A Mystic Encounter

See the beauty of the Great Himalayas through my words with a different perspective.

Diary Entry
Date: 29/8/2007
Time: 9:30 PM

After months of postponing this trip, I finally made it.

From the endless noise of Delhi to the silent embrace of the Himalayas, the journey itself felt like shedding layers of burden.

The train ride was fantastic — forests, bridges, and rivers but the mountain roads were rough and unforgiving.

As the plains disappeared behind me, concrete slowly gave way to pine forests, steep valleys, and winding roads carved into mountains older than memory itself.

By the time I reached the village near Munsiyari, evening had settled.

And there they were.

The mountains.

Snow-capped peaks standing far beyond the valley, glowing pink beneath the fading sunlight.

Majestic.

Silent.

Unbothered by human existence.

No photograph could do justice to that first sight.

I am staying at my friend’s grandfather’s house.
It was an old, clay house patched with stone and logs.
A rich aroma of pine resin filled the surroundings.

My friend has been chained to his office for some reason.

So Dadaji came to pick me up from the road with his khachar.

Tall and strong for his age, yet gentle—
A warm man with weathered skin and wise eyes.

He welcomed me as if I were family.
Hot chai in hand, we sat outside his house.
I passed him a cigarette as he finished his bidi.
His eyes narrowed, then with a smile, he accepted one.
While we smoked, village children gathered around us, fascinated by my camera.

They asked endless questions.
“What is this button for?”
“How far can this zoom?”
“Will you photograph us too?”

I laughed.

I walked around the village with them, taking photos.
Old stone houses, Prayer flags, Yaks, Birds and
Everything.

Children in cities are curious too.
But mountain children carry something different in their eyes.
Stillness.

The village was very lively and the villagers, so simple and caring yet their eyes were scanning every inch.

At night, Dadiji prepared a feast—two kinds of sabzi, roti, different pickles, and chutneys.

Tonight, as I write this, I feel lighter.
Maybe distance from the city helps.
Maybe mountains do something to the mind.
Tomorrow I head into the forest.
Let us see what nature chooses to reveal.

.....
 

Diary Entry
Date: 30/8/2007
Time: 9:00 pm

I woke before sunrise.
Cold air.
Complete silence.

After washing up, I sat for my morning sadhana.
Mala in hand.
Breath steady.
Mind slowly settling.

It felt as if a part of me dissolved into the mountains.

Afterward, Dadaji insisted I visit the local shrine before entering the forest.
“Mountain forests are old… and protected,” he said.
“Respect what lives there.”

At one end of the village, higher than the rest, stood a shrine of the guardian deity.
According to local folklore, the deity is the true owner of these mountains and forests.

I bowed before the deity and offered my prayers.

Back at the house, I checked my bag one final time.
Camera body.
Telephoto lens.
Backup battery.
Permit.
Water.
Dry fruits.
Instant noodles.
Portable stove.
Tea.
Cigarettes.

Making sure I had forgotten nothing.
Everything seemed in order.

Around 10:30, I prepared to leave.

Dadaji stopped me.
His voice became serious.
“Return before the mountains fade their color.”

I smiled.
“I will.”

He stared a second longer.
“The forest changes after sunset.”
I laughed lightly and began walking.
But his words stayed with me.

As I walked toward the forest, the rocky path gradually turned into dirt.

Just before the treeline stood a tiny shrine wrapped in ropes, with bidis placed around it.
Silently, I lit a cigarette and placed it beside the bidis.
Thinking, "Maybe the god liked it."

The forest welcomed me with birdsong.
Sunlight filtered through tall trees.
I photographed whatever caught my eye.

Birds.

Moss.

Butterflies.

Tree bark.

Tiny movements most people ignore.
Hours passed unnoticed.
That is the danger of beauty.
It steals your sense of time.

And before I realized—
I was lost.
No trail.
No marker.
No human sound.
Only forest.

Fog had begun gathering near the ground.
It rolled around my boots like pale smoke.
The deeper I walked, the quieter everything became.
Even the birds had stopped singing.

Then suddenly—
The dense forest opened.
I stopped.
Before me lay a hidden lake.

Still.

Silent.

Unreal.

Dense clusters of trees encircled it, as if guarding a secret.
The flowery scent engulfed the shore, chattering of birds from clusters.

Beyond the lake, snow-covered mountains stood beneath the afternoon sky.

The sunlight had painted them golden.

Their reflection on the still water was so perfect it felt as though the world had turned upside down.

Near the shore stood a wooden bench.

Old.

Broken.

Weathered by time.

And on that bench—
Sat a girl.

Young.

Wearing traditional attire.

White.

Faded.

Transparent.

Sunlight passed through her body as if she were made of mist.

She raised her hand.
Calling me closer.

Oddly—
I felt no fear.
Only curiosity.

A strange thought crossed my mind.
If she wanted to kill me, she could already do it.

So I walked toward her.
As I reached the bench, the air felt different.
Lighter. Yet heavier.

