Petals on the Ganga, by Ruskin Bond.

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Petals on the Ganga

by Ruskin Bond.

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Rumination on his beautiful surroundings by the author who grew up looking at Himaalayan ranges and chose to return to live surrounded by their beauty.

Last six pieces are a repeat. The title chapter startles - it's unclear if this chapter was written to prove his loyalty to creeds other than India, but he partakes in vituperations that anti-Indians rain on India and Hinduism regularly.

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Contents

Introduction

Mountains in My Blood

The Last Walnut

The Vanishing Trees

The Tenacity of Mountain Water

The Trees Are My Brothers

Petals on the Ganga

Wild Flowers near a Mountain Stream

Gran’s Kitchen

The Joy of Water

Sounds I Like to Hear

Guests Who Fly in from the Forest

In Search of a Winter Garden

Gentle Shade by Day

White Clouds, Green Mountains

The Kipling Road

Harold: Our Hornbill

Road to Badrinath

In Search of Sweet Peas

Sacred Shrines Along the Way

A Village in Garhwal

The Dehra I Know

The Gentle Nights Befriend Me

Once You Have Lived with Mountains

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Reviews

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Introduction

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"There’s a stream near my cottage. Cold mountain water flows down it all year round. Many a times I have sat on the rocks near it and written the odd poem, while basking in the sun.

"I never cease to wonder at the tenacity of water—its ability to make its way through various strata of rock, zigzagging, backtracking, finding space, cunningly discovering faults and fissures in the mountain, and sometimes travelling underground for great distances before emerging into the open. Of course, there’s no stopping water. For no matter how tiny that little trickle, it has to go somewhere!"

"It was while I was living in England in the jostle and drizzle of London, that I remembered the Himalayas at their most vivid. I had grown up amongst those great blue and brown mountains, they had nourished my blood, and though I was separated from them by thousands of miles of ocean, plain and desert, I could not forget them. It is always the same with mountains. Once you have lived with them for any length of time, you belong to them. There is no escape. ... "

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Mountains in My Blood

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"And so, in London in March, the fog became a mountain mist, and the boom of traffic became the boom of the Ganges emerging from the foothills.

"I remembered a little mountain path which led my restless feet into a cool, sweet forest of oak and rhododendron, and then on to the windswept crest of a naked hilltop. The hill was called Clouds End. It commanded a view of the plains on one side, and of the snow peaks on the other. Little silver rivers twisted across the valley below, where the rice-fields formed a patchwork of emerald green. And on the hill itself, the wind made a hoo-hoo-hoo in the branches of the tall deodars where it found itself trapped. During the rains, cloud enveloped the valley but left the hill alone, an island in the sky."

" ... villagers used the path, grazing their sheep and cattle on the grassy slopes. Each cow or sheep had a bell suspended from its neck, to let the shepherd boy know of its whereabouts. The boy could then lie in the sun and eat wild strawberries without fear of losing his animals."

" ... smell of pine needles, the silver of oak leaves and the red of maple, the call of the Himalayan cuckoo, and the mist, ... Standing in the aisle of a crowded tube train on a Monday morning, my nose tucked into the back page of someone else’s newspaper, I suddenly had a vision of a bear making off with a ripe pumpkin.

"A bear and a pumpkin—and there, between Goodge Street and Tottenham Court Road stations, all the smells and sounds of the Himalayas came rushing back to me."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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The Last Walnut

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"It was nice to have a walnut tree just outside the window. It was a tree for all seasons. In winter, the branches were bare; but they were smooth, straight and round like the arms of an apsara. In spring, each branch produced a hard bright spear of new leaf. By midsummer the entire tree was in leaf, and towards the end of the monsoon the walnuts, encased in their green jackets, had reached their full maturity."

"Recently when I met the old woman on the road, I asked her, ‘Where do you get your walnuts now, Grandmother?’

"‘Nowhere,’ she answered stoically. ‘That was the last walnut tree on the hillside.’"

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022. .

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The Vanishing Trees

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"The peace and quiet of the Maplewood hillside disappeared forever one winter. The powers that be decided to build another new road into the mountains and the PWD saw fit to take it right past the cottage, about six feet from the window which overlooked the forest."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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The Tenacity of Mountain Water

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" ... the other day, taking a narrow path that left the dry Mussoorie ridge to link up with Pari Tibba (Fairy Hill), I ran across a patch of lush green grass, and I knew there had to be water there.

