Vikram Patil
1
David stepped off the bus into the crisp, mountain air of Pelling, a small town nestled in the Sikkim Himalayas. The journey from Delhi had been long, but as the sun set behind the towering Kanchenjunga range, the sight before him made the weariness fade away. The town, draped in mist, seemed almost ethereal, its narrow streets lined with small shops selling colorful fabrics and local handicrafts. The houses here were built from stone and wood, their sloped roofs covered in vibrant moss. It was a world far removed from the chaos of his life back in London, a place where time seemed to slow down, allowing for reflection. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, but there was also something mysterious in the air—something that beckoned him deeper into the heart of Sikkim, urging him to uncover its secrets.
David had come to Sikkim with a single purpose: to explore the lesser-known corners of the region, to document its ancient monasteries, hidden villages, and undisturbed landscapes. His camera, slung over his shoulder, was a tool for capturing moments, but as he walked through the streets of Pelling, he realized that the true essence of the place could not be captured in mere photographs. There was something in the air—the way the mist clung to the mountains, the silence between the rustling of the leaves—that spoke of centuries-old traditions and stories buried in the earth. He checked into a modest guesthouse perched on the edge of the town, with an uninterrupted view of Kanchenjunga. The warmth of the room and the faint aroma of pine soothed his senses, but the sense of wonder that had first gripped him upon arriving didn’t let go.
The next morning, after a simple breakfast of bread and tea, David set out to meet Tenzing, a local historian and guide he had arranged to accompany him on his travels. Tenzing was a man in his mid-thirties, with an infectious smile and deep-set eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the mountains themselves. He welcomed David with a nod and a firm handshake, then immediately began to share tales of the Buddhist monasteries that dotted the region and the ancient pilgrimage routes leading to sacred sites. As they walked through the mist-covered paths of the town, Tenzing spoke with reverence of the mountain’s spiritual significance, its status as a “sacred guardian” for the people of Sikkim. He explained that some places were not meant to be disturbed by outsiders, their secrets kept hidden by the land itself. David, intrigued but skeptical, listened intently, unaware that his journey would soon take him down a path of mystery far deeper than the scenic landscapes he had come to photograph.
The following day, Tenzing led David on a hike through the dense forests surrounding Pelling, their path winding upwards towards the lower reaches of Kanchenjunga National Park. The air grew cooler as they ascended, the mist thickening and swirling around them like ghostly veils. Birds with vibrant plumage flitted among the trees, their calls echoing through the stillness of the woods. David found himself struggling to keep pace, but Tenzing moved effortlessly, as if the mountain itself were guiding his steps. As they walked, Tenzing pointed out the rare orchids and the deep, shaded hollows where small temples dedicated to nature gods stood quietly hidden. These temples were not marked on any map, a fact David found fascinating. He could sense that the land here was not just something to be observed, but something that demanded respect—a living, breathing entity.
Eventually, they arrived at a small village, tucked away in the heart of the forest. Unlike the town of Pelling, which had felt vibrant and busy, this village seemed to exist in quiet isolation. The stone houses were simple, their roofs thatched with the dried grasses that grew along the hills. The people here went about their work in silence, casting occasional glances at David, their expressions unreadable. Tenzing greeted them warmly, introducing David as a traveler from afar. Despite the friendly gestures, there was a palpable wariness in the air. The villagers did not seem eager to engage with an outsider, and David couldn’t help but feel that they were hiding something—something deeper, more ancient. As Tenzing took David through the village, he explained that this was one of the last untouched communities in Sikkim, a place where the outside world had barely penetrated.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the mountain peaks, Tenzing led David to a small, secluded temple at the edge of the village. The air grew still, and the shadows of the trees stretched long across the ground. Inside the temple, a lone monk sat in quiet meditation, his back to them. Tenzing motioned for David to sit and explained that this temple had been built by the early settlers of Sikkim to honor the mountain spirits that protected their land. The monk, an old man with a beard as white as snow, opened his eyes, offering David a quiet nod before returning to his meditation. There was an aura of solemnity in the air, a deep sense of reverence that David couldn’t quite place. The monk spoke very little, but when he did, it was always about the sacredness of the land, the protective spirits that watched over it, and how the balance of nature must never be disturbed. The words felt like a warning, though David wasn’t sure what exactly he was being warned about. As they left the temple, David could feel the weight of the mountains pressing down on him, as if they were waiting for him to understand something he hadn’t yet seen. Tenzing, sensing David’s unease, simply said, “Not all things are meant to be known, David. Some things, the mountain keeps for itself.”
