Obeisance to Love

'Yes, you can take this route and through this highway you could reach that monastery...'
Nayan was standing at the front parlour downstairs.
Right opposite him stood Rohit.
He was drawing a route chart on a piece of paper.
He would be going out soon.
Outside the fog and the mist had laid a blanket.
'Are you going there alone?'
Rohit asked.
Nayan tried to look through the glass door.
Fog and mist had made the glass blurry.
'Yes...a monastery visit as it is...they are sleeping...today is a rest day...'

'Take something from the kitchen counter...you would have to make a trek...'
Rohit said, smiling.

'O yes...'

Nayan went out.
The first thing he got outside was the cold sweeping breeze.
'Hope the temperature will rise after few hours ...'
Nayan started walking.
The rough route sketch in his hand.
The mist made visibility poor.
But that's what gave the place a sense of beauty. A solemn grandeur.
The whiff of air had the fragrance of incense bearing trees. He noted how dewdrops glistening at the edge of the leaves were preparing to take a jump to meet the moist earth. He looked ahead.
Up there, half hidden into the greenery could be seen the chortens.
He saw little boys and girls walking past him in groups. They were singing!
Nayan felt like singing too. He remembered the hotel where he had coffee on the terrace.
He remembered the face of that old man who used to bring him his coffee and sandwiches. He remembered those big colorful umbrellas which were fixed at the centre of the tables placed on the terrace of the hotel.

And he remembered that piece of ms which that man in red orange robe gave him to have a look at once.
His face.
His eyes.

Nayan walked.
Jeeps and four by fours were going past him.

Finally after almost one hour and half he reached the gate of the monastery.
He pushed it open. It made a screeching sound. The sound though not loud, was enough to create a stir.
There he stood at the courtyard of the monastery. Pigeons he found hopping.
Wooden pillars with riot of colorful engravings stood there holding the sloping roof of the main building.

He dropped down and kissed the ground
and muttered obeisance.

He had to.
For he had made a contract with the Beauty of Peace.
He had to.
For he had known how it could give rise to Love.
A kind of Love that finds no distinctions made and thrust by men upon men.
A kind of love that keeps him home.
A kind of Love that keeps him away too.

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