Reflections from the Bodhi Tree – A Tale of Crimson Skies and Kindred Souls

Crimson sunsets gently gave way to nights draped in starlight, as the village of Almora twinkled in the distance like a lullaby whispered by the hills. There was a softness in the stars, as if they welcomed the sun each morning with such warmth that the regal orb, feeling a quiet humility, cloaked us in a mellow orange glow.

Birds danced freely in the skies, singing their unrestrained songs — a tender nudge to find and sing our own.

As sunlight crept onto the cold part of my quilt — the one lazily resting on its warmer half — it seemed to dare me to leave my cocoon. So I did, peeking into the alley below. Every morning, Naman sat there, notebook in hand, lost in a world far richer than the one outside. His pen raced, chasing the wild gallop of his thoughts.

Inside, Sonali — my roommate and the gentlest soul I know — would softly remind me of the promises we’d made to the morning, after a night spent in laughter, secrets, and soft confessions.

Soon, the day would truly begin, and we would step out to be greeted by the ever-smiling Renu and Prakash. They arranged breakfast with such tender devotion that it reminded me of the quiet care only a mother knows.

Under the bodhi tree — or the wisdom tree, as we fondly called it — sat Neelam, Veena, Sanjyot, Kavita, and Srividya. Each morning, they shared stories of the night, weaving threads of vulnerability and joy. That tree touched me deeply. It stood in quiet acceptance of its dried, withering parts, even as it celebrated the dance of fresh, green fronds. A beautiful contradiction — and a truth I sometimes struggle to accept within myself.

Nearby, the pup and the elder canine tumbled in joy, rolling in the grass, demanding affection. Their games paused only to solemnly sit beside Prasiddh, observing the deep conversations between Ameen and our ever-gracious Manisha ji.

Pandey-ji, with his infectious laughter and piercing dohas, would make us giggle over steaming ginger tea.

I’d find my way to Anhad and Vandita — to share the morning’s wonder, to hear about the adventures they had in store. By then, Srividya, our beloved chronicler, would be setting up the perfect shot, capturing angles of us all with the kind of care only someone deeply present can bring.

And then, at 9:09 am sharp, the sun playing hide-and-seek through the trees, we would gather in our sanctuary — the main session hall. Ameen’s voice would rise and fall like poetry: sometimes playful, sometimes probing, often still. Somehow, without knowing how or when, we would begin to let go — revealing ourselves in silence, in softness, in solidarity.

Eyes moist, hearts heavy or light, we held one another in ways only the mountains — especially the majestic Trishul — could truly witness.

The sessions flowed like mountain rivers — clear, unforced, and nourishing. Songs, poetry, performances, and soul-touching reflections intertwined. Often, the deepest insights came from little Anhad — who bloomed with such gentleness that, for once, I didn’t miss my son. Not quite.

If Ameen were reading this now, he’d probably shake his head. He might say, in his familiar quiet way:“At the heart of every story lies a conflict. Where is yours? Everything looks so glowing — too glowing. The Inayat is missing.”

To that, I’d say —Some conflicts live in silence.Not all storms make a sound.They sit deep within, waiting for the right story, the right riyaaz, to be sung into the light.

And perhaps, just perhaps, with this gift you’ve entrusted us — with daily practice and growing courage — one day, like the sea that leaves behind the driftwood of forgotten sorrows, I too will release my hidden conflicts, and return once more to the flow of life.

We came together as wanderers, seekers, at the Himalayan Writing Retreat — and left as a community. A clan of storytellers who listen, who push, who gently nudge one another forward.

May we continue to honor our voices — not just for ourselves, but for each other, and for the world that aches to hear something real. Let us keep showing up. Let us take the journey ahead.