The next morning, a heavy fog lingered over the village, casting everything in a ghostly hue. David awoke early, his thoughts clouded by the eerie sense that the mountain, its valleys, and the villagers were all holding a secret just beyond his reach. Tenzing had promised him a deeper look into the region’s history that day, so after a quick breakfast of tsampa (roasted barley flour) and butter tea, they set out again—this time to explore the dense woods further up the mountain, where Tenzing claimed an ancient Buddhist relic was hidden. As they walked, Tenzing spoke little, his steps deliberate as if he were listening for something David couldn’t hear. David, however, could feel the tension in the air—a tension that grew with each step they took deeper into the forest.
After several hours of trekking, they came upon a secluded area, where a stone archway, covered in moss and vines, marked the entrance to a clearing. The sight took David by surprise—he hadn’t expected to find anything so ancient in such a remote location. The stone pillars, although worn by time, still held intricate carvings of mythical beings, deities, and symbols of protection, their faces half-eroded but their meaning still palpable. Tenzing stepped forward, his gaze reverent. “This,” he said softly, “is the place where the protective spirits of Sikkim are honored. This archway marks the boundary between the known world and the sacred realm.”
Tenzing’s words echoed in the stillness, and David found himself drawn to the carvings, feeling an unexplainable pull. He had heard whispers about the spiritual significance of Sikkim’s mountains, but seeing it for himself—experiencing the atmosphere of deep reverence—felt entirely different. The carvings spoke of an ancient pact between the people and the spirits of the land, a pact that ensured peace and prosperity as long as the balance was respected. Tenzing continued, “Many centuries ago, the people of this land made a promise to the mountain—never to disturb the sacred sites, never to break the agreement. The spirits here are not just figments of belief. They are real, David.”
The story intrigued David, but he was still hesitant to fully believe. He had spent most of his life chasing rational explanations for the unknown, and the idea of spirits watching over the land seemed like little more than myth. However, as Tenzing led him deeper into the clearing, David couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them. He tried to dismiss it as his imagination, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Just as he was about to ask Tenzing if they should head back, the sound of chanting reached their ears—a deep, rhythmic hum that seemed to reverberate from the very earth beneath their feet.
Tenzing paused, his expression unreadable. “You hear it too, don’t you?” he asked. David nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “That’s the calling of the mountain spirits,” Tenzing said quietly. “The spirits know when someone is here with the right intentions. And they know when someone doesn’t.” He turned to face David, his eyes serious. “But there is something else—the hidden village. It exists, but it only appears to those who are meant to find it. You must be careful. Some places are not meant to be seen by outsiders.” David looked at Tenzing, sensing the gravity in his voice. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his curiosity now piqued. But Tenzing only shook his head. “You will see in time, David. You will see.”
As the chanting grew louder, echoing through the mist-covered trees, David felt an overwhelming sense of being drawn into something far larger than himself. A part of him wanted to turn back, to retreat to the comfort of the known world. But another part—the part that had brought him to Sikkim in the first place—felt an unexplainable urge to continue, to unravel the mystery that lay before him. It was as if the mountain itself was calling him, pulling him deeper into its hidden truths. And despite his reservations, David knew that he would follow wherever it led.
4
As they continued through the forest, the atmosphere grew thicker with tension. The dense canopy above shielded the path from the sun, leaving the forest floor in perpetual twilight. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and moss, and every sound—every snap of a twig—seemed amplified in the silence. Tenzing, leading the way, walked with the ease of someone who had traversed these paths his entire life. His pace was steady, but David could sense an unease in him, something beneath the surface that he hadn’t noticed before. As they pushed forward, the forest seemed to close in around them, its shadows deepening.
