By |2020-02-13T11:08:59+00:00February 13th, 2020|Inspiring Story|

I really had no reason to be sad. Yet I could not call myself happy. I guess everyone goes through ups and downs in their lives, and everyone has their own struggles to fight. We fight till we reach a point where we almost wish to give up.

I had reached such a point, when suddenly a trip to the mountains was planned. Kufri, in Himachal Pradesh is generally believed to be covered in snow at this time of the year.

I won’t narrate the journey, nor the experience of trekking three kilometres up a snowy mountain path. While my companions enjoyed themselves, I wandered off on my own. And then something caught my eye.

Someone had tied a wooden swing with a rope on the branches of a deodar tree. It was at the very edge, and beneath it the ground sloped down steeply towards an unfathomable depth.

There was such a mysterious aura surrounding it, that I could not refrain myself from approaching it. I carefully tested its strength, and sat down on it.

As I sat there, the world lay beneath me. The snow-capped Himalayan range held its proud head high, a sight so majestic in itself that your entire entity wished to bow down at its feet. It didn’t matter if you were an atheist. Even if you did not believe in the creator, you could not deny that the mountains that stood before you were a part of the creation. A creation that has been there since centuries before your existence, and were bound to be there for perhaps eternity.

Everything was quiet, except the occasional cry of a wild bird. The sun gleamed on all the snow around me, the pines and the deodars smelt fresh and welcoming. I sat there quietly, as if a single word would break the spell which was so intricately woven around me. If this was not paradise, paradise did not exist.

I felt my heart heaving with happiness. Far away from the materialistic joys of mundane life, this serenity was gradually filling up my soul. Even my existence was brimming with this tranquility – I was drunk with the nectar of the heavens.

It was then that I saw him. The blue-bodied youth stood next to a deodar. He wore nothing but a bright yellow loincloth, and even in this cold that bit me through my fur jacket, his body was bare. His lithe, muscular figure was beautiful, as if carved out of blue jade by a gifted sculptor. Curly black hair fell to his shoulders, and a peacock-feather was tucked into his curls. I knew he could not be real – he was just an apparition – yet his bright and mischievous eyes beckoned to me.

I sat motionless on the swing, wishing for this moment to last forever. He smiled, and held up a flute in his right hand. I felt my lips quiver.

His eyes asked me silently, “Do you want me to play it for you?”

My eyes filled up with gratitude, and he smiled again. Then he put the flute to his lips, and closed his eyes.

And then his enchanting notes flowed through the mountains. The mesmerizing tune engulfed me, like a huge white swan that carried me off on its back. It took me across the Himalayas, across the world, to some divine pleasure that resonated through my body like the strings of a veena.

Before I knew anything else, I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I had never been happier in my life.


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