Lines written in Mirik

 

It was the last day of our tour -

There was dejection in the air,

From Darjeeling, all through the route

To the northern skies, I’d stare

 

To see one last time, the humbling lord

Kanchenjunga white,

Blinding mountains, emerald tea

How majestic that sight!

 

(What is it with us human eyes?

As if there’s Shiva, his abode:

Or perhaps, they are the closest here on earth

That we can call a God)

 

One by one, the gardens passed

Down the hills our way,

Now, only the mountain tops were seen,

Playing hide and seek that day

 

Then, at Mirik’s lake, we made a stop,

But nothing more to see

Wait - between the pines, a silver tip

Smiled benevolently

 

A passer-by then looked at me

Staring at the ice,

‘Go up to the Bokar monastery –

The hike is worth the prize.’

 

Indeed, up at Bokar Ngedon Chokor Ling

Kanchenjunga rose again,

The mountains white, calming down

The pilgrim of his pain

 

They seemed to not give up on us,

That blue November sky,

A message, perhaps, there was no need

To say a sad goodbye

 

Always there, you had to see

Beyond the sea of space,

Close your eyes, and even then

That massif you can trace

 

They gave up not, as we further went

Through Singbulli, and Longview,

Life gives back, at its own pace

Whatever is your due

 

And finally, it was enough,

That message was the cure,

The pristine mountains rise alone

When the heart alone is pure

 

Now, faraway, when you look back

Can you see them shining here?

Kanchen, Pandim, Simovo stands

When there’s devotion in the air…

 

31^st March, 2023

_______________________________________

 

These lines were inspired on the last day of my Darjeeling tour, when we were returning back to Siliguri in the plains. We chose to take the longest route – via Mirik – to delay the inevitability of bidding adieu to the mountains. I must admit, it is one of the most scenic routes I have taken in India; while travellers write a lot about the tea gardens and monsoonal magic of Munnar in the Nilgiris, the road to Mirik, flanked by tea gardens sprawling like a sea of endless green, is equally romantic and immensely beautiful.

Our journey was full of pitstops at dizzy heights – Jorepokhri with its eponymous lakes, Lepchajagat with its towering pines (Akin to Lamahatta’s pine forests), alluring Simana, overlooking the even more alluring Sandakphu trail and Maneybhanjan, and then to Mirik. But not before being drenched in the freshness of the tea gardens of  Gopaldhara, Bukim and Okayti.

Mirik is a tiny jewel of its own – quaint, dainty and developing around a lake that was mad-made, created as recently as the 1970s when the West Bengal government, led by the prescient Siddhartha Shankar Ray, developed Mirik for its tourism potential and created a dam to form the lake. At Mirik, I actually felt that our snow clad views of the Himalaya were finally – and disappointingly – over. But I underestimated this town. With an average height of 5000 ft (and its monastery at 6000 ft, while Darjeeling is 6700 ft) there was still lots left.

Some of life’s greatest joys lie in finding little things unexpectedly – the same was with Mirik. While walking around the lake, the Kanchenjunga summit sprang again in full view, filling us again with high spirits. Mirik’s monastery is another must see – with its purple coloured monastic walls, crowned with golden yellow, the monastery looks almost like a citadel from afar. It is built at Mirik’s highest vantage point – and yes, the views overlooking mountain and lake is spectacular. Standing here, looking at the summits of Kanchenjunga yet again, finally, there was peace and acceptance and that, we could move ahead.

Why this urge to keep seeking for the snow-clad peaks? Perhaps it is one of nature’s most pristine forms that we can get to see in the humdrums of our everyday. In that reminder of white purity, we feel mesmerised, enthralled, captivated, almost as if we have come closest to the Divine that is humanly possible. That is why it becomes a pilgrimage just to go beyond our everyday and set eyes on the Himalaya. In those icy peaks, we see a spark that fails us otherwise in countless moments, and the true pilgrim, once intoxicated will keep wanting to drink from this jug of the divine.

But the wise pilgrim will one day understand, that that same spark lies everywhere, in a mote of sunset dust, in the nebular starlight of a dark night, in the dewy moonbeams of a full-moon night, and finally, even inside oneself.  When that realisation dawns, we will understand that the cosmos, Kailash, Kolkata – these are all one and the same. Then one can see Kanchenjunga outside every window, between every stand of pine.

We will still need to travel, we will still want to travel, to see the majesty of the cosmos, but the edgy restlessness will be replaced by a joyous peacefulness. Just like the mountains - humbling, meditative, peaceful just in existence alone…

Images: Author's archives, Cover image: Kanchenjunga from the Mirik Bokar Monastery

31st March, 23