"The grass was soft and springy, spotted with the crimson of small, wild strawberries. Delicate maidenhair, my favorite fern, grew from a cluster of moist, glistening rocks. Moving the ferns a little, I discovered the spring, a freshet of clear sparkling water."

"Climbing up the sides of the ravine to the spur of Pari Tibba, I could see the distant silver of a meandering river, and I knew my little stream was destined to become part of it; and that the river would be joined by another that could be seen slipping over the far horizon, and that their combined waters would enter the great Ganga, or Ganges, further downstream."

"And the ocean, what was it but another droplet in the universe in the greater scheme of things? No greater than the glistening drop of water that helped start it all, where the grass grows greener around my little spring on the mountain."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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The Trees Are My Brothers

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"When I was a boy, we had an old jackfruit tree growing beside the side verandah. I spent a lot of time in the trees surrounding my grandmother’s bungalow, and this one was easy to climb. The others included several guava and lichi trees, lemons and grapefruits, and of course a couple of mango trees—but these last were difficult to climb."

" ... it is this love of the land and willingness to serve it that is at the heart of true patriotism. The patriotic songs and speeches that we hear from time to time are fine for stirring up the emotions, but it is really the connect between ourselves and the ‘do bigha zameen’ on which we grow our fruit and grain that emboldens us to protect it."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Petals on the Ganga

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" ... I see no one who is not delighted at entering the water. It is a big crowd, although this is just an ordinary day of the week and not an occasion of any religious significance. But for the Hindu every day is a good day for bathing in the Ganga. ... "

It's unclear if this chapter was written to prove his loyalty to creeds other than India, but he partakes in in vituperations that anti-Indians rain on India and Hinduism regularly.

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Wild Flowers near a Mountain Stream

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"Below my house is a forest of oak and maple and Himalayan rhododendron. A path twists its way down through the trees, over an open ridge where red sorrel grows wild, and then steeply down through a tangle of thorn bushes, vines and rangal bamboo. At the bottom of the hill the path leads on to a grassy verge, surrounded by wild rose. A stream runs close by the verge, tumbling over smooth pebbles, over rocks worn yellow with age, on its way to the plains and the little Song River and finally to the sacred Ganges.

"When I first discovered the stream it was April and the wild roses were flowering, small white blossoms lying in clusters. There were primroses on the hill slopes, and an occasional late-flowering rhododendron provided a splash of red against the dark green of the hill."

"Downstream I found a cave with water dripping from the roof, the water spangled gold and silver in the shafts of sunlight that pushed through the slits in the cave roof. Few people came there. Sometimes a milkman or a coal-burner would cross the stream on his way to a village; but the nearby hill station’s summer visitors had not discovered this haven of wild and green things. ... "

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Gran’s Kitchen

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" ... Gran had a large, rambling bungalow on the outskirts of town. On the grounds were many fruit trees—mangoes, lichees, guavas, bananas, papayas and lemons—there was room for all of them, including a giant jackfruit tree that threw its shadow on the walls of the house."

"Gran was famous all over Dehra for her pickles. Green mangoes, pickled in oil, were always popular. So was her hot lime pickle. And she was adept at pickling turnips, carrots, cauliflowers, and chillies. She could pickle almost any fruit or vegetable—everything from nasturtium seeds to jackfruit."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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The Joy of Water

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"Each drop represents a little bit of creation—and of life itself. When the monsoon brings to northern India the first rains of summer, the parched earth opens its pores and quenches its thirst with a hiss of ecstasy. After baking in the sun for the last few months, the land looks cracked, dusty and tired. Now, almost overnight, new grass springs up, there is renewal everywhere, and the damp earth releases a fragrance sweeter than any devised by man."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Sounds I Like to Hear

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"Gentle rain on a tin roof is one of my favourite sounds. And early in the morning, when the rain has stopped, there are other sounds I like to hear— ... babblers and bulbuls bustling in and out of bushes and long grass in search of worms and insects; the sweet, ascending trill of the Himalayan whistling-thrush; ... "

"A cherry tree, bowed down by the heavy rain, suddenly rights itself, flinging pellets of water in my face."

