A lone eagle flew high overhead, wheeling, a black dot in the clear blue sky. The air was crisp and chill and we sat watching the wood smoke curling upwards from one of the hutments far below. Our vantage point was the Ganesh temple nestled in the hills high above the surrounding plains.
It was the month of August. There had been a small interlude between the torrential rains and we used this opportunity to explore the hills bordering our house. A short steep climb along the tarred road bought us to the foothills. From there a tiny path threaded its way through the dense foliage. Trees in a thousand shades of green blanketed the entire hillside. Pale sunlight filtered through the forest canopy taking on an ethereal greenish tinge. Suddenly a bird disturbed by our footfall exploded from the forest floor and flew upwards in a riot of colors. A koel hidden in one of the upper branches of a mango tree serenaded us with its sweet haunting cry. A tiny squirrel chattering happily skittered up a nearby neem tree.
As we trekked upwards we suddenly spied a tiny white edifice. A red flag on its tiled roof fluttered lazily in the breeze. Tucked away between tall trees it could easily be missed. We stood gazing at it for a long time.
A distant ominous rumble sent us scrambling for shelter. Pelting rain soon followed. Soaked to the skin we finally reached the white building which turned out to be a temple. For the next half hour the temple provided us refuge from the driving rain. Sitting on its broad, stone- flagged verandah we had a bird’s eye view of the surrounding countryside.
After about an hour the rain slowly died down. The sun came out in its entire golden splendor. The newly washed leaves glistened in the sunlight and the heady smell of wet earth filled us with a sense of well being. Reluctantly we decided to head home before the rain commenced.
Although we have visited the temple several times subsequently, we have never quite been able to recapture the magic of that first visit in the rain.
It was the month of August. There had been a small interlude between the torrential rains and we used this opportunity to explore the hills bordering our house. A short steep climb along the tarred road bought us to the foothills. From there a tiny path threaded its way through the dense foliage. Trees in a thousand shades of green blanketed the entire hillside. Pale sunlight filtered through the forest canopy taking on an ethereal greenish tinge. Suddenly a bird disturbed by our footfall exploded from the forest floor and flew upwards in a riot of colors. A koel hidden in one of the upper branches of a mango tree serenaded us with its sweet haunting cry. A tiny squirrel chattering happily skittered up a nearby neem tree.
As we trekked upwards we suddenly spied a tiny white edifice. A red flag on its tiled roof fluttered lazily in the breeze. Tucked away between tall trees it could easily be missed. We stood gazing at it for a long time.
A distant ominous rumble sent us scrambling for shelter. Pelting rain soon followed. Soaked to the skin we finally reached the white building which turned out to be a temple. For the next half hour the temple provided us refuge from the driving rain. Sitting on its broad, stone- flagged verandah we had a bird’s eye view of the surrounding countryside.
After about an hour the rain slowly died down. The sun came out in its entire golden splendor. The newly washed leaves glistened in the sunlight and the heady smell of wet earth filled us with a sense of well being. Reluctantly we decided to head home before the rain commenced.
Although we have visited the temple several times subsequently, we have never quite been able to recapture the magic of that first visit in the rain.
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