A Nilgiris ReflectionYangdol

"I was introduced to Yangdol just before the pandemic hit. At that time, Ladakh had become home, but I was stuck in Delhi. Yangdol became a way for me to return. I began searching/dipping into my visual archive of the place and in many ways, this project became my way of reaching back. A love letter to a place I was yearning for and holding on to."

— Athulya Pillai

"The notion of home was a patchwork of loose thoughts when I sat down to write Yangdol. I always believed that a house became a home when the people you loved lived in it. But then, what of Yangdol — who spent the last decades of her life living in a house empty of people. Subconsciously, I had written into being a place that was not just a shell that housed a person, but a place of warmth that offered itself to its resident as a companion. This may be because somewhere within me was the growing feeling that isolation may not always foster hopelessness or despair. I wonder if it was because of a meeting with an old woman in a village called Takmachik. 80 years or more and living alone in her home. There was always enough tea for herself and another visitor, neighbour or a passerby like me. That she always and happily brewed one cup extra said something about her inner place. She was alone but not lonely, and her home was her immediate family. In Yangdol, I have tried to recreate her contentment."

— Pankaj Singh

***

This is the tale of a girl called Yangdol. She was born in the season of Autumn, to the sound of a gurgling brook and the chirping of sparrows.

"All that is green is gone. The leaves are withered and trees bare. And yet, a flower blooms in our home... our fairy daughter!" her mother exclaimed.

…

Yangdol's parents worked hard and lived a modest life.

They had a little farm in which they grew barley and apricot.

They had cattle too. Sheep, yak and dzos who they tended to like their own children.

One morning, Yangdol woke up to a commotion.

Her father was carrying lifeless sheep out of their enclosure. Tears flowed down her mother's cheeks. She had her eyes closed.

"A snow leopard came down and took away a calf. Two sheep were killed too," said her father.

Yangdol was upset that a beast from outside had taken the lives of the animals they cared for.

"What were you doing today, mother? Beside the dead sheep?" Yangdol asked.

"Offering a prayer, my little one." Her mother replied.

"A prayer?"

"Yes. For the poor sheep, the snow leopard and the mountain spirits."

"For the snow leopard? Shouldn't we be angry? Should we not seek revenge? Our poor sheep!' cried Yangdol.

"It is sad, very sad. But know this child, for a thousand years and more, this land was the kingdom of the beasts and birds that roamed here. We did not always live here. But they let us call it home. We must respect that. If we have received, we must offer too. Do you think the river weeps when we draw from her or that the mountains wail when we hack the trees that have nestled in them for decades and centuries? The mountain-spirit may take what is ours, for it is her land and we are only visitors. It is a small price to pay. Don't be angry, little Yangdol, We must but grieve for the few moments of pain felt by our poor animals... that is the circle of life."

Yangdol never forgot these words and grew up respecting the land and all the life in it.

Yangdol grew up to be a beautiful young woman. She soon found a loving husband in the neighbouring village.

She moved away from her parents with a broken heart. She longed to share a cup of butter-tea with her parents on winter nights.

Her husband was very caring and understood her like a childhood friend.

Yangdol soon settled into a new life.

But one day, fate played a cruel hand. Her husband died of a sudden illness and left Yangdol forever.

Heartbroken, Yangdol returned to her parents' home. Their presence offered great comfort. Slowly, she resumed the life she led before marriage.

Years passed beautifully in the village. Yangdol refused to marry again and chose to stay with her parents who were growing weaker. She now took the animals to graze by herself and worked in the field too.

The inevitable happened one day. After a night of feasting and festive singing and dancing, Yangdol's father did not wake up. He was old and weak.

Yangdol and her mother were heartbroken.

The grief slowly consumed her mother. A few months later, on a beautiful summer evening, Yangdol's mother left her kind and gentle daughter forever.

Without a husband, children and parents, Yangdol was alone.

She had neighbours and relatives who visited her. But all she could truly call her own were her animals.

Yangdol remembered her father's words. She felt a connection with all the animals and elements of nature.

She began to find small joys everywhere. She liked listening to the brook that flowed beside her home. It brought her childhood memories.

Yangdol was indeed not alone. She was always in the company of the creatures of the mountains, even when she didn't see them.

The creatures, they watched her from the very beginning.

When she was a little shepherdess venturing out with her mother.

They watched her close her eyes and whisper a prayer when she lost a sheep or a yak to snow leopards or wolves.

The creatures told their young about Yangdol. The young, when grown up, told their young.

Every wolf pup, every bear and snow leopard cub was told about Yangdol. And hers, was a beautiful story.

In her home, Yangdol was in despair. Her knees ached from years of toil. Her shoulders froze for days.

She made the decision to give away her only family - her beloved animals, to somebody who could take care of them. She wept like a child but was happy they would roam free in the mountains again.

She barely stepped out, venturing only to turn the prayer wheel outside her home.

No more was she seen roaming the mountains or calling out to the creatures of the land. Her voice had not rung in their ears for a long time. Let alone a glimpse.

Conversations about Yangdol grew among the animals and the birds. One day there was a gathering. Some wondered if she had left the village.

The fox and the little owl informed that she was home because they saw her often by the window at night, looking out toward the mountains.

A decision was made.

A beautiful winter's moon shone low in the sky. The guardian of the mountains, the snow leopard walked slowly down the valley, her two cubs close behind her.

The night was so brilliantly lit, Yangdol could even see the dreamy descent of snowflakes in her garden. Glaciers glistened in the distance.

Then, something caught her attention, a few yards from her window.

Weak and yet shining in the light of the moon that spilled in through the window and came to rest in her lap, Yangdol wiped the steam from her tea cup and peered through the glass.

The one they called the Grey Ghost Of The Mountains, sat in her garden, with two cubs. Not doing anything. Simply being. Only glancing toward her for a few seconds before drifting away.

Yangdol was overcome by a happiness she had never felt. A flower bloomed within her heart.