The Hills Beckon Again

Lucknow to Bareilly to Haldwani once more, with a fuel stop and car wash before we reached the foothills. Yes, the mountains had beckoned once more, and I had answered. From Haldwani we could see the hills in the distance, but it was not till we reached Kathgodaam that the crisp mountain air actually hit us. From Kathgodaam it was a familiar, albeit winding way up towards Bhimtaal and then up again towards Naukchiataal, the nine-cornered lake sitting amidst verdant mountains shrouded in mist; we were on our way to my favourite place in the mountains – the house with the green top nestled among the mountains, right at the top, with its balcony jutting out over the valley, giving a great view of the lake.

It was late afternoon when we reached Raabta, our getaway for three days, and the sun had already started its slow slide down to the western horizon. The lake glimmered a brilliant green in the distance to my left as I sat in Bindiya’s balcony, and the mountains stood around the lake dreamily, their heads up in the clouds illuminated by the still bright light from the setting sun.

The breeze was cold, it rustled the leaves and rippled the waters of the lake in the distance and made me zip my jacket and pull my hoodie over my head. Evening was approaching, and even though it was getting too cold for comfort, I was reluctant to leave my seat out in the balcony – I wanted to see the sun set behind the mountains in the west, wanted to see the lights come on one by one in the valley, wanted to hear the sounds of the night in the mountains. It was my pledge, my tryst, my promise with the mountains; I had to listen and I knew they will talk, talk in a tongue only I could hear, only I could understand and only I could assimilate. The mountain always stirred something deep inside me, something primitive and lofty at the same time, something transcendental, beyond the mundane. They stoked that inner spark, which the almighty plants in all of us. The spark which had its origins in the stars and which keeps us all going, guiding us, showing us the way, discerning the right from the wrong, speaking to us, whispering, chiding, when we do wrong, inspiring us to be better than we are, pushing us to be more than just men, to recognise the godliness that lies within, asleep, dormant, waiting to be kindled. It is that corner of the soul, lit by that very small spark, which the mountains touch, with their icy fingers, with their cool breeze, and with the symphony which only those who have ears can hear – the song of the mountains…….

Check out these Amazon bestsellers from the author –

The Battle of Panchavati and Other Stories from Indian Scriptures
Daffodils: A bouquet of short stories


By Divya Narain

Additional Professor in Plastic Surgery, doting father, loving husband, newbie author. Love travel and literature. Love reading religion, politics and history!


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: