Each family owns a piece of farm – growing maize, rice and seasonal vegetation. On that very occasion, I come across farmers harvesting maize and I could not resist the temptation of giving them a hand. Those songs of harvest, the air fluttering those chorus, mud on the hands, and wet feet – all with which remind me that life, sometimes, is made out of episodes – so short and momentous – that we forget to think of life itself, and live within it. Such moments, episodes are invariably the ones that leave deeper impressions on our minds and hearts, and last longer than any mundane year. There was little I shared verbally with the farmers, except few smiles and some water to drink. But I realize those smiles are more strongly held in the soft corners of my mind than any spoken words since the morning.
Read Previous Blogs:
Tamang Heritage Trail, Langtang – Nagthali Part I
Nagthali – Part II
After the harvest, the farmers suggest me to visit the old gompa of the village at a hilltop. I was never good at facts or history in high school. In fact, dates and numbers caused me to hallucinating dreams of mustard flowers baking in the sun. And the gompa offered me just that – broken scriptures, dampened architecture, and the big prayer wheel. I offer my respect with seven rotations of the wheel. But what the farmers did not mention was the viewpoint beyond the gompa. It is as if the viewpoint projects a “mini” view of what Nagthali does. The tease factor is herewith me to stay for another couple of hours before I collapse in the laps of Nagthali.
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