~Yubaraj Nayaghare~
Translation: Dr. Govindaraj Bhattarai
The himals came out of this mind.
From which point should I start to watch the himal? Which is the point of reference to understand the himal? How can I understand the completeness of the himal? Thus emerge one after another the snowy peaks of desire. Himal, my dear himals, himals, my lovely himals.
The old royal palace seated crowdedly on the northen mound of Gorkha. Washed thoroughly in sweat, we stepped on the top of that mound. The sweating we had experienced before was now exchanged with coolness. Glancing at different things our eyes moved towards the north. And the heart also shifted towards the mountain range of the north.
This heart craves for the snow-pilgrimage.
Green innocent looking mountains just below the snowy mountains The mountain rivers that flow spontaneously giving the feeling of solitude. Tall and tapering shapes of trees. The sky dwarfed in the ambition of touching the horizon. These landscapes and layers move on and on in the globe of the heart
It is dusk
I find beauty swinging in my consciousness. I find the great pleasure whistling in the throb of my heart. I feel the waves of throb rippling in my palpitation. Within the oven of the feeling, the burning snowy peaks are boiling like khichadi.
The water impregnates water. That is why the snowy dust sprinkles and the snow flowers and fruits are laden on the snowy peaks. A different brightness is smeared, a different glow is poured. The empty mind drips gilded with beauty.
There is a different science of colour. There is a different world of shapes. And there is different experience of looking at the mountains with my eyes, of seeing them with proper coordination.
The same mountain has both the colour and shape
How much of himal did my roaming mind understand? How much of himal did these eyes read? I have a mind to ask these questions. It’s true that sometimes even that miraculous and brilliant mind may fail to understand, fail to know and fail to read this. This logic may be forwarded before us.
Is the name of himal hanging on the lips of every Nepali?
Cool breeze is blowing. And often it passes washing me. I get fully washed clean in the cold breeze, fully drenched, I am dried up again by the light of himal completely. The brightness of water compels me the light of himal completely. The brightness water compels me to reflect. The effulgence of water isolates me from the darkness. The energy of water awakens me.
From my mind the himals are emerging one of after another.
Water, forest and life –the glory of my nation.
To these three elements are tied the political, social, economic and cultural activities. I assert strongly that this is where dynamism is. Many walls of racism, regionalism and solidarity rise up, and again get demolished –in this trinity of water, forest and life.
The sun, the moon and the stars scrub and clean the dark cliffs of the himals. The himal gives a youthful titter in smiles – I am perusing the Himalayan beauty with these vast vision under these sort eyelashes.
The himals are there in the devoted faces. Every dawn the crowing of the roost might be heard here too, every dusk the whistling of night nestlers might echo here too. But how stable it is! It is getting established with greater promise.
The himals has stepped many zones of the country. The himal has touched many districts of the zones. The himal has crossed many Municipalities or Village Development Committes. The himal has strode along the settlements of innumerable Nepales, like me. The himal stretches from the east to the west. The himal has continuously melted, flowing from the north to the south.
When the water gets angry, it turns into snowy peaks. This is the meaning of harshness. When the water smiles, it turns into a river .This is an indication of liquidity. When water dies, it turns into vapour. This is the meaning of air.
For not reading the mysterious knowledge of the himal, I am feeling defeated, and continuously defeated, and I am sinking deeper into ignorance.
My mind scatters in the sheaths of thought.
There are powerful waves in the eyes. The encircle the white peaks of the north and sing the raga of discontentment. How canI control my conscience? I have come here knitted in its ambition. Now there is no rhyme or reason of protest. And I have let my eyes loose to freely participate in the birth and death of himal.
Raising the himal
At the centre of the earth
Let us leave
The additional Colours of life
To the artists.
These are the songs of my heart. I dedicate these to himal. Let me be able to sing them. Why not hum these very words in chorus? What is the use of throwing achheta to the image of deity from far away? Let us go closeby and worship if we are theists, if we are atheists let us study the image from cultural point of view. The himals too are like these.
Across and beyond the himals, the green mountains spread like the army. These snowy peaks are charming in form, shape, quality, and nature. The climate plays here in a canvas of different colours.
There is the magic of Nature in the himal.
There are young trees. There are old trees with ancient branches. Snow is falling slowly in the mountain about Gorkha in such a way that the trees can hold the snow. For an elephant the trunk might be heavy, for a gnat, the eyelashes. But my eyes that were reading the colour and shape, fall and season underlying the snow did not experience any burden at all. The heart was not tired, the consciousness was not exhausted, the legs f my eyes did not stop at all. That might be the absolute weight to be within the object, perhaps.
The himals came out of the mind.
I have to call the snowy peaks. Shall I start from the lowest or from the highest one? The question arose. The answer stood-from the highest, but why? This is still the question. Because we are known by this highest one only. But the heart protested against this –from every low, the high is formed. That’s true. Then only way my pacified.
Whether it’s Langtang or Kanchanjungha, Amadablam or Jugal, Manasalu or Gaurishankar? Before we dive in, the strangers’ feet have already left their footprints there. In our case, only our minds have hardly touched them, let alone our feet.
It might seem that the name of Sagarmatha(Mount Everest) is being forgotten. How could I forget that crown? But sometimes, a grandson is more popular that his grandfather. Let us say this for today. But falling in greed when Tenzing Norgay became narkey (hellish), since then, when I pronounce the name of Sagarmatha, it feels like stone against the teeth.
My himals happy in the pleasant raga of splendours suppressing the helplessness!!!
The colours chased me regularly. I had seen the snow peaks in the morning and in the evening too. But when the silvery mountain changed into a red coloured maiden –I felt astounded. What a hide and seek!
