Tales From Kashmir: A Collection Of Short Stories

The Last Village

Staring down the edge, I saw valleys of barren land. Miles upon miles of no vegetation, just a continuum of dark brown soil interrupted by patches of ice. A mountain goat climbed the almost vertical slant of the mountain, rolling down small rocks as it pushed against the rocky surface. Cold, dry air pierced my lungs, making each breath a struggle. Panting in the thin air, I took in the snow-covered peaks of the mighty Himalayas, their jagged tips piercing the sky like ancient guardians. The serene beauty of the landscape was overwhelming, the silence only broken by the occasional distant echo of falling rocks.

A white Tata Sumo taxi stood fearlessly next to me, its dented and rusted body a testament to the harsh journeys it had endured on these icy roads. The tires, wrapped in big iron chains, clinked with each slight movement. The engine revved, releasing puffs of black smoke into the unblemished environment. The windshield was cracked, and the paint chipped, each mark telling tales of the rugged terrain it had conquered.

"Chalne ka waqt hai!" shouted the taxi driver as we all struggled our way through the snow back to the taxi. "Time to leave! Get in the vehicle," he said with a smile. I opened the front taxi door with my numb hands, feeling the warmth from inside the vehicle embrace me. The driver smiled at me. His endearing smile made him look like the happiest person on earth, but his appearance told a different story. He was lean, with unkempt long hair and a beard. An old dusty fur jacket, patched all over to cover the torn parts, hung on his shoulders. Despite his youth-he couldn't have been more than 25-his eyes carried the wisdom and weariness of someone much older.

"Andar betho. Warna andhera ho jayega," he urged, his voice gentle yet firm. "We have to reach the village before it gets dark."

"Why don't you leave this place?" I asked as we settled into the warmth of the taxi.

"Why do you say so?" He glanced at me, curiosity mingling with a hint of defensiveness.

"I can guess from your looks that you don't make much. Driving down these risky roads daily, you could easily make more and live comfortably in a city."

He replied, "You are right. The union takes the lion's share, and the rest goes in bribing the officials. The remaining peanuts are given to us. This frustrates me too. Once, I worked all day in this brutal weather and, in the end, didn't even have enough to eat properly. The next week, I left for Delhi. Within a few days, I was able to get a job with the help of a Kashmiri businessman based there."

"Why did you return?" I inquired softly, sensing a deeper story.

"Couldn't survive there. The incessant stream of vehicles, the smoke-filled air, the cacophony of cars honking, people shouting, engines revving-it never left me alone in that city." He went silent, focusing on taking a sharp left. Beyond the guardrails, a deep, terrifying valley yawned, but it didn't seem to faze him. "I was born in these mountains. I played in these endless fields where one can run as much as he wants. I watched the snowflakes fall, the first blade of grass grow as the sun melted the snow, and the rivers start flowing to welcome the summers. My mother cooked lamb meat for us while my father worked on these very mountains. During winters, we used to move to villages near Srinagar where there were ample odd jobs for my father to be able to afford two meals for us. I am poor, yes. But can even the richest of you afford the luxuries I have here? I have my problems, but I prefer these problems over living in a cramped room in a city that slowly kills me from the inside and the outside."

This time, it was my turn to remain silent. His words stirred something deep within me. Perhaps true richness lies in the serenity of nature, in the freedom of vast open spaces, and in the strength of enduring hardships in a place one calls home. Was the bustling city life I was accustomed to really a symbol of success, or just another form of imprisonment?

A yelp from behind broke my train of thought as the taxi took another sharp turn. The left back tire slipped over the edge before coming back onto the road. The driver's hands gripped the worn steering wheel with the expertise of someone who had navigated these treacherous paths countless times. The air inside the taxi was a mix of the warmth from the heater and the faint smell of diesel, a stark contrast to the pure, icy air outside.

"Sab thik hai," the driver said reassuringly, glancing at me with a calm smile. "No need to worry, everything is fine." His eyes, though tired, held a certain resilience.

"How long have you been driving here?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Bachpan se," he replied. "These roads are in my blood. I have accompanied my father on these roads from before I could remember."

I nodded, his words and demeanor reflecting deep-seated pride and an unshakable bond with the mountains that had shaped his identity.

The taxi rattled along the uneven snow-covered roads, the chains around the tires clinking rhythmically. "Your father must have been a remarkable man."

The driver smiled wistfully. "He was. He taught me everything I know about these mountains. He used to say, 'Yeh pahaad humare hain, aur hum inke.' He believed that we are a part of this land as much as it is a part of us."

The taxi hit a rough patch, jolting us but the driver skillfully maneuvered around the rocks, his hands steady on the wheel.

"Do you ever wish for a different life?" I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity.

He shrugged, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Sometimes, yes. But then I remember that peace and contentment are not about what you have, but about where you belong. For me, it's here. In these mountains, with this sky above and this earth below."

His words made me reflect on my city life. One day after another passed as we chased the mirage of success that would make us happy: that would make us content. A life where we sacrifice momentary happiness for a greater good. But now, I was coming to terms with the reality that this greater good was just an illusion that we made ourselves believe to fill the hollow in our hearts.

As the taxi continued its journey, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered peaks. The driver pointed to a distant village nestled in the valley below.

"That's where I live," he said with a touch of pride. "A small village, but it's home. My wife and children are waiting for me there. It's the last village of Kashmir."

I watched this dreamlike village with small houses having shiny walls of different colors, snow sliding down the gable roofs as old men sat around a bonfire talking heartily next to the frozen stream. As the village moved closer and the scenery got clearer, I felt pangs of jealousy. This man had everything I ever wanted in life; the hollow dreams chasing which I gave up myself, could be achieved not by sacrificing but by accepting the happiness in the simplicity and smallness of life.

We reached the village just as dusk settled. The driver parked the taxi and turned to me, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Yeh jagah kabhi chhodna mat," I said, surprising myself with the intensity of my words. "This place is a treasure, never leave it."

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Aap sahi kehte hain," he replied softly. "Some treasures are not meant to be traded for gold."

I stepped out of the taxi, feeling the biting cold once more. The driver unloaded my bags and waved goodbye, heading towards his village, disappearing into the warmth of his home.

As I watched him disappear into the warmth of his home, I realized that the true wealth of life lay not in the accumulation of possessions, but in the connection to one's roots and the simple joys of existence. And perhaps, just perhaps, I had found a new perspective in the heart of the Himalayas.

I took a deep breath of the crisp, cold air and smiled. The mountains stood tall around me, ancient guardians that had witnessed countless lives and stories. And now, they had become a part of mine. I stood there entranced by the magnificent Himalayas, their snow-covered peaks shining proudly and high in the bright blue sky. Sempiternal, unmoved by ephemeral pursuits of humanity.