The Tiger's Nest

As I sit here before my laptop, all I can think about is how much I want to simply switch it off and literally take a hike. And then I find myself thinking about my most memorable trek in Bhutan, to Paro Taktsang. My college had organised a trip to Bhutan in 2010. We were an eclectic bunch of around 25- some were adventure seekers, some were skilled shoppers, some nodded off during meals and others griped about being so far away from their fluffy pillows. Nevertheless, we were all up early in the morning and had our bus drop us to the base of the mountain. Then our journey of over 2300 feet began.

The group took off, mostly walking in pairs and chattering enthusiastically all the while. I took the opportunity to distance myself from my friends and take in my surroundings as I walked. I could see the monastery, a small white structure with brown roofs, partially hidden by a thin veil of mist, from where I stood. I started my climb. It was the first time in my life that I felt as though I had truly left everything behind. No phone calls plagued me and nobody heckled me with incessant talk, allowing me to go ahead and leave civilization as I knew it behind.

I had never seen leaves looking as fresh as they did here. The flowers were painted with such clarity that it seemed as though someone had put an extra lens in front of my eyes and told me that I needed new glasses. I could make out each petal, which stood sharply against the brown and green background. The plants and the little beetles and even the rocks looked so happy breathing in the utterly unadulterated air. The air was untouched. Accompanying me part of the way were only two massive dragonflies. The only time I could actually discern their red and golden papery wings was when they paused to perch on a stem. When they regained their strength after a minute’s rest, they took off and zipped around each other as though on a miniature roller- coaster. Presently, they took leave of me and shot off into the distance. Those tiny, beautiful creatures were truly free.

I walked ahead, pausing to run my fingers along the tiny streams that skipped over smooth grey rocks. After about an hour and a half, I came upon a precariously built bridge. It looked as though it had been through a lot. But I saw monks and even little boys crossing the bridge with about as much fear as one would have while walking on a mattress. So I crossed it, occasionally looking down to see the infinite stretch of green. And then began the real climb. A stairway was fashioned out of the steep rock, each step being at least a foot high. I ploughed on and soon lost count of the number of stairs I climbed. Behind me, I could hear a faint chanting of ‘toned thighs, remember, toned thighs’.

We finally reached the monastery. Perched atop a cliff, it threatened every bit to fall right off it. But I can think of no better place for a monastery to be situated at. Below us were expanses of tiny trees and rocks and ground. Thin, cottony clouds zipped around, past and through us as we watched, all in silence. The breathtaking glory of nature compelled us to watch, breathe and listen in awe. The air was full of sounds of the wind swirling, of crickets chirping and of the fluttering of the colourful flags.

-Mansi Sheth


P.S.- Our next trip to Bhutan is happening on the 8th of December, 2013. To sign up, write to us at theexplorersindia1990@gmail.com or give us a call on 022-22004774/5.