Twenty hours since our arrival and still not having had explored the valley, our patience ran out. We walked down the valley with the dwindling rain. To have touched the droplets of rain dripping from the stunning Dzükou Lily (Lilium chitrangadae) against the background of cloudy hills captivated my soul. I kissed it to express my contentment.
Sitting on the edge of the trail, I could connect to the music of the stream splashing onto the rocks, the rain droplets falling on my poncho, the bamboo shrubs, and the melodious birds dancing to its tune. The best part of the day was the moment when I stood atop a cave, widened my arms, and cheered "Woo-hooo! Munmun moi tumak bhal pau," and it echoed all around. It felt like I was talking to the hills as it answered me back. Expressing my love for Hunmanu to mother nature sealed our eternal bond. As we climbed back to the camp along the pink, brown, and yellow flowers, we witnessed another splendid sunset.
Gradually, the temperature falls down to 10°C at night, and the water becomes colder too. I have always preferred the washing part of cooking. Washing everything and then warming my hands in the firewood was a pure delight to me. Metevizo, the campsite in-charge, cracking jokes, a random family sharing their experiences of Biryani, life and career with the Austrian couple made the evening more special.
The Dzükou Blues & Moonlight Magic
Everytime I made up my mind to get up, the sound of the rain splashing on the tent grew louder, pushing me back into my quilt. The gloomy clouds and the rain eventually disappeared. Sitting at the viewpoint appreciating the beautiful valley, Metevizo enlightened us about the dynamics of the valley in different seasons: the frozen stream downhill, the peaks and the camp covered with snow in winter, the same stream submerging the valley in monsoon, followed by the colourful hills full of blossomed flowers.