"Some of the best sounds are made by water. The water of a mountain stream, always in a hurry, bubbling over rocks and chattering, ... tumbling over itself in its anxiety to reach the bottom of the hill, the sound of the sea, especially when it is far away—or when you hear it by putting a sea shell to your ear. The sound made by dry and thirsty earth, as it sucks at a sprinkling of water."

"Bells in the hills. A schoolbell ringing, and children’s voices drifting through an open window. A temple-bell, heard faintly from across the valley. Heavy silver ankle-bells on the feet of sturdy hill women. Sheep bells heard high up on the mountainside.

"Do falling petals make a sound? Just the tiniest and softest of sounds, like the drift of falling snow. Of course big flowers, like dahlias, drop their petals with a very definite flop. These are showoffs, like the hawk-moth who comes flapping into the rooms at night instead of emulating the butterfly dipping lazily on the afternoon breeze."

"I have sat out in the open at night, after a shower of rain when the whole air is murmuring and tinkling with the voices of crickets and grasshoppers and little frogs. There is one melodious sound, a sweet repeated trill, which I have never been able to trace to its source. ... "

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Guests Who Fly in from the Forest

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"Sometimes, during the day, a bird visits me—a deep purple whistling-thrush, hopping about on long dainty legs, peering to right and left, too nervous to sing. She perches on the windowsill, looking out at the rain. She does not permit any familiarity. But if I sit quietly in my chair, she will sit quietly on her windowsill, glancing quickly at me now and then just to make sure that I’m keeping my distance. When the rain stops, she glides away, and it is only then, confident in her freedom, that she bursts into full-throated song, her broken but haunting melody echoing down the ravine."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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In Search of a Winter Garden

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"Roses are warm and fragrant, and almost every flower I know, wild or cultivated, has its own unique quality, whether it be subtle fragrance or arresting colour or loveliness of design. ... "

" ... Down in the plains, winter is the best time for gardens, and I remembered my grandmother’s house in Dehra, with its long rows of hollyhocks, neatly staked sweet peas, and beds ablaze with red salvia and antirrhinum. Neither Grandmother nor the house are there anymore, but surely there are other beautiful gardens, I mused, and maybe I could visit ... "

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Gentle Shade by Day

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"Those who have spent time in non-air-conditioned parts of India will remember with gratitude those gracious trees that provide shade and shelter during the summer months—the banyan, peepul, mango, neem and others. ... "

" ... Few trees provide a cooler shade than it does. Even on the stillest of days, the peepul leaves are forever twirling and with thousands of leaves spinning like tops, there is quite a breeze for anyone sitting below."

"A mango grove is a wonderful place for an afternoon ... the shade under a mango grove is dark, deep and very soothing."

" ... There is always shade and space beneath a venerable old banyan. It is still a popular community centre in our Indian villages but is becoming a rarity in cities simply because it covers so large an area. And if you cut its aerial roots the tree topples over. Other handsome trees related to the banyan are the pilkhan and the chilkhan, large spreading evergreens, both quite noticeable on some of New Delhi’s wider avenues."

"The neem is a tall tree, but its numerous branches give it a shady head. One of my greatest pleasures is to walk beneath an avenue of neem trees after a shower of rain. ... "

" ... shade-giving trees symbolize the harmony between man and nature and that our ancestors in their devotion to trees and reverence for them, clearly showed that they knew what was good for them."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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White Clouds, Green Mountains

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"Towards the end of September, those few monsoon clouds that still linger over the Himalayas are no longer burdened with rain and are able to assume unusual shapes and patterns, chasing each other across the sky and disappearing in spectacular sunset formations.

"I have always found this to be the best time of the year in the hills. The sun-drenched hillsides are still an emerald green; the air is crisp, but winter’s bite is still a month or two away; and for those who still like to take to the open road on foot, there are springs, streams and waterfalls tumbling over rocks that remain dry for most of the year."