The path they followed was no ordinary trail. Unlike the wide, well-marked roads leading to popular tourist destinations, this one was narrow, winding, and barely visible. The terrain became increasingly rugged as they ascended, the trail turning into a series of steep climbs and slippery slopes. Tenzing didn’t seem to mind, his steps sure and practiced, but David struggled to keep up, his boots slipping on the wet ground. After nearly an hour of climbing, they reached a high ridge overlooking a valley far below. The view took David’s breath away—the mountains on the horizon seemed to stretch endlessly, their jagged peaks rising like sentinels against the sky.
“Up there,” Tenzing pointed towards the farthest peak, “is where the ancient monks used to make their pilgrimage. It’s said that the spirits of the mountains live there, in the caves. But the path to get there is no easy journey.” David stared at the distant peak, where the mist clung thickly to the slopes. He felt a sudden chill, as if something ancient and powerful was waiting, watching. But Tenzing turned and continued down the ridge, and David followed, unable to shake the strange sense that they were being drawn into something far beyond a mere hike.
They descended into a dense thicket, where the trees grew closer together, their branches twisting and entwining like fingers. The air grew heavier with each step, the atmosphere growing dense with the weight of centuries. David felt as if he were stepping into a forgotten world—a place untouched by time, where the modern world could never reach. As they made their way deeper into the forest, Tenzing stopped suddenly. Without a word, he pointed to a weathered stone marker barely visible under a blanket of moss and vines. It was a simple pillar, carved with intricate symbols that David couldn’t immediately recognize.
“This is it,” Tenzing said, his voice almost reverent. “The gateway to the old pilgrimage route. Few people know it’s here, and fewer still have ever passed through it.” David stepped closer, running his fingers over the cold, damp stone. The symbols seemed to pulse beneath his touch, as if alive, as if they had a language of their own. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to step back, to turn away from whatever this path represented. But something deep within him urged him forward.
As they passed through the stone marker and into the heart of the thicket, the forest seemed to change. The air was thicker, almost oppressive, and the faint sound of running water filled the silence. David looked around, noticing the faint traces of old stone structures half-buried in the earth. Ancient steps led upward toward a hidden temple, its entrance barely visible through the tangled vines. Tenzing motioned for David to follow, but there was a hesitation in his step, as if he were waiting for something.
“Not many come here,” Tenzing said softly. “This place… it holds memories. Old memories. Some things here should be left undisturbed.” His warning hung in the air like a shadow, but David was already drawn in, his curiosity pushing him forward.
They climbed the ancient steps to the temple entrance, where the stone walls were covered in intricate carvings of gods, monks, and mythical creatures. The temple’s entrance was a large archway, dark and foreboding. As they crossed the threshold, the temperature seemed to drop, the air heavy with the scent of incense long extinguished. The inner chamber was dim, lit only by the flickering light of a single oil lamp that cast long shadows on the walls.
Tenzing stopped at the center of the room, his eyes closed in reverence. He whispered a prayer under his breath, his words incomprehensible to David. The stillness in the temple was profound, and for the first time, David felt the full weight of the mountain’s presence—it was no longer just a backdrop to his journey; it was alive, watching, waiting. The air was thick with something ancient, something powerful, and David felt a deep, inexplicable connection to the place.
“Do you feel it?” Tenzing asked, his voice barely a whisper. David didn’t answer immediately. He could feel it—the oppressive weight of the mountain’s spirit, the feeling that they had crossed a threshold into a realm where the past and present were indistinguishable. But as Tenzing led him further into the temple, David couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not alone. The air seemed to hum with a low, almost inaudible vibration, as if the temple itself was alive, breathing.
As they exited the temple, the heavy fog that had surrounded them began to lift, but David’s sense of unease only grew stronger. There was something about this path—something he didn’t fully understand—that was drawing him in deeper. And no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he knew that the answers he sought were somewhere ahead, buried in the forgotten paths of the mountain, waiting to be uncovered.
