Walker of Peace

Two were walking down the street. Festivity was on the way, men and children with their mothers rejoiced among the adverse conscience. Every time those two   could find the happiness, some standards piled up on their hearts. It was a bizzare night, darkened one in between the pearcing brightness. For them it was a walk of disgrace in the other eyes, but a spark was evident , so simple but powerful. Every stone they were turning, rolled their fear into dungeon, in that turning there was smile only with a cluster of hope. People say when men love they can not think anymore different than loving, which they never  compromised.  The more they walked, everything got lonely, but it was a treat they were about to get from nature, what on earth is more blissful than a night with love to love under the thousand galaxies. Those festively arrangements never surpassed their coy and desire. Silence was never bigger than their exposure of eyes, which seemed to be travelled an ocean before and were waiting to dive again. That Street got more narrowed, as humans tend to be at times when the reverse is needed. That Street had given them  the time to evoke as they wanted. But time can be all and even can be nothing at all. As it passed , sky got wider and enough to get inspired through the star light, the drops of love was dripping down the streets , melting the stars. There they got more strength and night began to grow bigger and wiser. Other activities were getting stopped, because they did not want to be the night spinner, they wanted to confine that in a room full of darkness and hopelessness where families of social norms live. The abonden outer was never small and heartless for those two men, city at night they thought to be strange but that strangeness was way more lovely than any strange veil they put everyday. It was all they had for that moment which was a life itself in it. The colours changed with the moments of sheer splendid where they found themselves. The faded festive prisms belonged nothing but behaved as an orphan who didn’t live but had days of unsolved mysteries, alike the fear of those unwinged doves. That moment didn’t lie but chose to conceal the eyes of unmatched people, who never measured them in that same cup, it might had been the most difficult part of life. At a glance they saw a girl walking down the path, life might have took her there where she was in her own self. These words were not mouthed but they just saw her eyes wide open in chaos of opinion, and all came forth. She too passed that Lane of selfishness and it’s not quite wrong always. Now waves have gone by but the remains of giving stood still there like a pillar of strength and love. They didn’t know the name of that path and they didn’t intend too. Beauty was there forever but for those who sought only realized.  They left that part of them there where they lived only. 

This journey has poured me into water but it never made me wet because I was not intended rather I owned the Nature. I tell you , how I made possible a dropped plan into existence. Mountains have a magnet, I am sure everybody knows about that and I am a victim of that force everytime in a positive sense though. Dropping off my heritage walk, I preferred to continue the trail to my mother whom I belong and where I should be.



This trail has been the most bumpiest of all, you guys will know later surely, but it was it which I wanted to have in unexpected senses. These have thrilled me everytime and it will till my last wind. I did a cross check of my predrafted plan, and commissioned it on my own heart. Travelling is not about only seeing new places  but to have an impact to re discover ourselves into another being, to feel the change every moment when I am in trans.

The idea emerged when I was in Varanasi which is another by flow of Ganges, and I headed towards the edge Haridwar where Ganges meets the grasses of plain and curses. This city has its own typical aura where I have always been disillusioned and never had that clarity of myself there, do not know may be I have a pre-eminent past there. This query never did complete because it always put me on time lapse, so it can hide itself.



Crossing the confluence of plain and hill, I moved myself forcefully for Govindghat , a pilgrim. On this long 300 Km trail on bus and several transports so many varsities have changed, so much hardships have been seen, the small hamlets of Kumaon and the rugged hostilities of Garhwal.  So many Prayags that if I can put those on a scape, confluences can flood the world with its richness of beauty and human relationships.



In that drizzle and light shower,  at first I go beyond Devprayag, where Alaknanda , the daughter meets the Bhagirathi , and creates the mighty Ganges. After crossing , I felt that I have moved against time which never existed though.



Devprayag pulls the quantum of Rudraprayag , where Alaknanda meets Mandakini. The name has its significance but to me it was that river which has given its all but I never cared for it . Passing the anger of Rudraprayag , I confronted Nandaprayag where Alkananda meets Nandakini a princess. Meandering through Chamoli , a Garhwali heartland, another Prayag tells its story , the Karnprayag , where Alaknanda meets Pindar, a rough stream.

On this pilgrim route I ended unto Govindghat, a town of cross believe and peace where Alaknanda gets a companion Lakshman Ganga. Going by these blessings have never been easy and no criteria is valid , only the intention of remembering the true self. Commencement will come now.
Journey continues .......

As I believe. walk in Nature is a walk of peace. Everyone must make a time to dwell among their fears, complexes and silent happiness by travelling in the dome but living on the edge itself. When I entered this happening town where cross culture is a fashion but language was a monopoly, a peculiar identity crisis gulped me in unconscious moment, Suddenly , it was realised that the commencement has been going well and I am adapting quite greatly. 

Always winter has come to me as a giver, last winter too, in the morning when I was getting suffocated in Puri, a eastern coastal pilgrim town, I took the refuge to visit an old diamond of Indian architectural panorama along the eastern reigns. It was a familiar road to every by passer and even a hot spot too. The more people enters, the derivation gets more diverse. Some were daily dwellers and some are seasoned travellers.

From Puri bus stand taking a tour bus, I was told primarily that in the late morning when the sun would glorify himself upon its temple I would be among the thousands to witness the beauty, but the thing which was spinning in my mind was to see that untold, unravelled sand, Chandrabhaga.

Taking the east coast road towards the eastern end of Orissa, I could see some reserve forests along the sea line even the famous barren olive turtle beach. If I was trekking that silence I would venture into the woods and smell those leaves.

Suddenly my eyes were resting upon the mild woods and with me, sun was also playing there hide and seek, Having been tasted the beams, I got down from bus there at a stop ans went on to a neverland of unarmed nature where the waves were chasing the sands, Even stepping onto the sands was an adventurously crafted jungle way. Where trees make space for humans to pave their feet, and sands bring the heated carpet , then the final lap is to go to the pleasantry of sea. Its colour was contrasting to the blazing sun and yet restable too.

Unheard winds were calling me to fly with them to those mid sea fishermen, I was not brave enough to do so but the inner eye was already there catching fishes. People say that once this land was visible from that great sun temple, Konark. I think our corrupt visions have killed every visionary of virgin places, I wish could be there in 60s too.

Over that gleaming horizon, some sailors were sharing their trade stories of culture and modernity, loss and happiness. I did empathize but envy more . At the end of all, I did collect sea shells with some kids of whom I was sibling of our mother nature. I could say the family united on the lonely beaches of Chandrabhaga.