As the sun set over the beautiful juncture of the tributaries of The Ganges, Alakananda and Mandakini, the vibrations from the last prayers concluded, the chirps of the birds slept and the buzz of the brass beetle rose. The sounds were like a wave, not in terms of sound, but in structure; as one sound ended, another began.
As each of us was differently aged, ranging from 13 years old to 70 years young, our energy levels died at different times. As we quietly finished our dinner with only the clink and clank of our steel cutlery and the elders swooped our baggage to make the thumps while dropping our beds into place, I and my cousin were only thinking about ways to not sleep.
As the rugs were put on, and our elders stopped shifting and tumbling in bed, I and my cousin started a soft murmur on how to sneak out, and without much thought, we scooted out with the soft sound of cloth moving under our feet.
As we heard the door shut, not as quietly as we would like it to, the practicality of our situation crept down my spine in the form of a chill. The stillness of the night, the occasional screeches of tyres, and the glimmers of the light were our current company, at least that’s what we thought. And that’s when the ghostly, chilly, invisible almost scary wind blew our hair behind our faces; and our murmur’s returned to reconsider this impromptu decision that we had just taken, but sadly, it was too late to go back.
We sat there whispering about old times, the singing during antakshari and screaming during Dumbsharets, and slowly went on to think about our plans for the days left in the Himalaya’s; Our discussion was interrupted by a loud howl, which we thought was made by a dog in pain, but thinking about it now it could’ve been any wild animal.
As I was struggling to find my point of peace for my sleep through everything in the surrounding, my cousin was already snoring softly wrapped up in the blanket next to me; and there I was left alone with the crickets, beetles and of course the Bollywood styled honks of lorries’ varying from Dhoom Machale to DDLJ. My thoughts were buzzing in my head like bees!I was in a state of total irony in comparison to my surrounding stillness.
As I went zooming past my school, family and friends on a few minutes to recover myself in the situation I actually was, my mind decided to ignore all the sounds close by and raced towards the valley, moving through the trees like dementors (harry potter), and there it was.
The sound of what seemed like joyful water hopping over rocks excited to meet someone! But wait, there was more, there was another similar yet distinct sound, more towards the right maybe? Was it the same source of water through a different path or were there two?
After a few minutes of continuous listening, I concluded there were two different ones. I also concluded that the one on the left was lighter, maybe purer?
As I dozed off to dream about many more sounds, my last thought was, do the two different sounds mean that one is more original than the other?