There is something enchanting about Khecheopalri Lake and the dense forests around it in West Sikkim. From 32 kms below, in my home in Gyalshing, like estranged lovers, the lake would constantly appear in my thoughts. When my grandfather was alive, day trips to the lake from Gyalshing had been a regular tradition. We would feed the trout fish and watch them emerge from below the lake creating a cacophony of several small wavelets. The lake would cease being still and calm as we observed the fish splashing about feeding on puffed rice. The lake serves as a local deity to several families and communities around Gyalshing irrespective of religion. As a norm the first harvests of jackfruits and paddy in my family is always offered to the monasteries of Pemayangtse and Khecheopalri. I knew I had grown attached to the lake since childhood and it was time to resurrect the relationship. So I decided to follow the trail of thoughts and visit the holy lake.
The gota gaari left Gyalshing syndicate at 1 pm. I shared the middle row with a drowsy boju on one side and a young woman on the other side. We began the steep climb to Pelling slicing through the chilly Rabdentse forests. At some point, while traversing through the quaint town of Darap, the vehicle was infested by a strong smell of rum. This was followed by an announcement by the boju that it was time for her regular dosage of ‘dabai pani’ or local liquor. We erupted in approving laughter and the boju gulped down her spirit much like one would gulp down water. We immersed in conversations where it struck us that the boju had known my grandfather. This made me feel excited and as I gazed outside the window I witnessed the golden light swallowing Rimbi khola (river) and the brown patches of autumn forests around it. I imagined speaking to the inanimate river and forests and wondered if they would tell me all that they witnessed of my ancestors.
The vehicle made a steep climb to Khechuperi swiftly zooming past frightening cliffs and gurgling streams.
When I finally reached the tiny bazaar of the lake village, it was not very challenging to recognise Bhaichung seated with a group of young local men in a fast food outlet merrily engaged in playing board games. Everyone noticed me standing in the middle of the square, the only visitor for that day. Bhaichung who works at the ticket counter of the lake was to host me in his homestay atop a hill overlooking the lake below and several corners of West Sikkim. We decided to first visit the lake and so he took me through the familiar stone path densely covered by a colony of chilauney trees. I saw the lake and instantly recognised the immense grassy wetland. I was bombarded by vivid memories of hastily running down the wooden aisle-bridge to the edge of the lake excited while disrupting the calmness. The arrangement of dhajaa and lungta prayer flags fluttering around the lake seemed familiar. Coincidentally the lake had no visitors and it felt as though it had been waiting for me and so I sat on the ground with closed eyes trying to connect to the lake on a spiritual level. When I heard the shrills of probably the Kingfisher birds, I immediately felt welcomed and could tell that our relationship had been revived.
Bhaichung offered to take me to a nearby hilltop to catch a bird’s eye view of the lake and of Yuksam. The trail to the hilltop took us through a cheerful forest overflowing with the whistles of mysterious birds and the beats of falling fruits. I saw peculiarly coloured mushrooms timidly sprouting out of dark corners. A small hamlet of houses were scattered on the hilltop overlooking the vast lake. I went to a certain point and gazed at the lake and the wetland sprinkled with the colours of the prayer flags. The lake was generally dark green while also gently reflecting the entourage of clouds. The little house by the side was surrounded by a neat arrangement of colourful orchids, azaleas and geraniums. I inspected the house and observed tiny peep holes that must have developed on the ekra mud walls over time. Some patches with missing mud revealed the inner layer of bamboo fixed underneath appearing like wounds. As I moved a few steps to the other side of the house, I witnessed an alarming view of the deep valley with Yuksam calmly spread across a lower hilltop. Bhaichung informed that Yuksam is just a 2 hours trek from the lake and it involves making a climb down the hill to a small stream that is to be crossed to eventually make the upward climb. I was excited by the thought of climbing down to the gentle stream carefully placed away from civilisation for reasons we might never know.
There are several folktales that surround lakes like Khecheopalri, however I am not quite drawn to them as I am to my own folktale with the lake. I would receive callings from the lake as though receiving spiritual transmissions of longing from a distant lover. While everything has explanations that originate out of the sciences and cultures, I want to believe that the Khecheopalri landscape is a celestial entity that has witnessed our land being moulded into various shapes while our ancestors came and left. Natural bodies are ephemeral entities that way, they witness our souls taking multiple forms and living through several lifetimes. They are life, the afterlife and sometimes an extrapolation of ourselves. So be it devithans water springs, pokharis lakes, nagthans forests and Deorali hilltops I feel fortunate in being a part of the greater soul of the universe that is the repository of tranquil, estranged and lost stories of the self.
