Murguma, a frozen Music (Part-I)

"Listen to the mountain wind, brother.", said Subho da, "Isn't it melodious"? "The Symphony of Breeze . . .!", I said. "Perfect wordings.", said Subho da, climbing on that hill top on his motorcycle. Subho da lives at Begunkodor, which is not so far away from Murguma. Well though Begunkodor is well known for its ghost stories, it has also a legacy of the Raas Mancha which contains 108 doors in total. Subho da, my elder brother was like my guide on my way to Murguma. In fact he was the one to introduce me to that abode of pristine Mother Nature. It was a Sunday. May be one of the craziest Sundays I have ever come across. I was sitting on my system at my home, trying to make a proper PPT Presentation for my group project in College. Within that storm of boredom Subho da's call rang on my phone like a iris of hope. He asked what the heck was I doing then. As I replied he said, "Drop those bullshits, take your camera, catch a bus for Begunkodor and come to my place. We visit Murguma & Bamni Pahar today".

A little introduction of Subho da is needed here in order to proceed further. He was just another stranger, of whom I don't give a shit, in my life. One day on a bookshop I went to buy this book of Paulo Coelho, and just beside me he was trying to buy something interesting. That was our first meet. Little chat and all of a sudden he became one of the important persons in my life. We don't talk much. But when we do we plan weird stuffs like, planning a trip for Nabadwip just on the eve of Janmashtami on bike. So when Subho da called I put on my shoes and caught the bus for Begunkodor. But I still had no idea, what was waiting for me there.



Our Ride Up Revealed Such Beauty


Against the waves, with our swords in our hands
Against the sea, with our backs to the walls
Against distress, in the presence of our enemies
Against the storms, roaring at our faces

A cry rang out throughout the skies
A beckon, the flight of the cranes

The call of the mountains
The call of the Alps
The call home
The tune in our hearts
The song of the mountains


My Bamni Pahar was no less than the Alps. May be its an emo talk, but I just hummed these lines in front of that Hill. I get off the bus and there Subho da was waiting with his motorcycle. With him we reached the place. Amidst of all stupid things of the human world, Bamni Pahar and the Murguma Dam stood still. Bamni pahar, an extension of the Ayodhya Hill range, a protector of them who seek his shelter, a Yogi immersed into a trance. Subho da didn't stop his bike. We were going up and I was waiting for him to stop. As we continued to ride up the views around me was getting more and more exciting. Subho da said, "watch the cliffs beside our path. One mistake in drive and none will ever find our corpses". Right he was but I had no problem with that. Because if that great hill wishes to have me as His offering He can. It would be my pleasure if my mortal body would anyhow pleases Him.


(to be continued . . . .)
Splashes of Colors Around

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