" ... Bears have been known to get drunk on the juice of rhododendron flowers, while bumble bees can be out-and-out dipsomaniacs."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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The Kipling Road

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"Remember the old road,

"The steep stony path

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" ... then there were trees near Jharipani

"And we stopped at the Halfway House

"And swallowed Iungfuls of diamond-cut air."

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"I made it to the top and stopped to rest

"And looked down to the valley and the silver stream

"Winding its way towards the plains.

"And the land stretched out before me, and the years fell away,

"And I was a boy again,

"And the friends of my youth were there beside me,

"And nothing had changed."

"Mussoorie does not really figure in Rudyard Kipling’s prose or poetry. The Simla Hills were his beat. As a journalist he was a regular visitor to Simla, then the summer seat of the British Raj."

"Honeysuckle climbed the wall outside my window, filling my bedroom with its heady scent. And wisteria grew over the main gate. There was perfume in the air."

"Anyway, we positioned ourselves on this ledge, and Gerry started producing panther noises with his box. His Master’s Voice would have been proud of it. Nothing happened for about twenty minutes, and I was beginning to lose patience when we were answered by the cough and grunt of what could only have been a panther. But we couldn’t see it! Gerry produced a pair of binoculars and trained them on some distant object below, which turned out to be a goat. The growling continued, and then it was just above us! The panther had made a detour and was now standing on a rock and staring down, no doubt wondering which of us was making such attractive mating calls."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Harold: Our Hornbill

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"He perfected this trick of catching things, and in time I taught him to catch a tennis ball thrown with some force from a distance of ﬁfteen yards. He would have made a great baseball catcher or an excellent slip fielder. On one occasion he seized a rupee coin from me (a week’s pocket money in those days) and swallowed it neatly.

"Although Harold never seemed to drink any water, he loved the rain. We always knew when it was going to rain because Harold would start chuckling to himself about an hour before the ﬁrst raindrops fell.

"This used to irritate Aunt Ruby. She was always being caught in the rain. Harold would be chuckling when she left the house. And when she returned, drenched to the skin, he would be in ﬁts of laughter.

"As storm clouds would gather, and gusts of wind would shake the banana trees, Harold would get very excited, and his chuckle would change to an eerie whistle.

"‘Wheee…wheee,’ he would scream, and then, as the ﬁrst drops of rain hit the verandah steps, and the scent of the fresh earth passed through the house, he would start roaring with pleasure."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Road to Badrinath

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"If you have travelled up the Mandakini valley, and then cross over into the valley of the Alaknanda, you are immediately struck by the contrast. The Mandakini is gentler, richer in vegetation, almost pastoral in places; the Alaknanda is awesome, precipitous, threatening, and seemingly inhospitable to those who must live and earn a livelihood in its confines.

"Even as we left Chamoli and began the steady, winding climb to Badrinath, the nature of the terrain underwent a dramatic change. No longer did green fields slope gently down to the riverbed. Here they clung precariously to rocky slopes and ledges that grew steeper and narrower, while the river below, impatient to reach its confluence with the Bhagirathi at Deoprayag, thundered along a narrow gorge.

" ... Joshimath, the winter resort of the Badrinath temple establishment, is about 6,000 ft above sea level and has an equable climate. It is now a fairly large town, and although the surrounding hills are rather bare, it does have one great tree that has survived the ravages of time. This is an ancient mulberry, known as the Kalpa-Vriksha (Immortal Wishing Tree), beneath which the great Sankaracharya meditated a few centuries ago. It is reputedly over two thousand years old, and is certainly larger than my modest four-roomed flat in Mussoorie. Sixty pilgrims holding hands might just about encircle its trunk."

"Nilkantha means blue-necked, an allusion to Lord Shiva’s swallowing of a poison meant to destroy the world. The poison remained in his throat, which was rendered blue thereafter. It is a majestic and awe-inspiring peak, soaring to a height of 21,640 ft. As its summit is only five miles from Badrinath, it is justly held in reverence. From its ice-clad pinnacle, three great ridges sweep down, of which the south terminates in the Alaknanda valley."

"Opening the window of my room and glancing out, I saw the rising sun touch the snow-clad summit of Nilkantha. At first the snows were pink; then they turned to orange and gold. All sleep vanished as I gazed up in wonder at that magnificent pinnacle in the sky. And had Lord Vishnu appeared just then on the summit, I would not have been in the least surprised."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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In Search of Sweet Peas

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This is a piece combining two earlier ones in the collection, "In Search of a Winter Garden" and "Gentle Shade by Day".

