Oh no! This is the road to hell ...

The roads in Uttarakand are straight out of hell.  The winter had just come to an end and the landslides had  almost killed the roads.  The lives of  people using the road were hanging in some balance that swayed between death and life.  But our driver was oblivious to this risk and had a whistle on his lips as his hands held the wheel casually.  The tyres were flying by the edge and in some places the road was not underneath one of the back tyres.  There were a number of messages exchanged and transactions made during the whole journey and not all of them seemed legal.  Cans filled with Diesel got in at one place and the contents of the can got into the vehicle at other places.

Some where during the journey, a board on the side of the road screamed

Road is hilly

Don't drive silly

But for a person born and brought up in that area, hills seemed silly.  Our driver drove happily, oblivious of the traffic, the fallen rocks, the sheer drop running all along the road and all those overtaken drivers' abuses.  He had total disdain for all those "fools from other states" anyway.  Any non-UK or UA registered vehicle was honked right out of the road.  Our driver honked and honked at an Innova with Delhi registration that had Congress emblems painted all across but got back no reaction.  So he suddenly swerved the vehicle to the right, overtook the Innova and shoved our vehicle right in front of the Innova.  The Congress-wala did not seem to be used to this kind of treatment.  He ranted out phrases with the C-word and started chasing our vehicle.  The silent and beautiful Bhagirathi valley turned into a dusty and noisy zone.  The Dilli-congresswala was no match for our local daredevil though.  Our man did not let the Congress guy overtake and continued overtaking vehicles in the most brazen manner.  Soon the chaser gave up and some quietness sneaked into the valley again.

Just before the final leg of the journey, our driver suddenly stopped the car and got out.  It was dark by now and our destination was only a few KMs away.  A little later some one got in and we were all intoxicated with the smell of alcohol.  A much older man sat on the driver's seat.  Our good old but young driver was at the back of the vehicle.  The old man started the vehicle, strained his neck, peered into the darkness and got the vehicle moving.  The roads were empty but the driver kept honking continuously.  As in the movie "Sixth Sense" maybe he "saw dead people".   Soon the old and new driver started a loud conversation that ran diagonally across the vehicle.  As it was in Garhwali, we only could understand a few words here and there but it seemed to be about some uncles, aunts and their neighbours.  The old man on the wheel clearly had a lot of difficulty in keeping up with the conversation and driving but he plodded on bravely.  Of course, most of us did not share the same amount of braveness and were all praying to all the Gods we were aware of.  The Gods obviously heard us quite clearly after all we were so close to them at that height.  A few meters from the destination the vehicle stopped and the drunk old driver got off.

The younger fellow got back in and we continued our journey.  The old man was his uncle, a bus driver returning home.  "Being a bus driver he has difficulty in driving these smaller vehicles.  It must have been tough for him" said the driver.  "Then why did you let him drive the vehicle?" I asked with a shiver.  "Just like that" came the response with a big smile.

When Gods wake up

I woke up that morning with the realization that I had known about the village and what happened to it for a long time now.  It was in one of those remote folds of my brain and that night it decided to flow to a visible place.  The village was situated by a mountain which was ominously named the Gurram.  The name was put in with a reason; the mountain rumbled all the time.  The villagers had always felt the rumble but were never scared of it.  They thought that mountain god, Asila slept underneath and the rumble were his snores.  For the villagers, Asila was the God of creation.  He created the world and then dug a hole threw some earth over him and slept.  He kept himself warm and the warmth saved the villagers from the bitter winter that lasted almost round the year.  The warmth, rumble and the mountain made the village a beautiful place and over the years the village grew large enough to be called a town.

One fine day in the year 4389 as per the village priest's calendar, the ground started shaking.  It shook just enough to upset the people but the houses were not damaged.  The rumble grew louder and the shakes grew stronger as the days passed.  The villagers assembled in the priest's hall and expressed their worry to the priest.  "Asila is waking up and he is not aware of our presence.  Someone needs to inform him." said the priest.  The villagers looked at each other in bewilderment.  "But only you can talk to Asila, oh holy one!" blurted a voice.  Everyone else nodded their heads in agreement.  A disturbed expression crept into the priest's face.  With thunder in his voice he said "I am Goda who was made with Asila.  Asila the great and I do not deal with these mortal thoughts.  We do not talk these things.  It is for people who live and die.  Asila and I don't die and cannot talk about these things.  One of you has to go to the top of the mountain and let Asila  know of our presence.  You decide who will do it".  The bewilderment increased as they did not know how to converse with God or for the matter how to even meet the God.

"But how can we meet Asila?  How can we make him understand?" asked the crowd.  "One of should go around the mountain and climb up to the top.  When you reach there Asila will show you the way." replied the priest.  "In the meanwhile, I have to do some penance to try and  placate the God.  During this time, I will not be visible to you.  But don't worry I am taking care of it all." continued the priest.  The villagers had many things to worry about now - the priest will not be there, one of them has to meet up with Asila and they really did not know how to go about doing this.  The big question was, of course, who should meet Asila.  The obvious choice was the village head man's illegitimate son.  He was considered a nice guy - so nice that a lot of people thought he was an idiot.  The village head man and his honchos were not happy with his illegitimacy being known to all anyway.  So he ended up being the unanimous choice.  The person in question, Konio, had no choice but to nod his head in agreement with a sheepish smile.

That night Konio was sent out of the village through the eastern gate.  At the same time, the village priest slipped out of the western gate.  The next morning, Konio started climbing the hill from the eastern side.  A few minutes into the climb, he heard a loud explosion and the earth shook under his feet like a leaf.  Stones started rolling down the hill.  Konio ran down the mountain to save himself from the falling rocks.  He ran back to his village.  When he went round the mountain  he found that the complete western side of the mountain had caved in, the village had disappeared and river of fire was flowing through the place where the village had existed.  Konio sat down and cried - He had failed, Asila had risen and his village was destroyed.