The Hills Beckon Again – 2

And so I sit, out in the open, in the balcony, the parapet that juts out over the slender road that leads up to the house, juts out over the valleys between the mountains where the lake, the nine-cornered lake is nestled, emerald green and shimmering in the dying light. I sit out in the balcony, cold to the bone, but unwilling to move, to seek shelter, to save myself from the biting cold which descends from the sky, for I have to see it…..the magic of sunset.

The sun is already sliding down in the western sky. It has moved to the western side of the range of mountains which ring the lake, throwing a small cluster of shadows at the base of the mountain. But the sun will not go so easily, its light is bright still, so bright in fact that if one sits out in the sun, one can feel the gentle warmth over one’s face. The wind is cold, the sun is warm; it’s a tussle between the two. Who will win? The cold or the warmth? The light or the darkness? The day or the night? I ask myself these questions even though I know the answers. Time doesn’t favour the sun, hence the light and the warmth must go, must give way to the cold darkness which all the time creeps up from the base of the mountains.

Yes, it has begun. The inexorable march of darkness begins. The small cluster of shadows at the base of the mountains which ring the lake on its western side has now coalesced into a deeper darkness, and it creeps up the sides of the mountains, slowly, stealthily. Its unavoidable, inescapable; this darkness which crawls up the mountainsides. The leeward side of the mountain is more or less dark now, but wait, there is more…..

While I have been looking up at the mountain, talking to myself, watching the sun move west, the shadows have broken their bounds and crept on to the waters of the lake. From a bright green, the waters of the lake start to turn dark green. The dark spot which had its genesis at the foot of the mountains is now spilling on to the waters as well, while it still continues its march up the hillside. It has an ally too, for darkness is also creeping up in the sky from the east.

The sun fights a losing battle all the time, withdrawing to the western horizon. It has now started to dip behind the crest of the mountains which face me. It is also losing its brightness, turning from white to yellow to orange to crimson. It has now made up its mind, accepted its fate; it knows now that its time is over, its work is done. If only man could learn what the sun knows everyday, that one must accept one’s fate quietly, with humility. No matter who you have been, your time must pass, and so must you too. Even if the whole world looks up to you for strength, and light, and nourishment, and life, one cannot have an everlasting life. Light must give way to darkness, and darkness to light. This is the everlasting message of the hills…..the hills which are as old as the earth herself, as old as this creation is……

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!


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