5
The following morning, the fog was unusually thick, swirling around the village like a living thing. The once-clear mountain views were hidden behind a blanket of mist, lending the landscape an almost surreal, dreamlike quality. The village, too, seemed to change in the quiet, damp air. The people moved slowly, almost as if in a trance, their eyes lowered and faces unreadable. David noticed that the usual hum of activity—children playing, women preparing food, men working the fields—had quieted. It was as though the mountain itself had cast a spell over the place, making everything still and hushed.
Tenzing, however, remained unaffected by the silence. He had spent years in these mountains, and the land’s moods were nothing new to him. As they set out again, he led David deeper into the woods, where the trees grew taller and more dense. The further they went, the more the forest seemed to pulse with life. David felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck, as if the forest was aware of his every step. They walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional call of a bird in the distance. Every now and then, David would catch glimpses of the hidden temple carvings peeking out from behind thick vines, their faces worn by centuries of neglect, yet still hauntingly beautiful.
After an hour of walking, they arrived at a narrow stream that cut through the forest like a silver ribbon. Tenzing knelt by the water, dipping his fingers into the cool flow. “This is the Sikkim River, one of the oldest in the region,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It is said that the river carries the whispers of the past. Some say if you listen closely, you can hear the voices of the ancient monks who used to live here. The water has memories.” David knelt beside him, placing his hand in the stream, feeling the rush of the cool water against his skin. The river was both calming and unnerving, as though it carried with it something much older and deeper than mere water.
As they continued along the stream, the mist began to lift, and David could see the forest more clearly than before. It was no longer just a path—it was a living entity, as if the trees themselves were watching him, waiting. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, they reached a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a massive stone altar, weathered by time but still imposing. The stone was carved with symbols—some David recognized from the old temple carvings, but others were strange, foreign, and unfamiliar.
“This is the Gateway of the Spirits, David,” Tenzing whispered, as though speaking too loudly might disrupt something fragile. “It is said to be a place of great power. A place where the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the spirits becomes thin. Only a few know of its existence, and even fewer have come to understand its true purpose.”
David stood in awe, feeling an overwhelming sense of both awe and fear. The clearing was peaceful, but the stone altar radiated an energy that made the air feel thick. It was as if the mountain was alive, watching them, listening to their every move. David instinctively stepped closer to the altar, but Tenzing placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.
“No,” Tenzing said, his voice low. “This place is not for outsiders. Not yet.”
David frowned, confused by Tenzing’s warning. “But why bring me here then?” he asked. Tenzing remained silent for a moment before speaking, his voice distant.
“The spirits of the mountain protect these lands,” Tenzing said, his gaze fixed on the altar. “They have kept this place hidden for centuries. And now, David, you are the one they’ve chosen to see it. But with that comes a responsibility. Some places are meant to be known only by those who have the wisdom to understand them. If you are to uncover the truth, you must listen to the mountain. It will speak to you when the time is right.”
David felt a deep unease settle in his chest. He had come to Sikkim expecting to capture its beauty through his lens, to document its landscapes and traditions. But now, standing before the altar, he realized that the journey he had embarked on was about more than just discovery. It was about something older, something far more profound.
Suddenly, the mist returned, creeping over the forest floor like a living thing. It enveloped the altar, the trees, and the ground beneath them. David’s vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he saw shapes moving in the mist—figures, cloaked in shadow, walking silently across the clearing. His heart raced, but when he blinked, the shapes were gone, leaving only the thickening fog behind.
Tenzing’s grip on David’s shoulder tightened. “It’s time to go,” he said quietly. “The spirits have spoken.”
David didn’t question him. As they turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just crossed a line, that they had stepped into a realm where they didn’t belong. And yet, despite the unease gnawing at him, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the altar, to the power that emanated from it. The mountain had begun to call, and David couldn’t escape its pull.
As they retraced their steps through the forest, David’s mind raced with questions. What had he seen? What did it all mean? The mist seemed to follow them, trailing in their wake, as if the mountain itself were reluctant to let them go. And as they descended back toward the village, David knew that there was no turning back. The veil had been lifted. The journey was far from over, and the truth—whatever it was—was waiting for him, hidden just beyond the horizon.