"Roses are warm and fragrant, and almost every flower I know, wild or cultivated, has its own unique quality, whether it be subtle fragrance or arresting colour or loveliness of design. ... "

"A mango grove is a wonderful place for an afternoon ... the shade under a mango grove is dark, deep and very soothing."

"The neem is a tall tree, but its numerous branches give it a shady head. One of my greatest pleasures is to walk beneath an avenue of neem trees after a shower of rain. ... "

" ... shade-giving trees symbolize the harmony between man and nature and that our ancestors in their devotion to trees and reverence for them, clearly showed that they knew what was good for them."

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022.

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Sacred Shrines Along the Way

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"Nandprayag: Where Rivers Meet"

"As for Nandprayag, perhaps I’d been there in some previous existence, I felt I was nearing home as soon as we drove into this cheerful roadside hamlet, some little way above the Nandakini’s confluence with the Alakananda river. A prayag is a meeting place of two rivers, and as there are many rivers in the Garhwal Himalayas, all linking up to join either the Ganga or the Jamuna, it follows that there are numerous prayags, in themselves places of pilgrimage as well as wayside halts enroute to the higher Hindu shrines at Kedarnath and Badrinath. Nowhere else in the Himalayas are there so many temples, sacred streams, holy places and holy men. Some little way above Nandprayag’s busy little bazaar is the tourist rest-house, perhaps the nicest of the tourist lodges in this region. It has a well-kept garden surrounded by fruit trees and is a little distance from the general hubbub of the main road."

"Along the pilgrim path are several handsome old houses, set among mango trees and the fronds of the papaya and banana. Higher up the hill the pine forests commence, but down here it is almost subtropical. Nandprayag is only about 3,000 feet above sea level—a height at which the vegetation is usually quite lush provided there is protection from the wind."

"Now, once again, while I sit on the lawn surrounded by zinnias in full bloom, I am teased by that feeling of having been here before, on this lush hillside, among the pomegranates and oleanders. Is it some childhood memory asserting itself? But as a child I never travelled in these parts.

"True, Nandprayag has some affinity with parts of the Doon valley before it was submerged by a tidal wave of humanity. But in the Doon there is no great river running past your garden. Here there are two, and they are also part of this feeling of belonging. Perhaps in some former life I did come this way, or maybe I dreamed about living here. Who knows? Anyway, mysteries are more interesting than certainties. ... "

"The Magic of Tungnath"

"The temple of Tungnath, at a little over 12,000 feet, is the highest shrine on the inner Himalayan range. It lies just below the Chandrashila peak. Some way off the main pilgrim routes, it is less frequented than Kedarnath or Badrinath, although it forms a part of the Kedar temple establishment. The priest here is a local man, a Brahmin from the village of Maku; the other Kedar temples have South Indian priests, a tradition begun by Sankaracharya, the eighth century Hindu reformer and revivalist.

"Tungnath’s lonely eminence gives it a magic of its own. To get there (or beyond), one passes through some of the most delightful temperate forest in the Garhwal Himalaya. Pilgrim, or trekker, or just plain rambler such as myself, one comes away a better person, forest-refreshed, and more aware of what the world was really like before mankind began to strip it bare.

"Duiri Tal, a small lake, lies cradled on the hill above Okhimath, at a height of 8,000 feet. It was a favourite spot of one of Garhwal’s earliest British Commissioners, J.H. Batten, whose administration continued for twenty years (1836–56)."

"He wrote "

" ... The next morning when the sun appeared, the Chaukhamba and many other peaks extending as far as Kedarnath seemed covered with a new quilt of snow, as if close at hand. The whole scene was so exquisite that one could not tire of gazing at it for hours. ... "

" ... Duiri Tal is still some way off the beaten track, and anyone wishing to spend the night there should carry a tent; but further along this range, the road ascends to Dugalbeta (at about 9,000 feet) where a PWD rest house, gaily painted, has come up like some exotic orchid in the midst of a lush meadow topped by excelsia pines and pencil cedars. Many an official who has stayed here has rhapsodized on the charms of Dugalbeta; and if you are unofficial (and therefore not entitled to stay in the bungalow), you can move on to Chopta, lusher still, where there is accommodation of a sort for pilgrims and other hardy souls. ... "

"The trek from Chopta to Tungnath is only three and a half miles, but in that distance one ascends about 3,000 feet, and the pilgrim may be forgiven for feeling that at places he is on a perpendicular path. Like a ladder to heaven, I couldn’t help thinking."