The view somehow changed.
The mountains appeared closer.
Brighter.
More vivid.

As if reality itself had sharpened.

I sat beside her.
She was beautiful.
Not merely in appearance.
There was something serene about her.
Ancient and youthful at once.

After a moment, she spoke.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?”

I looked at her.
“Will that save me?”

She blinked.
Then smiled.
“You’re interesting.”

I shrugged.
“So… what exactly do you intend to do with me?”

She looked at the lake.
“Nothing much.”
“Just some talks.”

A small smile appeared.
“It’s not usual talking to humans.”

I raised an eyebrow.
“So people fear you?”

She stayed silent for a moment.

Then nodded.
“Not everyone can see me.”
“But those who do…”

She looked down.
“They ran away.”

“Rumors erupt.”
“And somehow I get blamed for things I never did.”

Sadness crossed her face.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack.

I offered one.
“Care to join?”

She looked at it.
Then smiled.
“Why not?”

I lit mine first.
Then hers.

Smoke rose between us and vanished into the mountain air.

After a while, she asked—
“What brings you here?”
“You’re not from around.”

I exhaled smoke.
“No.”
“I’m from Delhi.”

I pointed toward my camera.
“I came to capture the beauty of these mountains through my lens.”

Her eyes widened at the sight of the camera.
For the first time, nostalgia appeared on her face.

“That…”
She whispered.

“That hit me with nostalgia.”

I frowned.
“nostalgia?”

She nodded.
“A group of foreign researchers once came here.”
“They studied wildlife.”
“I guided them through these forests for three months.”

Her expression softened.
“As a parting gift, they gave me a camera.”

She smiled faintly.
“Old. Worn down.”
“But precious.”
“They told me they’d return after three years.”

“They said I better capture good photos for them.”

I studied her face.
Concern rose within me.
“So…”
“Something happened during that time?”

Her eyes widened slightly.

Then she pointed across the lake.
Toward a tree.

It stood taller than all others nearby.
Its trunk thick.
Roots deep.
As if it had claimed the earth beneath it.

She asked softly,
“Can you see that tree?”

I answered, “Yes.”

Her voice became calm.
“That’s where I died.”

Silence.
Even the wind seemed to stop.

She continued.
“I was lying there.”
“Camera in hand.”
“Photographing birds playing in the lake.”
“The mountains were behind them.”

She smiled faintly.
“It was a perfect frame.”

Then the smile vanished.

“Suddenly…”
“Something struck from behind.”

Her hand moved slowly to her back.
“A pair of claws ripped into me.”

I stayed silent.

She touched her neck.
“Then jaws pierced my throat.”
“My body collapsed.”

A long pause.

“And then…”

“I drifted apart from my body.”

She looked at the lake.
“As if I were watching from somewhere else.”

Her voice softened.
“I saw her.”
“A snow leopard.”
"Skin tight over bone."
"Ribs clearly visible."
"Starving."

I expected bitterness.
Hatred.
Fear.
Instead she said—

“I was angry.”
“Sad.”
“Confused.”

Then she smiled.
“But all of that was overshadowed…”
“By relief."

I turned toward her.
“Relief?”

She nodded.
“That she could survive.”

I stared at her.

She continued.
“She was hungry.”
“Desperately hungry.”
“If not me…”

“Perhaps she would have died.”

Smoke drifted upward from her cigarette.

Her gaze remained fixed on the tree.

Only then did I understand.
The tree.
Her body had fed the soil.
The soil fed the roots.
The roots fed the tree.
She had never truly left this place.

She had become part of it.

I spoke quietly.
“That is nature.”

She looked at me.

I continued.
“My Guruji once told me—”
“If you accept the good side of existence…”
“You must also accept the bad.”
“Both are just opposite sides of vajra.”

I looked toward the mountains.

“Life and death.”
“They walk together.”

She studied me silently.

As if measuring something unseen.

Then she exclaimed,

“Your thoughts reflect your understanding… maybe that is why you can see me.”

A pause.

Smoke from our cigarettes intertwined in the air.

Birds chattered in the distance.
Unreal aroma settled there like field of rose.
Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy.

Cold.
Still.
Majestic.

She leaned closer to me.
"You know."
“Some time ago, a few people came here.”
“With telescopes, maps, and other instruments.”
“I did not hear their full conversation…”
“But one word came through clearly.”

“A cottage.”

She smiled while taking another drag.
“Now they won’t spare this lake.”
“These trees.”
“This bench.”

I grew concerned.
“So they will disturb the land.”
“The plants will fade.”
“The animals will change their routes.”
“And slowly…”

“The forest will be lesser in the forest.”

I exhaled slowly.
"It's funny."
"How we come to admire nature but end up destroying it."

We both released a long breath of smoke.

Then I continued.
“At the same time…”
“The village will develop.”
“The locals may earn more.”
“They may live better.”

I smiled faintly.

She looked at me sharply.

“But what did the forest gain?”

"People come here."
"Chop branches."
"Hunt for food."
"Clear land for homes."

