"That man has reached immortality who is disturbed by nothing material. " ~ Swami Vivekananda

Sacred Space: Reflections

Call of the Mountains

Romola Butalia shares her love of the Himalayas - mountains that call her, mountains where she belongs, mountains where she finds and energises herself.

I return to the mountains again and again to trek, to climb, to wander and to be still; to find myself, so easily, so joyously, when I return to where I belong. There I find, without even an awareness of seeking, that I am...forever am.

I remember the blue skies and the valley below me, the river flowing and the mountain ahead of me. I can see the distant snow-clad peaks, the changing hues of the seasons, the sunsets I watched every day of the three years I lived where I will always see myself in my mind's eye. I remember the mountains and the forests....and how did I forget the streams? The streams are a rhapsody, for in them I can hear the song of life - the melody, the verse, the measure, and I am mesmerized. Yet somehow I do not hear the hymn, I do not heed the words because I am the tune and the chant, until the stream itself awakens me.


Masters & Sages
Guru Gorakhnath

Pilgrim Trails
Kailash Yatra

Almora It was a time of joy, a time of recognition, a time of realisation. It was a time of purity; of finding without seeking; of knowing without learning. It was a time of youth and it was the time of Truth. It was a time of freedom, a time of consciousness, it was the time of being.

In the morning mist, the sun peeped through: gentle, enveloping. In the night sky, I could have sworn Infinity stretched forever. The days were long and the nights were young.

With the coming of spring, the jacarandas were a violet haze, the rhododendrons were a flaming red and the hillside was covered with the promise of a new beginning. In the summer, the chameleons played, the woodpeckers tapped, the cicadas serenaded and the drying hay became the colour of the afternoon sun. Then came the rains, beating down on tin and slate roof, dried by the sun that played hide and seek with the clouds. The rainbow was the promise of to-morrows untold. The sunsets were of a myriad hues. Autumn brought the quiet of maturity; of the clear vision of unclouded skies and the call of those high peaks I watched from a distance. The winter was mine; the cold winds embraced me, the white snows hid me; why, the winter was surely mine.

AlmoraAnd through the nuances of every hour of the day I knew who I am in the changing faces of the day and the darkness of the night. When I left I knew that I had held all of life in the palm of my hands. And now I share my mountains with those who trek, who climb, who wander, as I have done...to seek, to find...

Home | Back | Top | Feedback

Editor: Romola Butalia       (c) India Travelogue. All rights reserved.