To the Silent Anchorites...

Don’t remember the age when this happened. I think I was about to complete the primary school. I was running across the rooms chasing my brother.

The chase stopped when I had hit the center table of sofa. That was the day when annual results were out. We both had topped in our classes. It was a special day and mummy was busy preparing those 'gulab jamuns'. I was happy. But I had hit the table.

That was a time to cry. I looked at my bruised toe. And started thinking about it, “it will now cause pain for a couple of days”. “But should I cry now”?

I decided I will not cry. I started deceiving my mind and nervous system. I tried to smile. I managed to smile.

My brother could not believe it. He looked at me; he looked at my toe and started crying. Mummy came running, she had heard the thud. Without wasting any moment she started cleaning and bandaging. I saw her face, she was confused too. But she completed the first aid immediately.

I had become the brave son. I got bonus 'gulab jamuns'. My brother also gave me one from his share.

That night, I watched my pain more carefully. I tried to watch that sensation. I bore that indifferently. And I slept peacefully. That night I had tamed my mind.

25 years have passed since. When I opened my eyes today morning, Adi came running to me, sat in my lap and closed his eyes. It was a little strange.

Kuhoo rushed inside the room. There was some bit of panic on her face. “He has hit the door chasing his car”, Kuhoo whispered.

I looked at him. He had kept his eyes closed. I saw him fighting with pain. I did not speak, but I was more in pain this time. After 6 years, today, I could understand the pain suffered by those silent anchorites in Doon valley.

It was 26th January 2002, a holiday for us who were on a project side at Dehradun. We had decided to trek to Mussourie.

We had hired a car to reach the start of the trekking point, known as "Shahenshahi Ashram" near Rajpur. It was an open morning after a rainy evening, day before. We had kept a pair of clothes, water, first aid, chocolates and chewing gums and a flask of tea.

After half an hour we were crossing the dense forest that surrounds Dehradun. I enjoyed those long 'bulbul' trees blooming with tiny yellow flowers, birds in their celebrative best and the early morning sun perforating through the trees.

We reached the ‘Shahenshahi Ashram’ and started our trek. Early morning mountain winds greeted us. The terrain was new to us. Eventually we lost our way. But there was no hurry; we enjoyed being lost. And I was, at home.

The climb got steeper and the trees denser. We were getting tired. We ate all the chocolates and finished all the water we had brought. It was when we were deciding to come down, we saw an old shepherd. We ran to him, asking the way to Mussourie.

That old shephard took us through a mountain stream. The sound of water echoed the valley and as we approached the stream, valley looked greener. In the backdrop were the huge mountains. My steps slowed down as I saw some cemented steps.

Among all the scattered rocks, trees and hills I felt a quiver. I started watching around. I felt those trees and hills wanted to ‘tell’ something.

I went near to that shepherd and asked him about that place. And what he told me was about a forgettable event. He told about an old limestone mine where hundreds of years back, thousands of workers worked. They lived in the foothills totally cut off the whole world. They were simple people and were totally dependent on earnings from limestone mine. The steps on the mountain were built for those workers to climb and reach the mine. The supplies went to Dehradun and Delhi.

"Where are they" - I asked. The old man stopped and said, 'most of them died. There was a massive landslide one day and hundreds of workers were buried under the rocks. And after that the state government decided to close the mine. Those who survived went to Dehradun to earn their livelihoods'. That old shepherd was one of those survived the tragedy.

I was numb. I looked around; I saw the remains of the mine, the water system, and old truck road, and the mark of the huge slide, everything. "Who cares?", I thought. Was anyone affected ? I left that place in disgust.

But today, I felt about those trees and mountains. I remembered their silence, as silent as tears. We all have learnt to bear our pains, but bearing others pain has been so difficult. Let us become postulants to those trees and mountains, who have mastered them all.