Pheasant - spotting

 

It was a dewy morning,

At a small hillock

Amidst the pine-trees of Shoja.

The day before,

We had accompanied

On opposite ways

A wild and young Sutlej

As we ascended the hills.

And Shoja, a pit-stop

Turned to be a destination on its own

 

That morning.

We had heard the call

That of pheasants

And we waited at the hill-top

Me, anxious, excited

Would it be a Kalij? A Monal?

Or a blood-red tragopan

I waited, with bated breath

Looking around for feathers

To accompany the melody

 

We waited for

Over an hour

But there were no pheasant,

I was restless now,

Almost anxious

How could we come this far,

This high,

And not spot the Himalayan birds?

No, that was not acceptable

From the hills of wonder

 

‘Have you noticed

Autumn descend slowly

In those hills?’

My friend, sage and calm asked

I hadn’t –

But what a sight to behold

Magical dapples of orange

Had created a mosaic

In these hillside woodlands

What beauty!

 

‘What more can you ask for?’

My friend continued

‘But what will you remember?

Not the rhododendrons,

Not the cherries

Nor the autumnal colours of gold

But waiting

And waiting

For a single moment

As a lifetime passes by’

 

The sagacity moved me,

Indeed, in the hills

Existence is bliss

What more to ask for?

Beyond pine fresh air

And distant hills of blue

 

Wasn’t the call enough?

I kept my camera aside

And sat on a log

Melting in the views

 

There were no pheasants

Spotted that day

But the staccato

Resonated in the hills

More so, in the hearts

As the sounds blended

With the crispy views of hill,

And the smell

Of pine pollen

Wafting in the air

 

To stop

And merely exist,

Ah, what a realisation –

A hundred views

Of the hills

Draped in pheasants’ calls;

That morning, indeed,

We lived for a lifetime

As moments that never happened

Happily passed by….

 

10^th October 2024