"A tiny guardian-temple dedicated to Lord Ganesh spurred us on. Nor was I really fatigued; for the cold fresh air and the verdant greenery surrounding us was like an intoxicant. Myriads of wildflowers grow on the open slopes-buttercups, anemones, wild strawberries, forget-me-not, rock-cress-enough to rival Bhyundar’s ‘Valley of Flowers’ at this time of the year.

"But before reaching these alpine meadows, we climb through rhododendron forest, and here one finds at least three species of this flower: the red-flowering tree rhododendron (found throughout the Himalaya between 6,000 feet and 10,000 feet); a second variety, the almatta, with flowers that are light red or rosy in colour; and the third chimul or white variety, found at heights ranging from between 10,000 and 13,000 feet. The chimul is a brush-wood, seldom more than twelve feet high and growing slantingly due to the heavy burden of snow it has to carry for almost six months in the year.

"These brushwood rhododendrons are the last trees we see on our ascent, for as we approach Tungnath the tree line ends and there is nothing between earth and sky except grass and rock and tiny flowers. ... "

"When we arrived, clouds had gathered over Tungnath, as they do almost every afternoon. The temple looked austere in the gathering gloom."

"On Shivratri or Night of Shiva, the true believer may, ‘with the eye of faith’, see the lingam increase in size; but ‘to the evil-minded no such favour is granted’. The temple, though not very large, is certainly impressive, mainly because of its setting and the solid slabs of grey granite from which it is built. ... "

" ... We are halfway down the Tungnath ‘ladder’ when it begins to rain quite heavily. And now we pass our first genuine pilgrims, a group of intrepid Bengalis who are heading straight into the storm. They are without umbrellas or raincoats, but they are not to be deterred. Oaks and rhododendrons flash past as we dash down the steep, winding path. ... "

"Tungnath, as yet unspoilt by a materialistic society, exerts its magic on all who come here with an open mind and heart."

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January 17, 2022 - January 17, 2022.

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A Village in Garhwal

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"Through the open window, I focus on a pattern of small, glossy lime leaves; then through them I see the mountains, the furthest Himalayas, striding away into an immensity of sky.

"‘In a thousand ages of the gods I could not tell thee of the glories of Himachal.’ So confessed a Sanskrit poet at the dawn of Indian history. ... "

" ... I see a small river, a tributary of the Ganga, rushing along the bottom of a steep, rocky valley. On the banks of the river and on the terraced hill above are small fields of corn, barley, mustard, potatoes and onions. A few fruit trees, mostly apricot and peach, grow near the village. Some hillsides are rugged and bare, masses of quartz or granite. On hills exposed to the wind, only grass and small shrubs are able to obtain a foothold.

"This landscape is typical of Garhwal, one of India’s most northerly regions, with its massive snow ranges bordering on Tibet. ... "

" ... Lansdowne, chief recruiting centre for the Garhwal Rifles. Garhwal soldiers distinguished themselves fighting alongside British troops in both the World Wars, and they still form a high percentage of recruits to the Indian Army. ... "

"Lansdowne is just over 6,000 ft in altitude. From there we walked some twenty-five miles between sunrise and sunset, until we came to Manjari village clinging to the terraced slopes of the Dudhatoli range."

"He is an expert on wild fruit: the purple berries of the thorny kingora (barberry) ripening in May and June; wild strawberries like drops of blood on the dark green monsoon grass; sour cherries, wild pears and raspberries. Chakradhar’s strong teeth and probing tongue extract whatever tang or sweetness lies hidden in them. In the spring there are the rhododendron flowers. His mother makes them into jam, but Chakradhar likes them as they are. He places the petals on his tongue and chews till the sweet juice trickles down his throat. He has never been ill."

