The Boat in the Mountains

(from the terrains of NIT Rourkela)

We would ascend close to a hundred steps up the quiet hill, far west in the vast college campus. Around 6.00 in the evening that would be, and at times later. That would bring us ninety minutes of togetherness, and at times lesser. Whereas I would not wear my wristwatch, she would pour pun at my deliberateness by talking in the air: some people think they would stop the clock needle from ticking just by not watching them tick! Adding further that there were people who believed that the world would become dark just because they had decided to shut their eyes! 7.30 pm was when the Ladies' Hostel (LH) would close, and we had to factor in ten minutes for the walk back. This included around four minutes for climb down, another four for the walk along the roads to the LH, and two minutes of grace time lest the gateman reminded her who the boss was! A minute or two of negotiations on most days on when we would meet next—I would be insisting on "tomorrow" every time and she would try to make me settle for "the day after tomorrow if not the day after"—her entry back into the LH would witness a photo-finish between the minute hand of the clock and her foot landing on the other side of the gate. Most days…

The 100-step climb up the hill would get us to that tract of terrain from where the sky appeared nearer and bluer. The hill would extend beyond where we sat, getting steeper up west as though in a hurry to rise. Had it not been for our presence there that it apparently got enchanted with, only the sky would have been its limit! Then that small hump of the stone the non-hump of which lied buried under the earth and which saw us sitting on its either side. With passing days, the winds, the rustle, the twigs, the chirps, the stone beside which we sat, and every other speck in that cradle of nature enthralled us in their midst. "Don't you go" would I hear them cry every time we began our climb down; so would I hear the mountains far north do. And she would respond with a gentle tap on my head every time I checked with her if she heard the same!

Our frequent visits to the territory got it to open and add more and wider horizons to our view list. Very unlike the world confined only to the college campus a mere 100 steps below, this place had in its world, many more stars and vaults and the winds; notable being the mountain far north.

This mountain ran miles, adding vastness to the skyline. And along a breathtaking outline of the mounts, the highland presented a momentary trough as though a boat were carved out from its midst. “A stream up the mountains must have run dry someday, leaving the boat stranded,” she sighed in a tone quivering between calm she wished she could keep, and despair she wished she could let go. They say nature is symbolic of freedom but what we witnessed was chains instead. And at which we decided to believe that there behind the haze from the fogs, the boat was collecting in its belly the dew from the clouds, droplet by droplet. And that one day, someday, it would have enough to pour all down the slope whence it would sail, freeing itself from the clutches of the upland. It is said that belief moves mountains. And there we were, letting our belief fly across to the boat to let the boat know that it was just about time it readied its oars, for the countdown to its long-held journey down the clouds had begun.

From then on, I had an added reason to insist on meeting every evening. For “our presence on the hill far west would be all the more inspiring for the boat in the mountains far north to break free,” ?I would say. She knew all very well that her affirmation would mean that she was giving in to my notoriety; denial, that she wasn't helping the cause. Sitting on my left with hands folded, she looked farther left so as to conceal her smile. Unaware that her smiles were going aerial and pouring on me in fountains!

The college inning was coming to an end.? It wouldn't be long before we left the boat to its fate.

Years later…

When setting out for college many years later, my excitement knew no bounds. Interestingly, when you visit a place you have associated the most happening moments of your life with—be this place the town you were born and grew up in or the college campus where your most riveting memories lie—you don't quite like to see changes. Many bigger buildings on the campus, the very many amenities, and the variety of food across the numerous food courts that have come up in the campus across the years ever since you passed out do not give you that sense of achievement as much as the sight of that broken roller still lying by the side of college ground, catching dust and rust does. The unkempt street in that far corner of the hostel lane makes you feel more at home than the F1 roads (well…) that might have come up at the main entrance!

Besides peeping in every nook and corner of the campus to review what had changed and what had not, it was also about time to assess and see for myself how my wishes and beliefs had fared in freeing the boat off the mountain clutches. With loads of thoughts running in my head—ranging from the ones marinating in my mind for years to many others which I thought I was impervious to until a while earlier, I set myself to visit that terrain up the far west. Would the boat have sailed past the shackles? Would the mountain have grown itself up to fill the opening after the boat sailed away? And amidst all wrangling thoughts, I could feel my legs running cold. What if I found the boat still there? The anxiety seemed taking over the excitement. I remembered my own story of early school days when I had purchased a small broken magnet piece from a friend for 25p. The magnet would cling to the rods, the nails, the hinges, and at which I declared myself a magician. And which everyone in the family approved of! And then one day, I could not locate the piece. From the drawers to the bags and from anywhere to everywhere in the house, my search went in vain. And just when the magician had all but fallen on his knees, I recalled where the magnet lay: under the pillow in the guest bedroom. I ran to the place. But just when I was lifting the pillow to get hold of the magical piece that would make me a magician again, I lay numb. What if I did not find the piece here? A similar thought ran in me this time: What if the boat lay stranded still? And in the race between anxiety and excitement, I could see how anxiety had taken a decisive lead. The excitement ran or at most limped, only to complete formalities.

It's strange how humans, at times in life, create occasions in which only they can decide their stakes. Nobody else can. The success or failure of this expedition meant nothing to anyone else; just so much to me. And all it took to decide whether it was a success or a failure was to climb a few steps up west and look far north. If the boat in the mountains was no longer to be seen, it would mean success. If the boat was still stranded, it would mean failure. And more than failure, it would mean a breach of trust on the part of nature…

A road ran round the college campus. And one would walk past it along a trail to climb the hill up in the west. For now though, as I readied for the climb up, the trail seemed all lost in the land abounding with dense trees. I enquired with the locals about the way up. There was a way but one had to walk east along the college road for considerable length before one could ascend. I did. Fear tried holding me as I climbed up, cautioning me that one more step was all I might take to see the boat capsized in the mountains. Belief, however, kept me ticking, assuring me that I could go on without giving in. I climbed up all beyond which I could not. With no trace of the boat nor of the mountains, it was time to celebrate:? not just boats, beliefs move mountains too…