The day after their visit to the altar, the mood in the village had shifted. There was an unspoken tension in the air, and even the sky seemed to be holding its breath, heavy with the weight of secrets not yet revealed. David, restless from the events of the previous day, found himself walking aimlessly around the village, hoping to find some sense of clarity. He had spent his days in Sikkim capturing the external beauty—the mountains, the temples, the people—but now, it felt as though the land itself was drawing him deeper, urging him to peel back its layers, to see what lay beneath the surface. But the deeper he went, the more the mountain seemed to resist his attempts to understand.
Tenzing, who had been unusually quiet since their visit to the altar, finally sought him out in the late afternoon. The normally vibrant guide looked different today—his eyes seemed darker, more focused, as if he had been carrying a heavy burden. He motioned for David to follow him.
“I know you’re searching for answers,” Tenzing said as they walked toward the edge of the village, where the forest met the rocky hillside. “But there are things you’re not ready to hear. Things that have been hidden for centuries. The spirits… they guard more than just the land. They protect a history that has been erased, buried in the shadows of time. And the truth you seek is a dangerous one.”
David’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean? You’ve been guiding me to these places, but now you’re saying I shouldn’t know what’s hidden? I’m here to learn, Tenzing. To understand.”
Tenzing stopped, his face tense. “You don’t understand what you’re asking, David. The village, the altar—it’s all part of a deeper, older story, one that was never meant to be discovered by outsiders. People have died searching for it. People have vanished.”
David stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “What happened here? What’s the story?”
Without responding immediately, Tenzing led David to a small, inconspicuous house at the edge of the village, where an old woman sat in the fading light of evening. Her skin was wrinkled with age, and her eyes, though tired, held a sharpness that David couldn’t ignore. She was the village’s oracle, known as Sangmo, a woman who had lived through the passage of many decades and had witnessed things that even Tenzing dared not speak of.
Sangmo looked at David with a knowing glance, as though she had been expecting him all along. She beckoned them inside, where the air was thick with incense and the scent of dried herbs. The room was small, its walls lined with old scrolls, trinkets, and faded tapestries depicting mythical beasts and deities. It felt like stepping into a time capsule, an echo of an ancient past that refused to be forgotten.
Tenzing motioned for David to sit, his voice quiet. “This is where the story begins—the real story, the one that the mountain hides. Sangmo is the keeper of the village’s history, the one who remembers the old ways.”
Sangmo’s voice was soft but carried an undeniable weight. “The village was not always this way,” she began, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for the right words. “Long ago, before the British came, this land was a kingdom, a place of great spiritual power. The people who lived here were not just villagers—they were protectors of a sacred secret. A secret that has been buried for centuries, hidden by the mountain spirits to keep it safe.”
David leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “What secret? What happened to this kingdom?”
Sangmo paused, her hands trembling slightly as she folded them in her lap. “The kingdom was led by a powerful ruler—a king who sought to harness the power of the mountain, to use the spirits for his own gain. The mountain, however, has its own laws. It does not allow itself to be controlled, and those who try to do so… they suffer.”
David’s heart raced. This was more than he had ever anticipated. “So, the king tried to control the spirits? And the kingdom fell?”
Sangmo nodded, her eyes distant, as though recalling something long buried. “The king’s greed led to his downfall. He broke the ancient pact between the people and the mountain, angering the spirits. In retaliation, the mountain sent a great curse upon the kingdom. It vanished overnight—its people, its wealth, all lost to the winds. The mountain swallowed it whole. Only a handful of survivors remained, and they swore to protect the secret of the kingdom’s fall. They became the keepers of the knowledge, passing it down through generations.”
David’s mind was spinning. This wasn’t just a story of ancient history—it was the very essence of the land he was exploring. The secrets he had stumbled upon were not just stories of the past; they were living memories, bound to the land, the people, and the spirits of the mountains.
