On the way there are about half a dozen unknown caves, caves and hill villages. The extent of hospitality we are accustomed to seeing in urban life can be overwhelmed by the hospitality here.

In the midst of the running time and busyness, I like the charibeti from head to toe, with a bottle of water and a dry blanket under my armpit. Not less than the slave. The exit, of course, cannot be denied. If I don't come out after a few days, I also get hives, so for the time being I have turned around and paid attention to writing this Upanishad, how much juice or sight the reader will get, of course, is the result of their own deeds.

Feeling restless nowadays sometimes. McLeodganj came to mind just thinking about what to do, where to go and who to go to. In the face of a friend heard long ago, in the lap of that miraculous Nagadhiraj, the primitive call of a quiet town is like the lofty call of a lonely emperor.

Primitive silent jungle. Late night is the time to stay in the dark. The sharp call of the nocturnal bird that floats at night awakens the shiver. There are no red eyes, no cows, no legal papers. There is only wild generosity, the sweet hospitality of the people of the mud-walled house, some outcast gray-haired rabbits, Indian leopards and some flat-eyed calm smiles.

Some ancient Gothic British architecture can be seen on the way to McLeodganj through Dharamshala. The wonder palace of hanging old Gothic sculptures. As if laughing silently and saying: Come and see my beauty, my virginity. The calm-buried form of Giriraja within reach is a tangible symbol of crushing the ego of mankind. You can't look at that naked beauty for long. The smoky mountain range just poured cold fire into the blood.

Advent song in the morning sun. Sargam of a thousand wild birds will also take the extreme Bersik to the lap of infinity, to the edge of infinity. Childhood will be reminded of Tuntuni's desperate attempt to become a husband and the naughtiness of a pet chicken in the lap of a mountain child. As the day progresses, the mind flies towards the small billing (small town, purpose flying). A vision of heavenly life for about 45 minutes, at a very high altitude one feels very small. The towering palm of the Himalayas in front is like intoxication, below, far below the toy family.

It doesn't take long to get straight from billing. The four-hour trek ends at Trikunda. On the way there are about half a dozen unknown caves, caves and hill villages. The extent of hospitality we are accustomed to seeing in urban life can be overwhelmed by the hospitality here. There is no way out. As if after many days, the mother has arranged the son's favorite dish. Tears come to my eyes when I see the life philosophy of the mountain monks and the strict discipline of finding the source of life.

In the dead light of the last afternoon, in the lap of the Himalayas, in the sound of the cool pine, and in the light of the candle, the kneeling life in front of the Tathagata wants to know the primitive secret of creation. Away from the modern city, in the lap of the hills, in the evening, slowly but surely. Sitting on a straw bed, the old man told the story of his youth. The British were leaving the country then. At that time, one of the gentlemen-duhita had color in his mind. It was said that the letter would come across the seven seas. Before the letter reaches the mountain after crossing so many paths, the festival of autumn begins in the mountains, with the yellow leaves, the letter may still be flying on the top of a hill. The mountain youth of that day is numb today. But in the realm of the mind, love still comes out, sometimes man, sometimes or for the purpose of that Creator.

Deep in the night, the Himalayan youth. Rashi Rashi Thakath is like a sixteen-year-old who has just bathed in ice like cotton. Apapabidhya is one class nine. The red-blue-brown flag with the name of Lord Buddha flying on the head of the tong is like his vigilant guard. It doesn't take long for dawn, in a few hours Arun Alo's pool appears, in front of that fireplace of Raktapalash, as if the teenager seen that night surrenders invisibly to everyone. Another new day address is written in their meeting. The wings rumbled. Aparajita, full of strong purple scent, shook her head at the joy of dew.

On the way back, the body is touched by an unknown love. Looking back at the bend of the bar, the abandoned cave, as if a magnificent man was standing with his hands raised to pull him to his chest. He cannot be ignored. The story of his life cannot be forgotten. The touch of one night's soft love also burdens the hardened mind.

How to get there: By train from Kolkata to Delhi.

Dharamsala (Himachal Pradesh) is about 10 hours by bus from Delhi.

1 hour jeep or private car from Dharamsala to McLeodganj.

Approximate cost of a 3 day trip: Rs. 5,000 including hotel

(I don't stay at the hotel, I carry my own tent so I can't afford the hotel)

Where to visit: Trikunda, Tibetan Museum, Tusug Lang Khang, Brajeshwari Temple, Dal Lake, Basukinath Temple and the Himalayas.

More articles by me:

Neglect - a story of inspiration

https://read.cash/@Jisan21/neglect-a-story-of-inspiration-63d19302

Inspiration Story : (the purpose of life)

https://read.cash/@Jisan21/inspiration-story-the-purpose-of-life-74360510

Women:

https://read.cash/@Jisan21/women-8447b8ca

Self-conceit

https://read.cash/@Jisan21/self-conceit-4c3ac615