The fairy tale land of Rinchenpong

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According to Buddhadeb Guha the things that we cannot do in a normal place, that which could not be thought of doing in a normal place could be done when we are aligned with nature. We are made of five elements but all those layers of feeling get covered in a layer of dust and smoke of the city, they are buried so deep inside the flesh-and-blood that we forget that they exist. But in the open air, under the great blue sky, in the footsteps of this generous light forest, as soon as you set foot, a suppressed joy begins in the body, in the mind, in every nook and cranny, a two-legged game secretly emerges as a cloud of desire. We come back to ourselves, to our feelings.

We had been going for five hours without any interruption. The car was moving closer to the sky and I saw a small white Buddhist building on the other side of the bluish green hill like the distance of the old woman. The fountain that was glistening from afar is like the ribbon of the hair on the head of the girl returning to school. As we were climbing upwards, the weather was getting cooler.
Ravi Tagore’s journey to Shillong was wonderful as he had described it in his book. We reached the hill with the squeaking car. Silence on the way and the eye-catching nature seemed to be just the right companions. The windshield of the car got occasionally covered with thick fog like white smoke. Just like the misty sky at five in the morning. There it is, all this white, nothing is visible even at a distance of one hand, look again, all of them disappear. At another turn, as our car drove through a huge row of huge pines, I could see with my head held high, smiling at the top of the sky-touching tree was the sunlight.

The hills have a unique magic in them. I got to see new imagery at every turn; the watch said it was five o’clock in the evening. We occasionally hit a few bumps on the road. A week before, I had heard that some people had died on this road due to a landslide. The huge hard dark brown rocky soil was split and scattered all over the road. Well, when you die in the lap of nature does its awfulness decrease even a little bit? Who knows, I heard people want to die when they come to a very beautiful place! Me too! How does it feel to be immersed here, to die here? Alongside life and death, next to this huge event, from some Amravati, from some north, a small stream was flowing like a small stream of green streams flowing down the mountain. Suddenly it seemed that I had never seen a mountain in my childhood. Back in my childhood days, when I was asked to draw a picture of a mountain in school, I would draw a bit like a ribbon rubbing the same white and blue wax in one corner of the picture. On the city’s shattered skyline, there was a hint of green over the yellow, an orange of sunset over it, and quite a bit of pale pink. This was so light, that many colours, how I could make it fill with just twelve colours in that box. Today, when I look at the mountain sky, I see the changing colours, just that afternoon came back.
In fact my desire to travel was since childhood, it was a very strong desire, but due to financial constraints I could not travel, so those desires were expressed in drawing books or writing pages. But the desires that were dormant in the mind have blossomed into flowers today, yet the immense wonder of that time, the unfulfilled desires may not have been completely fulfilled yet. So when I go on any trip, I think of the only window in my four-story house, through which I have travelled as far as I can remember, I have not been able to turn around even so much. The roadside milestone said Rinchenpong was just a kilometre away from Kaluk. I stood there for a while. My wife and the boys were also getting quite restless. In fact, the experience of climbing so many roads was pretty disturbing for the people who are used to live on plains. From where I was standing, I could see the mountain range descending steeply from both sides by removing the curtains that almost open the stage on the multi-dimensional level of blue. The pale moon matched the colour of twilight in the last afternoon light. Neither blue, nor pink, nor purple, I wondered if I had watercolour at hand, I could try it once, could I find exactly that colour. From the hilly villages far below, perhaps, the evening oven was on fire, and the white smoke rose up in layers like wheat. A couple of evening lights were shining in the mountains. Well, is there a strong word in the night, why don’t we understand it if we don’t go to the mountains or the forest? My sense of sound became very clear. I could hear very clearly that the mountain doyel bird was calling from the forest. Prayer music, Buddhist songs, all these things could not be described in words Waves of energy washed all over me. The driver of our car asked us to hurry up, as it would be too late to reach the resort.

I reached the resort in an hour and thirty minutes. It looked like a home to me. Wherever we live, this place is basically a home stay. The name was “The Nest” just like the Nestle logo is reminiscent of a nest; that was a home stay with a mother bird in a small bird’s nest. The small three-story house is right where the sloping road turns. What a tidy. On one side of the street is a huge colourful prayer flag, with a large monastery in its gap. And on the other side of the mountain, before getting out of the car, the driver pointed his finger at a direction and said “Hey look! Its Kanchenjuanga” Many tourists have been fascinated by this form so far, they have repeatedly come to the heart of the Himalayas. Kanchenjunga, the divine beauty of the Himalayas!