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January 17, 2022 - January 17, 2022.

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The Dehra I Know

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"It was very different from the Dehra Dun of today—much smaller, much greener, considerably less crowded; sleepier too, and somewhat laid-back, easy-going; fond of gossip, but tolerant of human foibles. A place of bicycles and pony-drawn tongas. Only a few cars; no three-wheelers. And you could walk almost anywhere, at any time of the year, night or day.

"The Dehra I knew really fell into three periods. The Dehra of my childhood, staying in my grandmother’s house on the Old Survey Road (not much left of that bungalow now). The Dehra of my schooldays, when I would come home for the holidays to stay with my mother and stepfather—a different house on almost every visit, right up until the time I left for England. And then the Dehra of my return to India, when I lived on my own in a small flat above Astley Hall and wrote many of my best stories."

"When I was a boy, many of the bungalows (such as the one built by my grandfather) had fairly large grounds or compounds—flower gardens in front, orchards at the back. Apart from lichees, the common fruit trees were papaya, guava, mango, lemon, and the pomalo, a sort of grapefruit. Most of those large compounds have now been converted into housing-estates. Dehra’s population has gone from fifty thousand in 1950 to over seven lakh at present. Not much room left for fruit trees!"

"There was a wild flower, a weed, that grew all over Dehra and still does. We called it Blue Mint. It grows in ditches, in neglected gardens, anywhere there’s a bit of open land. It’s there nearly all the year round. I’ve always associated it with Dehra. The burgeoning human population has been unable to suppress it. This is one plant that will never go extinct. It refuses to go away. I have known it since I was a boy, and as long as it’s there I shall know that a part of me still lives in Dehra."

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January 17, 2022 - January 17, 2022.

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The Gentle Nights Befriend Me

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"Here in Landour, India, on the first range of the Himalayas, I have grown accustomed to the night’s brightness—moonlight, starlight, lamplight, firelight! Even fireflies and glowworms light up the darkness."

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January 17, 2022 - January 17, 2022.

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Once You Have Lived with Mountains

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" ... boom of the Ganges emerging from the foothills. I remembered a little mountain path which led my restless feet into a cool sweet forest of oak and rhododendron and then on to the windswept crest of a naked hilltop. The hill was called Cloud’s End. It commanded a view of the plains on one side, and of the snow peaks on the other. Little silver rivers twisted across the valley below, where the rice fields formed a patchwork of emerald green. And on the hill itself the wind made a ‘hoo-hoo-hoo’ in the branches of the tall deodars where it found itself trapped. During the rains, clouds enveloped the valley but left the hills alone, an island in the sky. Wild sorrel grew among the rocks, and there were many flowers—convolvulus, clover, wild begonia, dandelion—sprinkling the hillside."

"No one lived on the hill, except occasionally a coal-burner in a temporary grass thatched hut. But villagers used the path for grazing their sheep and cattle on the grassy slopes. Each cow or sheep had a bell suspended from its neck to let the shepherd boy know its whereabouts.

"The boy could then lie in the sun and eat wild strawberries without fear of losing his animals. I remembered some of the shepherd boys and girls. There was a boy who played the flute. Its rough, sweet, straightforward notes travelled clearly through the mountain air. He would greet me with a nod of his head, without taking the flute from his lips."

" ... These things I remembered—these, and the smell of pine needles, the silver of oak leaves and the red of maple, the call of the Himalayan cuckoo, and the mist, like a wet face-cloth, pressing against the hills."

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January 17, 2022 - January 17, 2022.

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January 18, 2022 - January 18, 2022

Purchased January 10, 2022.

Kindle Edition, 104 pages

Published March 15th 2019

by Rupa Publications

ASIN:- B07PKQNYZQ

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https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4485633664

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Petals on the Ganga

Kindle Edition

by Ruskin Bond (Author)

Format: Kindle Edition

Published by Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd

2019

7/16, Ansari Road,

Daryaganj

New Delhi 110002

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B07PKQNYZQ

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Rupa Publications

(15 March 2019)

Language ‏ : ‎ English

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Reviews - Books I Read - DRJG

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

Petals on the Ganga, by Ruskin Bond.

Light Explodes Across Heavens

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