Master Swastika had called for Master Winsley and Master Willsum to discuss certain matters of concern since the visit to nearby village was already arranged. There were immediate permissions and orders that were needed.
By 10:30 in the morning they had left after completing their daily chores. The roads were clean, at certain places– bumpy though. Eleven hours had already passed, Dorjee had to ensure his alertness while driving at night.
They were suppose to reach before evening, the navigation and spiral roads made their speed slow. The crescent Moon along with galaxy of starts and incessant rains at night was giving them company, on the lonely road, they felt, they were not alone.
The slopes and hills by one side were guarding them. The sonority of the river, in silence, at this time of the night was coming more alive with the lashes of rain drops. It was on a symphony with local gnats and crickets, it seemed though. They were singing in chorus for the arrival of new ones driving on the road.
At 11: 21 PM they entered Bramhali Village. Its pristine ambience was immediately inviting to them. The thatched brown roofs with red painted brick walls in uniformity of all the homes made them look alike, a colony of sophisticated apartments in a millennium city as though. The roads were neatly made from mud and bricks. Each side of the roads were planted with trees of varied shapes, fragrance and colours. There were 32 homes in total. There were green lands visible in the stary nights reaching to the horizons.
The impeccable cleanliness of the Bramhli was immediately noticeable. For the next one month they all had to stay here and help local village people in building their homes and making them aware about work possibilities. Involving them in their local craft work. Literacy engagements for women after their homly hours, organised in the afternoon and evening. Building opportunities for youth and caring for the older ones. The culture of the place was different from where they had come, to experience life at one more stage and their unique oneness, they had to involve themselves. They were ready and were welcomed with greetings and marigold garlands galore.
The local welcome drink was unique in its aroma and fragrance. They hadn’t tasted it before. The piping hot soupla was palatable, made up of a local herb, much of the ingredients unknown to them though. It was their starving appetite or the taste of the soup, they couldn’t make, they hadn’t tasted anything like this before, it was for sure.
They kept waiting for food. After two hours, in which they settled in their rooms and organised their paraphernalia, they asked to the lady who had brought soupla for them. In a surprised manner she looked and inquired, didn’t they bring their own? For their kitchen was cleaned and shut for today, only the next day, it would be operative again in accordance with their system and norms. She was polite and spoke in local dialect that they could understand and speak a bit. The soupla was part of their customary welcome drink being offered to every one who comes at their place, food was not, until informed beforehand, she told. She greeted and bade adieu to them and then went inside her home.
They all looked into each others eyes, smiled and then retired to their cosy newly allocated homes in Bramhali.
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