"But what do they return to forest?"

“The older generation knew better.”
“But the same can’t be said for this one.”

Her eyes widened with anger.

Was it anger for the forest?
Or grief for fading culture?

Only she knew.

I wanted to answer, but I didn’t feel like I was allowed.
It felt as if the forest itself restrained my tongue.
As if something whispered into my ear—

“You don’t know enough.”

I stared at my shoes lost in thoughts.
I looked down, searching for the right words.

“Hey, look!”
Her voice snapped me back.

She pointed toward the opposite side of the lake.
I followed her finger.

And saw—
A snow leopard with two cubs.
Majestic, like snow take a living form.

“She is the granddaughter of the same one who killed me.”
She spoke softly.
Captivated by the cuteness of the cubs.

I too was captivated.

It was a perfect photograph.
In the background stood white mountains tinted gold.
Behind them, dense woods.
At the sides, small yet striking flowers.

And in the center—
The Ghost of the Himalayas with two cubs, reflected in the lake like beings from a divine realm.

I lied on the ground.
Then fixed my camera.

Centered the frame.
She spoke excitedly.

“You are more excited than I am.”
I gently poked her.

“Oh, come on—”
“Hmnh.”
She puffed her cheeks in resentment.

"Well. She is a teenager at heart", I guessed.

I adjusted the camera.

Focus check.
Noise check.

Then—
I saw her through the lens.
A beautiful picture.
One worthy of a national award.

But then my finger froze.

I saw her.
Our eyes met.
A snowy aura surrounded her.
Words at my disposal were not sufficient.

I lowered the camera.
And saw her with my own eyes.

White.
Mystic.
Adorable.

And then, in a flash, all three vanished back into the forest.

“You didn’t take the photo?”
She asked with concern.

I smiled.
“I think my lens would fail to capture the beauty I saw with my naked eyes.”

She smiled.
“So, you feel that too.”

She extended her hand toward me as I rested on the ground.
'typical for photographers.'

I held her hand.
Misty soft.
The kind that felt as if it could break even from touch.

Surprisingly—
I could hold it.

As I stood, she closed the gap between us.

She ran her fingers over my cheek.
Soft like cotton, earthy scent.

Then leaned closer and whispered—
“You know, night is approaching. You should go.”
“I am not the only one in this forest.”

Then she playfully drifted backward.
But I grabbed her wrist and pulled her over and whispered in her ear gently—
"And you are not the first one I encountered."
I released my grip on her.

Then she raised her hand toward a narrow path between the trees. Blushing.
“Follow that and you’ll reach the way out.”

Annoyed, I packed my bag and asked her one last question.
“Will we meet again?”

She smiled.
“Who knows?”

I walked along the path she showed.
Without turning back.

The forest grew darker.
The mist faded with each step.

Finally—
I was out.

I took out my cigarette box and counted the cigarettes.
Then muttered—
“Hm… she did smoke one.”

And returned to Dadaji’s house.
After dinner, I stood on the balcony of my room, thinking.
What had I encountered today?
It felt as if the forest itself had spoken to me.
I thought I had to write a book… or perhaps a story about it.
I wrote the full encounter in my diary so time couldn't erase it.
And guess what?

I already had the perfect name for the story.

“A Mystic Encounter.”

The End.

Bhairavkalike namostute.




Glossary of Indian Words & Terms Used in the Story

1.Bhairavkalike namostute - A Sanskrit invocation, likely meaning "Salutations to Bhairav and Kali" or "I bow to the ultimate Goddess". Used as the closing mantra of the diary entries.

2.Bidi - A thin, hand-rolled cigarette made of tendu leaves, popular in rural India. Smoked by Dadaji and offered to the spirit.

3.Chai - Indian spiced tea (usually with milk, ginger, cardamom). Offered by Dadaji upon arrival.

4.Dadaji - Respectful term for paternal grandfather. The elderly host and friend’s grandfather.

5.Dadiji - Respectful term for paternal grandmother. The woman who prepared the feast.

6.Guruji - Respected spiritual teacher or guru. Referred to in the philosophical conversation.

7.Khachar (Khachchar) - Mule (a cross between horse and donkey), commonly used for mountain transport. Dadaji picked up the narrator with his mule.

8.Mala - String of prayer beads used for meditation or chanting (similar to a rosary). Used during morning sadhana.

9.Munsiyari - A remote village in the Pithoragarh district of Uttarakhand, near the Himalayas. Destination village.

10.Roti - Flatbread made from whole wheat flour, staple Indian bread. Part of the dinner feast.

11.Sabzi - Cooked vegetable dish/curry. Part of the dinner feast (two kinds prepared).

12.Sadhana - Spiritual practice or discipline, often involving meditation, chanting, or yoga. Morning practice in the mountains.

13.Vajra - Sanskrit word meaning "diamond" or "thunderbolt"; symbolizes indestructibility and the union of opposites in spiritual contexts. Used metaphorically for life and death.