It seems as if mountains too have different moods. Sometimes, the hills stand high; elegant and unyielding towards anyone. The tiny treetops distinctly visible, dotting the defined outline of the hills. The vegetation present on them depicts an uneven carpet roughly laid. They represent an admirable confidence and strength.
But there are days when the mountains are shrouded by a veil of haze, covered by perpetual fog. It seems as if they are reluctant to express just like humans sometimes feel. The mountains seem to retire to their own bubble of mist and fog. A vague outline is sparsely visible as mountains and fog merge and annihilate all boundaries. A breathtaking scene is conjured up as the fog gently wraps the hills in its embrace, gaining a greenish tint by doing so.
Then there are days when after the rain, the hills emerge with a pulchitrudinous appearance. Just like a man emerges with a new glow after battling with his physical and emotional problems. The hills overlook the city with an exquisite charm, bestowing a beautiful glamour upon it. The tops are encircled by tufts of cloud, symbolizing tiaras which shows confidence and renewed strength to battle with the challenges of the world.
It seems as if nature fights.
Just like humans.
We are all the same.
The road was in a critical condition, and the heat of the sun was scorchingly bright and intense. The brain wooed the body to turn back and abandon its quest for the Kargah Buddha but there was some invisible string that tugged the heart forward and encouraged it to complete the journey. After a long twenty minutes of countless guidance by the locals, we finally found ourself on a road that led us deep into the Mountains and indicated that we might be near some untouched site. The landscape was rugged and the vegetation was sparse. Enormous mountains towered over us as we took the turn that revealed the majestic picture of the Buddha carved high on a rugged mountain wall. The details were little yet the image was beautifully carved on brown rock. The Buddha’s image depicted a sense of skilful craftsmanship as the image was drawn on flat rock with no convenient or accessible pathways. What was more interesting was that the image was drawn in the 4/5 century, when these lands were deprived of civilisation and man was not blessed with modern tools and equipment. Hence the image also evokeda sense of mystery. As we neared the mountain and parked the car, a stony track came into sight which was connected to a bridge situated upon the most beautiful waterfall. The waterfall cut itself through the deep curves of the mountains and splashed wildly on rocks and boulders. The whole scene was so intriguing as lush green trees towered over the waterfall in a vast expanse of dry mountains. The water so fiercely gushed forward, spilling droplets on people standing on the bridge. It produced such a soothing sound that caressed the ear drums and produced a foamy illusion that was as white as milk. It could also be metaphorically assumed that milk was flowing over the boulders as the foam being formed on the water was so white and did not have even a single tint of waste or pollution. The waterfall was truly mesmerising as it flowed from an unknown source to an unknown destination!
In this extraordinary garden known as Earth, we humans resemble flowers. Fragile, delicate and astoundingly appealing, we possess our own aura of charm. But as flowers wilt or bloom, so do humans. It was an ordinary day in Syria with the sun dawning upon the valley with its usual grace. People had begun to leave their houses as the sound of the Fajr prayer echoed throughout the valley. While people were busy hastening off to their business, Esther was busy bringing a new life to the world. The pangs of pain had started late at night but as the sun rose, the pain eased and soon Esther lay next to a beautiful baby girl. The baby glowed like a piece of moon brought to the earth but was just as fragile and vulnerable like a little bud of flower, yet to bloom and breakable on the slightest of touch. While the whole house beamed with happiness, suddenly the deafening sound of fighter planes filled the valley with fear. The people of Syria were stricken with terror as they knew what awaited them. The streets of Syria ran red with blood in a matter of seconds as the sky erupted bombs that blew up with a vicious burst, engulfing people’s lives and handing them over to the angel of death. Such was the fate of that new baby whose life had been snatched away like a rose plucked out mercilessly as beauty attracts all but is crushed just as easily. Within seconds the flowers in the garden of god were plucked and left million others wilting in the sorrow of their beloved but the heartless remained untouched.
The journey From Lahore to Islamabad was neverthless gratifying. The view that wrapped you never failed to paint an accurate picture of the season. This time it was spring. Lush green grass bordered the farms and fresh new buds dotted the branches of otherwise naked trees. The heavenly scenery was engulfed in the sweet aura of tulips and Jasmine. Tiny minions of nature abandoned their nests and embraced the new season as the parent sparrows flew to the unknown lands to bring food for their young ones. The brisk wind made the dandelions dance along the rhythm of nature, making them sway amidst the untamed grass. Vibrant colours of honeysuckle painted the branches while releasing an enchanting fragrance. The world was gripped by the essence of spring.
The day had flew by with mostly sunlight darting around but as the Sun set , a new motion enveloped the city and changed the complete scene from a jolly sunny afternoon to a spooky night.
The change in weather was not expected. Suddenly the Windows started rattling. The trees outside started swaying frantically and within seconds the velocity of the wind increased. The leaves rustled with no control and the wind left no stone unturned. The weightless plastic bags were least spared as their ghostly appearances and structure didn’t allow them to endure the strong winds. The wind howled and brought tiny tornadoes of dust to life. The wind was so wild that it banged against the Windows and forced them to rattle. An unusual unsettling feeling gripped the house. The washroom doors opened and closed and the thin paper on the kitchen window moved frantically. After forcefully shutting the Windows, the wind still fought to come In and thus produced shrieking sounds as if lost souls were crying in agony. Soon the wild wind settled and furious rain was welcomed .
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