And
if you start missing hustle and bustle
of the cities, stroll through the centre
of the town, watching the world over
a steaming glass of chai.There are little
chances of boredom. This was the resort
of Gods, remember?
The river reflects the mood of the valley.
A gentle, gurgling flow through most
of the spring; a raging, angry torrent
in the monsoons; and then setting in
for the winter, along with the entire
valley folk, as the chills force even
the vapours to halt their activity.
This
is the Beas. Capable of showing emotions
as varied as the man. It is named after
Vyas, none other than the one who captured,
perhaps, the entire range human emotion,
in the immortal epic, The Mahabharata.
Long before the road was created, taking
you through its breath- taking journey,
the path existed. Along same precipitous
gorge, cut a thousand feet by the river,
meandering through the same meadows criss-
crossed by crystal streams, and into
the same deodar forests, whose majestic
upward sweep is checked only by brilliant
azure skies, girdled by snowy peaks.
This is the end where, since time immemorial,
the Gods themselves come to rest.
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