monasteries dotting the landscape were picture perfect, and the mud houses of the local villages scattered few and far between. Rohan recalled some of his running buddies waxing eloquent about their marathon in Leh, touting it as a must do. Well, who doesn’t know they are a bunch of madcaps! But he had to agree with them now, even though he would not be running.

The little village of Alchi won their hearts straight away. Nestling along the banks of the gorgeous Indus, dating back to 10^th century, it was one of the smallest monasteries they had seen so far. There was no artificial lighting inside and only few people were allowed at a time. Use of torches was also banned. Their driver doubled up as their guide, and took them through the doorway, which could be accessed only by bending low, symbolic of surrendering one’s ego! (And didn’t they need that!)

The intricate paintings on the walls covered it from floor to ceiling. Barely perceptible in the scarce natural light they felt satiated with the rich pieces of art they witnessed. An amalgamation of Kashmiri, Tibetan, Buddhist, and Hindu artistic influence could be seen. Made of  mud, wood and rocks, the walls were thick and the sanctorum sanctum nearly three stories high. An Architectural wonder and an artist’s delight.

 As they emerged from the dark interiors, the dramatic irony was not lost on them either. Walking down to their cottage in the freezing cold they were absolutely enamored with the quaint flat roofed mud structure. Inside the room was cosy, keeping the biting cold at bay and giving them access to a panoramic view of the mountain peaks, the swiftly flowing river, and the green apricot trees in bloom.

Quickly they settled down to warm bowls of thupka and momos, all made by the lady of the house. They were pleasantly surprised that the food was vegetarian. Its difficult to digest non vegetarian food at such altitude and the locals don’t rear animals for food, the landscape does not sustain it. Is it a coincidence that the people are kind, loving and caring? Well Rohan and Anisha couldn’t have planned for a better place it seemed.

They were given warm gloves and woolen caps by their gracious host as they strolled out to explore the village. By evening the few tourists had gone back to Leh. Those who were planning a trek next morning had turned in to  conserve their energy.

Walking around hand in hand, later hugging each other close, for warmth as much as for the return of their romantic urges, they felt pretty foolish for having wasted years caught up in the demands of their jobs and egos rather than in each other. “I promise never to let anything be my priority but you Anisha,” said Rohan as he hugged her close. “I love you Rohan!” said she.

At night as they gazed at the stars; millions of them, shining, twinkling, gleaming in the Milky Way, Anisha felt tears streaming down her face. “I am so glad we escaped Rohan, my Love! Why did we not do this earlier? My love for you is all I need. If I die tonight, I will die in peace. For its love of one’s soulmate that makes this earth a special place. Mud becomes gold! Like these chortens.”

“Shhhh! My love don’t talk about death…. We have just started our journey again, no point wondering why we wasted the last few years, lets be alert not to let it happen again! I promise you that!” As he gathered her in his arms gently kissing her face with the universe witnessing their love being revived, they turned in for the night.

After a few more days of exploring the beautiful land of myriad monasteries, the land of unique animals like the double humped camel, the Himalayan Marmots, the bar headed geese, the wild horses and the black cranes, the flames of love roaring strong in the freezing landscape, they were ready to go back to their lives in their city.

To catch their early morning flight, they decided to head to Leh, to be close to the airport. For one last time they enjoyed gazing at the gazillion stars winking at them, as if to encourage them to remember each splendid moment spent in the idyllic surroundings, sustaining their fragile love, as they swore they would return every year.

While they slept snug in their warm beds, cocooned in their cottage, the thick mud walls sentinel, a flash flood occurred out of nowhere. They were rudely woken from slumber by shouts to run to the safety of a nearby high ground. Disoriented and disheveled they ran in the chaos following the instructions as they could make out best. Rohan gripped her hand and tugged. She remembered, they needed their jackets and turned back to pick them from the chair and their caps and gloves. He lost sight of her, separated by the crowds, and then came the mud slide.

A thick angry river of mud swirled on. No one was prepared for it. People were swept away as were the cattle in the pens, on the ground floor of the mud houses. Rocks and boulders dislodged, came rumbling along crushing everything in their way. The bleats of sheep, the shouts for help of desperate people rent the air. The stars were masked by grey clouds. The brown mountains seemed to be angry as they let their rain-soaked muddy sides flow across without any mercy.

The Army, Airforce, ITBP, Ladakh scouts, all jumped into the fray, to rescue their brethren, but many were sacrificed that night. Anisha kept calling ‘Rohan! Rohan!’ Till this day when the wind whips up a frenzy, near that little mud house some people say they can hear ‘Rohan! Rohan!’