The name of the hotel is Nest, in fact it was what we call ‘Home Away from Home’ , Nest is exactly that. Mr. Yogi and Mrs. Yogi was the owner of that place, they both were very happy people. It was unthinkable that two such hospitable people would give such a warm welcome so high above the plain. The hotel was scrambling on a dull piece of paper and knocking on the door of a hotel, it was like stepping into the house of a relative in the mountains whom you have known for a long time. When I saw the fat smiling lady coming out of the kitchen with a flower print apron wrapped around her white house dress, I immediately remembered that cuckoo-singing singer from Milan! Remember who I’m talking about? Yes, that immortal character of Tintin Comics is Seniora Bianca Kestafio! She greeted us with a raised voice and long arms, along with his son, Sandeep, with whom I had been chatting on WhatsApp from Kolkata for a long time. He was over six feet tall, studied graphics from Bangalore and extremely humble. The Yogi couple are both school teachers. They manage the school and the office all day long and make all arrangements for the guests. Who knows if we Bengalis will ever be as hardworking and hospitable as they are? In Bengali households as soon as two or three people came to the house, we could see frown on our wives’ foreheads. Even though we were paying for the food, they treated us like a relative. Upon arriving at the home stay, Mr. Yogi appeared with hot tea. A very funny thing is they all looked like Gautam Buddha. The thing is I find Buddha in the faces of all the hill people. In fact, there is a connection between the culture of the mountains, the nature of peace, gentleness, forgiveness, laughter, contentment. So I could associate the hill stations with monasteries.

After bathing in hot water, everyone ran straight to the rooftop. We had a hot lunch with hot steamed rice, pulses, fried fish and various vegetables. The house was very beautiful from the inside as well. Adjacent to my room, which was almost open on three sides, is a small balcony, right in the middle of the hill, where you sit with your eyes closed with a cup of tea. Put on a warm sheet of thin wool. Let’s open the eyes by wrapping the head and ears well. Yes, if you are lucky, the most beautiful view of the world is waiting in front of your eyes, The Himalayas will shine at your fingertips. As far as the head can be rotated from right to left, you can see the light of the sun on the golden pink eye-catching peak of Kanchenjunga. The dark green of the hill in front, the blue as if capturing the beautiful cover of the open-air album! Although at this moment it is winter in the evening on the Blue Mountains. The dim light was becoming clearer on the mountain, the warmth of life. In the cold wet air, a drop or two of rain seemed to fall on the palm of the hand. Back in the house, I removed the heavy curtain and opened the fence. In the wet glass jar of the window, there is a defocused mountain of dim light and the body of a couple of wandering butterflies. Everyone is turning a blind eye to the road work. So I leaned on the bed and covered my legs with a blanket until I could keep my eyes open. I looked out of the front window at the mountain. It has started raining like an arrow in the evening in the hilly sky with the wind blowing in the wind. The points of playful light are then merging in the land of Meghpion in the fairy tale of Achinpur. Turning off the lights of the house, a Bengali tourist from the next room was holding his cheek to the glass and singing to see the rain.

I don’t know how long I slept, when I woke up in the middle of the night to the illusion of a full moon. The mountains, the clouds, the rain, the fog, the mountainous address, and then again I went back and forth from side to side in a sweet sleep. As soon as I pushed the window open, the cool air touched my head. So much light around! The evening lamp was burning on the top of the hill like the bright night of Diwali. In the cloudy mountains of the evening, those who looked so miraculous, uncertain, half-burning, half-extinguished mystery, that beautiful city in the middle of the night was like a lighthouse. The sky was almost clear. Surrounded by such a change, all of a sudden this hilarious silence would make the urban people, wrapped in our worlds, uncomfortable.
The next morning I went out before dawn, saying that I would look at the fairy-tale Rinchenpong. Behind the monastery just to the right of the hotel, a game of colour had begun. With due respect I say to those who do not believe in God, if we realize the natural colour, light, smell of that moment, maybe the feeling of seeing God can be found. In the light of the clouds, the sky was red with rays after rays. I was losing myself in the lazy hills of the wet grass along the narrow path of Ekchil, the fairy tale was in every nooks and corner.

– Kushal Bhattacharya –

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