The Road to Lekeythang

I count myself among an elite group of fortunate people who have been specially blessed by God, for really less known and not so well understood reasons. I was born and brought up at a place that could only be the outskirts of what they call paradise, only more beautiful. Today as I was watching some photographs of Punakha, I remembered the happy school life I spent there. Of all the places in this quaint little town, there were a few that were my favorites. One of those favorites was the road which I walked every day to go to school. Today I suddenly missed that road very much. It was a road from which I have viewed some of the most beautiful things in my life. I was just sitting and trying to recollect my experiences on this road.

My school was at a place called Lekeythang. Punakha High School was exactly a kilometer from home. It used to take about eight to nine minutes to reach school, walking at a very brisk pace. My school was by the side of the road connecting Punakha to Thimphu the national capital. This stretch of road with its surroundings was a beauty in itself. It was cut out of the side of a mountain with a sheer but vegetated drop on one side, into the blue-green waters of the Mo Chhu (Chhu = river in dzongkha) River. On the opposite side, the slope of the mountain bore lush greenery, with some flowering shrubs, on which sweet smelling flowers bloomed in the evening.

This road would be an interesting sight from the distance twice a day; when school going kids in their smart little grey ghos (traditional Bhutanese dress for boys) and blue and grey kiras (traditional Bhutanese dress for ladies) with red collar would troop to school in the morning and back in the afternoon.

It would be a sight to behold when the soft morning sunlight would shine on the beautiful green water and the silvery silt on its far side, giving both an amazing sparkle. By mid morning, the sun would be vertical enough for its rays to penetrate the clear green waters to expose the bed with its well rounded pebbles and boulders, and also the school of trout that would now and then be visible in the clear waters. This is also the ideal time to observe the kingfishers that would perch on overhead branches and swoop down with lightning speed to make their catch. Sometimes on a sunny winter morning, if one is lucky enough, one can even see a family of otters swimming or basking in the sun on the far bank of the river.

On reaching the Black rock (that was the limit till which students were allowed to loiter during breaks on school days), near our school, the swirling waters of another river, the Pho Chhu, would be seen joining the relatively calmer waters of the Mo Chhu. The minty blue turbulence of the Pho Chhu and the green waters of the Mo Chhu would come together at the confluence and give birth to the Puna Tsang Chhu. And just like in any marriage, for the initial hundred to hundred fifty meters, the Puna Tsang Chhu bore evidence of the initial conflict of Mo Chhu’s green and Pho Chhu’s blue, in the form of a different color in each of its halves, before settling down for a uniform greenish color. There was a small chhorten painted in traditional red and white, at the confluence of the two rivers. The word of mouth was that, some ancient lama had prophesied that the day the water level goes above the chhorten; the town would be in danger of submergence.

During the monsoons the picture would change all together. Heavy rain would cause soil to be eroded off the face of the mountains and both the rivers would turn rusty red and then brown. I still remember, during the monsoons when both the rivers would swell up to double their normal volume, I would look fearfully everyday towards the chhorten, to see if it was still there. Seeing it intact, and the prayer flags fluttering, would give me assurance that every thing’s fine. Other than that I would always avoid looking towards the roaring mass of brown and grey water in the monsoons. I have always been afraid of water bodies.

On a moonlit night, the view of this road with the mountain wall on one side and the river, and in fact the entire valley on the other side, poses an ethereal view. It would look as if it has just jumped out of a Byron poem.

She walks in beauty, like the night 

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright 

Meets in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

 Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

It would seem to me that this is the picture Lord Byron had in mind when he penned these lines. The atmosphere would be so surreal and heavenly, that time would come to a standstill. The only signs of any movement in the entire universe would be the constant gushing sound of the Mo Chhu flowing, the chirping of the crickets and the pleasant smell of some wild blossom wafting with the night breeze. It would be like living many lives in just that single moment. Now that I think of it, I realize I am blessed for being a part of numerous such moments; in any other way, my life would have been incomplete.

I have also been on this road on a new moon night during the rainy season. The road, owing to absence of street lights would be pitch dark. Those days one had to have a light to walk comfortably. With the roaring sound of the swollen Mo Chhu on one side and the fear of poisonous snakes on the other, I would always try to walk on the middle of the road to feel safe. Occasionally (the occasions being very rare at such late hours) a vehicle would come with its blazing headlights and I would run, to make the most of the god sent illumination. On such nights the pitch dark water of the river with its angry roaring reminded me of the chasm Coleridge mentions in Kubla Khan. 

“And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing…”

Now that I think of my past life, I feel so grateful to God that I got a life, an opportunity to see this creation of his, its different facets and in multiple forms. This is but just a miniscule part of the beauty of the place I have come to love so much. If I were to extol its beauty in its fullness, I guess one life time of writing would not be enough.