Is there any mysterious fromula of colour change inside the water?
What shall I see –from or beauty? Let us see the from itself. Why are some himals pointed, others flat, some rounded, some dwarfed, others stretched? Why? I am being chased by suspicion. I am being chased by the ripples of mind that wants to measure the height.
The rivalry of water
The infinite wrestling of the waves
Somewhere the tallness of a male
Somewhere the depth of a female
Himal, pyramid!
I am writing looking at the snowy peak. I am not able to encompass all. The snowy particles that settle on the peak shine in my eyes. On the other hand the snow drops in the deep caves grow in my eyes. What shall I do? I saw the water pyramids scattered throughout Nepal whether to the left or to the right. People look at the skeletons of the himals, they have never looked at it in its totality.
There are human settlements on the peaks of the himals. Likewise many wish to establish more of similar settlements. There are yak, chauri, snow leopard roaming around since time imemorial. On the other hand, the shrubs or angular pine trees of Tundra have also descended since the time immemorial every morning and evening.
The soft tune of tungna echoes all around dashing against the snowy peaks.
All white snow and lush green greenery. Deep love between each other. fragrance and flourish –honour for the sake of honour. I find the trees standing erect on the himal elated in deep joy. An intense pleasure like the whistles of the yak herd in the highlands.
A corrupt mind makes a business of everything. The settlement of those scorpions that curse the himal with the desperate heart, though hunt for the musk deer, and those who even grab and snatch even the roots of jatamasi, the herb, is increasing in the vicinity of the himal. All the more, the himal is getting suffocated in the nightmare of the mercenaries of the rare herb yarchagumba But the loving hearts disappears, only the greedy ones crowd over. These days only crowd and rush penetrate towards the snowy peaks.
The breeze that bathed in the snow left me soaked.
I am getting drenched thoroughly. The eyes are soaked, the heart is soaked and the experience is soaked completely. Towards the north at the rangeless snowy peak, the colour is being enlarged inch by inch, it is being added, increased and transformed. Hasn’t this life of snow been mourning some death, in this frequent change of colour? These questions belt forth round and round. And as if someone has been running constantly in a shade, like the unmoved sky that surfaces in the hazy dusk.
On seeing the himal one’s anger dies and kindness emerges. On looking at the himal wrath sheds and ruth flourishes.
Civilization was towed along with us. In this long stride the Himalayan climate became close to us. Earning, religion, culture, war, friendship everything came with us. The Himal became the invincible fort for us. Friendly, always very friendly. The snowy peaks stood like a shield in the wars our forefathers fought. When our dignity is engraved in words, why not the ambience also be engraved!
Let us forget about tenderness for some time. Let us embrace the rocky harshness. People have tried climbing the mountain for a long time. Our physical activity was always in the forefront and in this we experienced satisfaction, happiness, and comfort. In other words, excellence did not yield; instead our strong feet kept guiding.
” Twenty four hours on the top of Everest without oxygen!’
The coloured photos of adventurous, brave and struggling climbers thus covered the pages. But one day, when the snow leopard stretched in a dark lane of Buddha for seven days starving –it is well known to everybody what king of comment was made by the reporters!
Where was the commotion? Questions may arise.
I always felt … always, which of these mountains is named after the name of so many famed climbers? Now ideal is the work of man, not a name of any imaginary god. When can I read Ang Rita mountain, Babu Chhiri mountain or Pashan Lhamu mountain instead of Ganesh himal, Gaurishankar or Annapurna? Let the heart of the century blow with the air of love, let it not be eaten by the worms of narrowness secretly.
An enticing lifestyle has come up in the himal. Shall I see, steal, plunder, or love? If not, shall I impregnate? One who looked at a Sherpini told me so and my heart told me this! When we were munching on chnurpi, the hard cheese under Dhaulagiri.
Along the rows of stone, the houses are pointed. The blushing cheeks of the young maidens who drink fresh waters on its courtyard are charming us fashionable youths.
The himals emerged out of the mind.
Ever the same –be it winter or summer. Cloud or shower same himal. Spring or fall same himal. I also feel like being snow. Why should I be so angry? This heart wants to be polite and peaceful. This heart tries to be pure.
Another name for the austere meditation –in –water is the snow. It looks angry –when I see the himal hardish. When I see the soft snow –falling, it looks smiling. Desires sprout up seeing the spring, summer and winter of the himal. It was an old desire to see the himals of autumn and cleanse this heart. When does the snow bloom and when does it wither? It seems same eternally and forever.
Snow is the meditation of water
and
while in pranayam
it drizzles
and then rains
the snow balls
Everybody wants to beautified. Everybody wants to dazzle with beauty and youth. Every movement depends on the weight or ornaments. The steps are moving slowly and gracefully with the weight of the load of ornaments. The steps are moving slowly and desire for carrying the heavy load of garments, their steps gracefully with the weight of the load for ornaments. People are quite greedy in getting beautified more and more, be it fake or real.
But where is the himal decorated? Didn’t it accept the value of decoration? So beautiful even without any beautification. Were it decorated, how attractive would it have been?
The himal has a problem of procreation. The himal has conceived, let us not stop it. Let the cries of snow-babies be heard under the footprints of snow flakes.
The corpses of money have not stopped attacking our himals. These peaceful water pyramids are being mutilated by the usual hammer! Why are these cold –mountains being made colder? Why?
Do not step on my himal with your sinned feet, do not touch my snowy peaks with your wretched steps, do not cross my mountains with your ghoulish footsteps.
Do not look at the himal with dirty mind, it may get dirtied too.
(स्रोत : Nibandha.blogspot.com)
