An Uncertain Wisdom

The night was quite dark. Unlike the nights in the cities, nights at the mountains are very different both in spectral and spiritual terms. Where the ever glowing hue of the night sky in the city is no match to the night sky of a mountaineous region. Wherein it’s quite warm in a city, it’s quite the opposite on a mountain. My hands were literally going numb in a moment’s acquaintce with the cold air. Heavily clothed, I still couldn’t find appropriate space to cover my hands.

It was very dark and I couldn’t distinguish between a large bush and my tent besides it. Although, I could clearly see the path which went further ahead around the rocky mountain. I sat on a slab looking at the bright stars and a slight hue of the milky way. Rest of my mates were fast asleep.

I heard a thrum over a loud static of flowing stream nearby. I noticed how needlessly I was shaking my leg. Even after I stopped, I could hear the sound again. I looked over the stream to notice if a wild cat was roaming around but I couldn’t find one. The sound disappeared for a while and the static like sound of the stream felt very calm. Yet, the sound returned once again and clearly this time which sounded of a cane . I stood up and looked over the stream near the end. There was nothing much I could find. A light shone inside the tent for a while. A shadow inside the tent looking for something, disappeared with the light. So did the sound too.

After sometime it started to get much colder. I had my last glance at the night sky and retreated inside the tent. My place was in the cornermost so it wasn’t a huge issue for me to find my stuff. There wasn’t any water in my flask though. The only source of drinking water was the stream. This time I hadn’t forgotten to take my torch with me. Ice-cold water of the stream made me doubt whether it’s wise enough to drink it. I didn’t think twice and went near the stream. I was feeling curious enough to flash my torch around. I shone my torch over a flat patch of land. I witnessed something strange. A short figure of a man holding a wooden cane was climbing up towards the stream. This man wearing a traditional mountain attire but with a heavy jacket on, wasn’t that far away. He reacts towards the light which shone on him. Over this I quickly took my empty flask rushing towards the tent. Panicking, I wondered why someone would be climbing a mountain at this point of time. I started peeking from a small gap in the tent, seeing if he was nearby, although it was really dark. I patiently waited for him to make the climb. I wondered why he was still up at night and roaming around. After sometime, I peeked my head out to see where he was. He sat right there looking at the night-sky, a silhouette. I thought he could be a local who might be coming here every night. So maybe I wouldn’t disturb him. Maybe. I then started becoming fascinated about the fact that someone at this hour would think about climbing this much height. The prospect to inquire as to what he was doing at this point of time and why was growing within me.

I came out and started moving towards the silhouette slowly, pretending as if I wasn’t. I couldn’t resist but take out my torch. I flashed my torch over him. The face of the man was heavily wrinkled who was clearly feeling uneasy with the light over his face. ‘Hey, stop that’ said the old man. His voice was weary and rusty just like the old natives. I started moving near the old man. ‘I’m sorry’ apologizing to him, I was slowly moving towards the other end of the slab. The old man didn’t seem to be bothered with me being there. He was eagerly looking at the stars. I stood there for sometime awkwardly, thinking whether I should be bothering him with some questions. The silhouette slowly turned towards me. He asks ‘ Do you ever wonder what happens do the dead?’. I was startled by the question. I turned towards him and said unconvincingly ‘ I stopped wondering about it’. The Silhouette then turned its gaze towards the stars and said ‘ What makes you think so?’. I was a little uncomfortable with the conversation yet found it quite striking enough. The old man it seemed was about to part local wisdom. I calmed myself a little bit and gently sat on the slab. ‘ How can you ever know?’ as I asked. ‘The dead are “dead”. They will never rise nor will ever fall again’. He breathed a huge sigh looking towards me. ‘ What makes you think that? Have you ever experienced it?’ asked the old man. I presumed this to be rhetorical because it was quite a contradiction and said ‘ The meaning of dead means you are devoid of experience.’ He seemed to nod a little and started gazing towards the night sky. He took his cane and pointed towards the stars and said ‘ That star right there is not what you are seeing as the star is right now. You may never know what has happened to the star’ as he slowly puts his stick down. ‘For someone who’s dead or died right infront of you have merely went past their bodies’ as he raises his hand and points towards a certain star in the sky. I responded saying ‘ What are stars to mere men who vanquish smaller than a speck of its lifetime’. He again raises his stick towards the sky and says ‘ You merely think it’s a matter of mud and water. Longing, Happiness, Fulfilment are everlasting. We have it in us and shape ourselves out of it’ as his slowly shaking hand poignantly stays. ‘What use then it is for you to come up here without a single reckoning for the long lost?’ says the old man as he slowly lowers his hand. I knew right at that moment both of us were following a different spectrum but I never knew of what metaphorical standard I may get hit with. He stood up with the support of his cane. He glanced towards me and said ‘ Don’t you yearn for the dead?’. He then laughs as though he finished with his task of teaching someone. ‘ I always see and hear the everlasting’ said the old man as he starts to look past the mountain. He turns away moving towards the otherside of the mountain.

It was morning and me and my mates started to trek towards the next destination which was a small village. It was a good stop to get ourselves refreshed for the next part of the trek.

After reaching the village we sought to take refuge inside a small house. The occupants were willing to serve food for a meagre price. They had some kind of a ritual before we entered. One of my friends was curious as to what it was about. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a death ceremony of someone in their household. After having lunch we sought to keep moving. I remembered what the old man spoke to me about. I asked the occupants if I could see who the dead person was. The lady who made the lunch brought a framed picture of an old man.