Invitation
short tale
these mountains are of the mist made by the goddess in her dreams. only when she asks for you, you will step on these lands. by some random sequence of unexpected events and meetings, that this particular tale will not get into, we are the selected five on the rising sun of today to get on the trail leading to her high seat on the summit of the sacred hills.
our path is covered with bright red blossoms of the season that become more and more visible to our eyes as we climb. we wonder if these flowers are magical, we wonder if our eyes are different now. our path crosses tiny village homes opening to majestic range of himalayas. humility and grandeur are indistinguishable here. they have merged beyond our grasp. we just envy the richness, and we dream of possession of these spaces, but they are unreachable.
with many sights that hypnotize us with their purity and mystic beauty, we continue on. we listen to the sounds of the mountains- the gentle breeze of deodar, chirping red sparrows, our steps that seem to be becoming lighter and lighter now, and with these sounds we tread into the soul of the pahad. we meditate on her silent air now. we have seen the goddess.
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Vaishali Paliwal 3/28/19, Shitlakhet
