Time to move on

Time to move on

It was the summer of 2016 and to get away from the heat of the deccan plateau, he decided to head to the hills up north. The final drive from the sweltering heat of Delhi up to the cooler hills of Mussoorie was tiresome to say the least. The roads had improved since he was last here, around 40 years ago. Instead of a rickety old bus, he was in a good car and yet the journey was rough. The barren hills reminded him how things had changed and how old he had become. As he got off at the old house with the little square windows, he was thankful for the little things. He didn’t have to push the car up the steep hill, like he had to do with the old Ambassador taxi when he was younger. He unpacked his small back pack in the empty house and the cool moisture in the air refreshed him, despite the staleness of the lingering air in the old house. The doors were creaking and the wood seemed to be rotting. The greying blue paint had to be at least a half a century old. And yet there was something of a welcome embrace, as he entered into the house. The house still felt like home.

He walked down to the tea shop in Barlowganj to enjoy the evening breeze of the hills as he stared up at the snow capped mountains in the setting sun. The people there stared at him. He was obviously out of place and yet it didn’t bother him. He knew he was different. Back home these hills were fabled as vendi kondalu (silver capped mountains). A drizzle had started and a mist seemed to be rolling in, as he had chai and samosas. He trudged back up the hill to the lonesome house and realised that it took him a good hour to climb up the steep track. It used to take him 15 mins earlier.

The next morning he was up early, and the first thing he realised was how cold he was. The windows though shut couldn’t begin to offer the kind of double glazed protection that he was hoping for. He tossed and turned till it was just past 6am, as he saw a young man running up to his cottage with a couple of packets of milk. The young man was going to be his local help, guide and cook. His name was Ramu and his father used to take care of this old cottage till a few years ago. Ramu was around 16 years old or probably older and looked into the cottage whenever time permitted as he had several other jobs to keep him busy.

They knew their agenda and quickly set out on a hike before 7am. Climbing the hills around Mussoorie, he realised how soon he was out of breath. As they rested at yet another chai shop sipping hot tea and walking around admiring the snow capped mountains, he accidentally stepped in cow manure. Cursing his luck he knew some things just don’t change. They continued up the path and slowly the small temple came into view between the heavily wooded forest. He remembered the temple quite well but not such a thick forest cover around it. It stood out among these barren hills and yet the greenery seemed to be welcoming him home.

And that was the reason for his trip to Mussoorie. It was here 40 years ago that he slipped and fell breaking his leg. He had to be carried down to a doctor and from there to a big hospital and eventually a surgery where his left leg had to be amputated. Now he was back after surviving on an artificial leg and mastering not just walking but running on it. As he slowly made his way up the last few grassy curves to the top of the hill where the temple lay, memories of that fateful day came rushing back to him. And yet there was no feeling of remorse or regret. There was no feeling of “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.”

The temple had been built a few generations ago by his family and the surrounding land was bequeathed to the temple. Though the land and the small temple was held by a trust, theirs was the first family of the temple. And it had been 40 years since anyone from his family had visited.

The old priest in the temple seemed familiar. As they got talking, the priest slowly recollected the events of that day. The priest showed the stump of a tree and told him the story of how he fell. The tree was stunted and weak and the young boy had climbed up on its branches. One of the branches broke, leading to the boy’s fall. The tree had immediately been cut despite protests from the priest. And in recompense the priest had been planting one tree with each passing year. He also encouraged others who came to this small temple to do the same. That explained the wooded area around the temple.

For all the times he cursed the tree, the temple and the trip when he was younger and had to learn to survive on one leg, he suddenly felt happy that so much good came out of these extraordinary events. And the story didn’t end there. These woods were well planned with several trees that were indigenous to the Himalayas. They were all of significant value to practitioners of Ayurveda. Everything from the creepers to the tall trees had their own value.

He remembered that moment vividly, as the branches gave way under him and he fell from a height. It seemed surreal and yet he always wished he could turn back time and not climb that last branch. Yet he had come so far. Though he missed his leg, his life had gone on. At that point he realised that time couldn’t have stood still. And now he was happy that he gave his leg for a small oasis of woods on these barren hills, where the valleys were cut down by granite quarries and the slopes were shaved for their wood. And yet it was his fall that had created this small retreat for birds. He drifted slowly into this small thicket and found exotic fruit trees and beautiful flowering plants. The summer was truly good to these plants. He heard the mooing of a cow and as he unconsciously walked towards it he saw that there was a beautiful goshala with 10 calves and several cows.

This was truly paradise.

The sun was almost setting and he told the priest that he would return the next day and started walking back down. It was a slow long trudge back to the cottage that seemed further away going away from the temple.

As the priest went back to his work, he wondered, why this man had come now. After so many years. Was he here to take back the temple. Or probably destroy it. The priest was getting lost in anxiety as he finished his evening temple chores and walked back to his small cottage near the goshala.

The priest’s discomfort was apparent enough for his wife to ask him what the matter was. He told her about the boy who broke his leg and how he had returned. And how his family had chopped off the tree for no fault of his. His anxiousness at the unknown was palpable and the wife too was getting fidgety, as they both tried to hide their anxiety and continue their work. The wife couldn’t hold it any longer and said, after so many years of hard work and dedicated service, this cannot be happening to us. They could only wish God would hold back time and let them live in peace, after all their service to God. They slowly drifted away to sleep lost in anxious thoughts.

The next morning, the first thought, the priest had was of the impending visit his first prayer to God was to stop the clock. “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.” It’s strange how in terms of anxiety, stress and fear of the unknown, we blame time.

Soon the priest was in the temple when the man came calling again. He asked the priest to go on with his work, while his only wish to wander around the woods and discover the hills once again. The priest was sure now that he was surveying the area to destroy the small paradise he had built for himself.

Not long after, the man stumbled upon the house of the priest and gently knocked on the door. He introduced himself to the priest’s wife and as they got talking, he learnt more and more of how they lived. He slowly said he had one more request of her. She could not stop herself from asking him, if he was here to close the temple and destroy this small place they had for themselves. She told him this was a small place for others but this is all they had. And though he lived in a paradise of a big city, with cars and big houses, this was what little they could make from the generosity of his family, generations ago. He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He looked up and slowly in measured words said this was paradise. To them, to him and to anyone who discovered this place. He would never in his wildest thoughts think of destroying it or removing it. The temple would be here for generations to come and that is why he had to go to a big city to earn enough money for its upkeep. So they had nothing to fear.

He got up to take leave of her and as she him walking away she realised that she had forgotten something. She called out to him and he came back. She apologised that in her relief she had forgotten to ask him what it is that he wanted, the request that he had of her. He said he was not sure if he could ask. But she insisted. So he asked if he could build a small room next to their home and also be a part of their paradise. He said though I do not want to turn back time, I wish bring the wheels of time to a stop and continue this paradise forever.