“There’s more,” Sangmo continued, her voice growing softer. “The king’s greed didn’t just destroy his people—it caused a rift between the spirit world and the living. The spirits, angered by the betrayal, sealed the land off from outsiders, keeping it hidden for eternity. But now, the barrier is weakening. The spirits have sensed your presence, David. They’ve chosen you to uncover the truth, but there’s a price to be paid. The curse of the mountain is waking.”
David felt a chill run down his spine. “A price? What do you mean?”
Sangmo’s eyes locked onto his. “The price of knowing the truth is often more than one is willing to pay. The mountain does not give its secrets freely. There are forces at work here, David, forces that have waited centuries for someone like you. The choice will be yours—whether you leave and let the past remain buried, or stay and risk awakening the curse.”
David stood up, his mind racing. He had come to Sikkim seeking beauty and knowledge, but now he realized that what he had uncovered was far more dangerous. The land, the people, the spirits—they were all bound together in a web of ancient power, and the more he learned, the deeper he fell into a mystery that might be impossible to escape.
Tenzing’s voice broke through his thoughts. “We must go, David. The mountain will watch us, and the spirits will know if we’ve learned too much.”
But David didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on the door, as if the mountain itself was calling to him, urging him to go deeper. He didn’t know what he would choose, but he knew one thing for certain: the truth was no longer something he could simply document. The truth was alive, and it was waiting for him to make the hardest decision of his life.
7
David couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Since leaving Sangmo’s house, the village had seemed different—colder, more distant, as if the very air had thickened, pressing in on him from all sides. He tried to ignore the nagging sense of foreboding, but it clung to him like a second skin. Tenzing had been silent ever since the revelation about the kingdom’s curse, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a quiet unease. As they walked through the village toward the forest, David noticed that even the villagers seemed to avoid him, their eyes averted, their faces unreadable. It was as if they knew something he didn’t, something that made his presence here dangerous. He asked Tenzing about it, but the guide only shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Some things are best left unknown,” he said cryptically.
As they ascended into the forest once more, the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, the trees closing in around them like silent sentinels. The path that had felt so welcoming on their first journey now seemed darker, more threatening. Every step David took felt like an intrusion into a place that didn’t want him there. The trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted, seemed to be watching him. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but there was an underlying feeling that something ancient—something far more powerful than the physical world around him—was stirring. Tenzing led him through the dense woods without speaking, his expression unreadable. David tried to focus on the sound of the wind through the branches, the rustling of leaves underfoot, but it felt as though the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
They reached a clearing deeper in the forest, a place that David didn’t recognize. It was eerily quiet, and for a moment, he wondered if they had stumbled into a part of the forest that had been untouched by human feet for centuries. The ground was soft, covered in moss and ferns, and in the center stood an ancient stone cairn, its weathered stones piled high, adorned with fading symbols David couldn’t understand. Tenzing stepped forward, his hand resting on one of the stones, and whispered something under his breath. David didn’t hear the words but felt their weight in the air, like a prayer to something unseen. As he approached, the atmosphere shifted, the air growing unnaturally cold, and a low hum seemed to emanate from the cairn, vibrating through his very bones. It felt as though the ground itself was alive, pulsing with energy. David’s heart began to race, and a voice, low and clear, echoed in his mind: “Leave now.” The warning was so strong, so insistent, that he staggered back, almost stumbling on the uneven ground.
Tenzing, sensing David’s panic, turned to him, his face pale and grave. “This is the place,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is where the spirits of the mountain reside. They guard the boundaries between our world and theirs. When you hear their warning, when you feel that pulse—it means you have crossed a line, David. The mountain doesn’t forget. The spirits are patient, but they do not forgive.” David’s pulse quickened as the words sank in. He had crossed a threshold, and now there was no going back. He felt the weight of the mountain’s ancient power pressing in on him, and he knew that the spirits were watching, waiting for him to make a choice. He had come seeking knowledge, but knowledge—he was beginning to understand—came at a cost. The mountain had shown him its secrets, but now it wanted something in return. And David wasn’t sure he was ready to pay the price. As the air around him thickened and the hum of the cairn grew louder, David felt a chill crawl up his spine. The mountain had spoken. And it wasn’t ready to let him go.
