THE PARO ‘CHU’
I came to Paro
for the first time in July 2006. There
were lot of apprehensions in my mind relating to the place, climate and the
people. I was briefed by the people who
had been here before that it would be for me a very very lonely life. Being born and brought up in a South Indian
city and used to moderate weather, I was even more scared of the cold winter
months.
The first thing
that caught my eye when we reached Paro was the river. It flowed majestically and triumphantly
through the valley and it immediately reminded me of the ‘river in Macondo’
described by my favourite writer, Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his classic novel,
‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’. The
river in Macondo was “a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished
stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs”. The river in Paro exactly matched the description
of Marquez. When I telephoned my mother
after reaching Paro, I told her,” Mother, I am in a heaven”. The view of the river from Khankhu with the
small bridge over it and the mighty mountains towering around…I could describe
it in no other way.
As I mentioned
earlier, I belong to a South Indian city famous for its lovely beaches. There is a small river too which runs through
the heart of the city; polluted with sewage and waste; it was always out of
bounds for us. Whenever we used to go
for picnics from school and college, we preferred visiting a waterfall or a
riverside. We loved to wade into the
cool water to refresh ourselves from the hot and humid tropical weather. The sight of the pure and lovely river of Paro aroused hopes in me. I wanted to sit by the banks and dip my feet
in the water. Alas! I could only enjoy it only from a
distance. I never got an opportunity to
touch the water in the first eight months of my stay in Paro. I used to go for long walks from home and
longingly look at the river from behind the iron fence by the side of the
airport. After eight months my husband
took pity on me and took us for a picnic to the riverside. It was the first time I felt the chill. The water was so cold that I realized that I
will not be able to wade into the water as I wanted to.
In summer,
especially after the rains, it swells and becomes a mighty and powerful
presence. It acquires the image of a
giver as well as a taker. The depth and
darkness arouses in one’s mind its omnipotence and it appears omniscient as it
moves down the valley in rapture.
Sometimes,
while gazing at the river, its rush down the valley reminds me of a working
mother running to catch her bus in the morning.
I wonder why it has to hurry down; oblivious of the beauty and life
around; only to merge with the sea.
When I go back
from Paro, one thing I would like to take with me is the river in winter,
though I know it is not
possible. Instead, I will carry in my
heart the love and friendship of the equally beautiful people of Bhutan.
