Random Thoughts inscribed in me From Bajothang HSS.

I spent two fruitful years there. The moments there were more memorable and interesting than my current college life. Facing the silent but swiftly flowing Puna tsangchu was my class. Since my first day in class eleven Science, I choose to sit by the side of window. It was through that window, that I can have a clear view of the flowing river, the beach like banks on the other side, the cactus though thorny but green, the fields that feed the families, the roads leading to capital, and of course the pristine hills filled with evergreen chir pines (Pinus roxburghii).

I use to gaze through the window, just loving the way nature blossom, the way river swell, the way the paddy ripe, the beauty of flowers of the thorny cactus, and sometimes landing myself in the capital city in the modest car driven by an elegant lass until a flying chalk from the teacher hit me on my head. 

In the spring months, the gusty wind from the Wangdue town dumps its dust in the shallow vales of Bajothang. I could see the sands on the shore of river on the other side being swirled by the effect of breeze from the swift Puna Tshangchu. The river has not swelled yet and it would remain clear blue. The swans from the northern snow capped mountains are yet to return to their summer homes having dwelled the banks of river the entire winter. The new flush of leaves sprout from the surrounding trees of Neem (Malia azadirach), Eucalyptus, Cypress (Cupresus corneyana), etc.., and fruit trees like Pomegranate (Punica granatum) and Guava (Psidium  guajava), are yet to flower. The pines as always remain evergreen and I use to wish, if our life would remain evergreen forever like those conifers.

source: google images

But as the valley grows warmer, the tiny mosquitoes which have breed from the nearby drains and pig sty would visit our morning classes, commencing their years progress with a sting on our ears. Sooner the clouds gather and torrential rain hit the roofs, awakening the drowsy class. The river then turn grey and begins its turbulent flow, sweeping the upper ridges of the banks, thus cleaning the filthy and dirty banks of winters leftover.

One day a farmer came with his power tiller and ploughed his field. A silhouette was erected and then left, and the following day, they pumped the water from the river below and it was time for transplanting paddy. In the class, the humid wind coming from the window and fast spinning fans on ceilings cannot reduce the sweltering heat, so I drowse to sleep. And during the midterm exams when my mind became blank, I use to gaze through the window and relate the season of life in my essays, the physiology of plants nearby in Biology, the reactions of heats and sweats in Chemistry, and the ebb and flow of waves in Physics.

When I am back after midterm break, the heat has grown mild. But through the window I see the fields lush and green. The pines remain as it is, though myriad of physio-chemical changes take place within them. Thinking critically, it is those conifers, which serve as sink for huge carbon dioxide that are released by the moving vehicles, and nearby dwellers. The cactus would have stored a large quantum of water from the bygone monsoon, to be used during the arid winter. Fruit trees nearby are nurturing and yet to ripe unless the innocent children come and pluck it unripe. It become the season of bountifulness.

And as the winter months approach, the nearby trees shed their leaves, the river would dry up exposing the sands to hasty breeze, the fields of course are ripe so the farmer come along with a group of labours one day and reap them all, leaving it barren. This time it’s the chilly wind tapping by the closed windows. In the morning, the air would be misty, and I could again hear the quaking of ducks and swans, and like the birds returning back to their winter residents, I was to give my final exams and head towards my sweet home, taking nothing but a colourful result, as the only gift for my aging mom. Indeed it was a gift of Bajothang Higher Secondary School.

Also See: My Memories of Bajothang HSS,

               Threshold of My Future.