By Riddhima Sen
A cold chilly mountain top in Ladakh. A village situated in the lap of the Himalayas, nestled in tranquility, like a child slumbering peacefully in his mother’s arms. A woman clad in a blue t-shirt came out of a bungalow situated near the roadside. Paired with a pair of white trousers, she went to the nearest tea shop and ordered a cup of masala chai. Eyes resembling that of the elongated, widespread ocean, Mitali’s heart heaved a heavy sigh as she recollected memories hidden away in a corner of her mind. A ray of sunlight hit her eyes, as a familiar face flashed before her eyes.
Mitali, twenty-five, a school teacher by profession and Sneha Mitra, her best friend cum a data analyst, had forged an unbreakable bond for over twenty-two years. Just a year back, Sneha and Mitali had managed to get a vacation at the same point of time. Having grabbed this precious opportunity, Sneha decided to plan a trip to Ladakh, owing to her love for the hills. The duo left Kolkata on 14th October, 2024, and reached their destination the same day, after a tiring journey and jetlag.
Sneha was always adventurous in nature, and had planned a routine hike for the trip. The hiking route was just a few kilometers away from the home stay they were residing at. After having a sumptuous breakfast of veg thukpa and momos, they left for the hiking route, followed by the other tourists as well. The road was blocked partially the last day, and was better that particular day. Although the weather did not show signs of heavy snowfall or tumultuous showers and tempests, Mitali could sense the heaviness in the air. Proceeding for almost one kilometer or so, they reached a particular point where the road was partially blocked.
The weather started to deteriorate, bit by bit. First, it was the torrential downpour and then it was the heavy balls of snow falling on the snow-white ground, fragments of ice crystallized as hard as possible. The tour guide led them to a safe space, when abruptly a big chunk of ice fell near the spot where they were resting. Before Mitali could do anything, Sneha was engulfed in a white blanket, far away from life. Retiring to the home stay, devastated, Mitali found a letter left on a desk, a cabinet made out of oakwood. Sneha had written, ‘I know not why, but I need to tell you this, I love you more than anything else in the world. Live peacefully, even if I’m not by your side. ‘
One year later, Mitali Sengupta visited Ladakh again, that too on a solo trip, or maybe, to pay homage to her dead friend? Some stories are left incomplete, yet are the most beautiful petals of a dried up pink rose .
