THE MOUNTAIN

Anara grew up in a valley beneath a tallmountain. Flowers carpeted the valley inspring, when the stream at its heart flowedhard and fast with melting snow, and themountain’s peak glowed gloriously in themorning sun. Anara, with her feet in the ice-cold water, head cradled in soft flowers,thought of the far distant home of the streamin the high mountain plateaus and howwonderful that home must be, for everythingthe valley was, all its joy and life, it owed tothe stream. The water’s bubbling voicesounded so eager to tell her its tale, Anarafelt sad she could not understand. Lyingamong the flowers, she promised herself thatone day she would follow the stream home.One day, she would climb the mountain.

The seasons came and went, and the years.

Anara was now a young woman. Ahandsome young man from a wealthy familyin a village in the foothills asked to marryher.

“To journey upriver, hasn’t that been yourdream?” Anara’s father advised. “Isn’t thisyour chance?”

“If I marry Chita I will never get to go onmy journey. I will stay in the foothillsforever.”

“You will have a wonderful family, and youwill be very happy. Chita is a good man. Hewill take care of you and love you as hiswife. That will make your mother and I veryhappy.”

Anara married Chita, She packed herpossessions and journeyed along the path

beside the stream until she came to Chita’svillage in the low foothills. And here shemade her home. It was to be for twentyyears, and she and Chita had three children.Anara was happy with her family. But in theevening alone she would stand and gaze upat the peak of the mountain far above. Herold dream was still alive. She wanted toclimb so much, yet in the first half of her lifeshe had travelled a mere few miles of thejourney.

Then one day Chita came to her and said: “Ihave been watching you, my love. I knowyou are not happy. I know your heart isyearning for the adventure you never had,that you still long to climb the mountain asyou wished as a child. So, let me release youof your bond to our family. Our children aregrown. They no longer need their mother’sconstant care because you have loved them

and nurtured them so well: they are strongand can fend for themselves. I too can lookafter myself. But I cannot go with you onyour journey. The high mountain is not forme. The village is my place. This is where Ibelong. My wealth is here, and everything Ilove. But you must go where your heartleads.”

Anara knew if she did not accept Chita’soffer, she would never realise her dream. So,after twenty long years in the village, Anaraleft her family behind and began once morefollowing the path by the stream, leadingsteadily up the mountain. Once again it wasspring, the spring of a new year, and thestream was full and bubbling with meltwater. As she climbed the air grew colder.Every now and again from some vantagepoint she would look down on the valleysbelow. She saw the village where she had

lived with Chita. Beyond that she caughtglimpses of the valley of her home with itsflowering meadows.

On a stormy night she came across a poorold woman stumbling along the path. Shetook the old woman home.

“My husband had died. I am so sick, I canno longer look after myself,” the old womansaid. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I will look after you,” Anara said. “I am notdoing anything in particular, other thanclimbing the mountain.”

“I don’t want to keep you from yourjourney,” the old woman said.

“I am happy to stay and care for you,” Anarasaid. “I would not have it any other way.

The time for my journey will come.”

And so she stayed and looked after the oldwoman, who gradually got better andbecame very happy. They got onwonderfully together and became greatfriends. Anara loved the old woman and herstories. Sometimes she missed her ownfamily, and thought she should return downthe mountain. But this meant leaving herfriend, and it also meant giving up herdream. So she stayed, and the years went by.Anara’s hair began to turn grey, the colourof the ice on the windowsills.

Then one morning Anara made breakfast totake to her friend and found that the old ladyhad died in the night. She had died smiling,which comforted Anara, who wept at herfriend’s bedside. She arranged the funeral,and set off up the mountain.

It was not long before she met a shepherdbringing his sheep down the mountain topasture, for at this time winter was coming.The shepherd had fallen and hurt his leg.

“Can you help me?” he asked frantically. “IfI can’t get my flock to the valley, they willstarve.”

Anara agreed immediately. “Of course,” shetold the shepherd. “I have nothing special todo. I am climbing the mountain becausewhen I was little the stream spoke to me andtold me of its home, and I had a dream tovisit there. But it is of little consequencebeside the well being of your sheep.”

Together they descended the mountain tillthey arrived at the next valley down. HereAnara spent the winter in the shepherd’s

cottage. He was a lonely man and his legwould not heal. In fact, Anara helped himfor three years looking after his sheep. Thenshe asked if she might resume her journey.

“I cannot thank you enough for all you havedone,” the shepherd said. “I wish you luckwith your quest. But I warn you themountain is not the magical place youimagine it to be. It is cold and desolate andhard.”

“I am sure. But the voice of the stream hadstayed in my mind since I was a little girl.And I must discover what it was it wastrying to tell me. I cannot rest until I do.Goodbye, my friend.”

Once again it was springtime as Anararesumed her climb. The sky above her headwas bright blue. Anara found herself places

to sleep amongst the rocks. She had with herbread to eat, which she was careful to makelast. The air became thin and difficult tobreathe. She climbed still higher, yet the topof the mountain seemed no closer. She leftthe trees behind, and now there was but thinwispy grass and rocks., through whichtrickled what remained of the tiny stream.

Higher still she came to the mouth of a cave.She thought it seemed like a good place tospend the night and went cautiously inside.Suddenly she was surprised by an old mansitting in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Anara asked.

“I am a hermit,” the old man said. “I havebeen living here for more than thirty years,alone. You are the first person I have seensince I left my family.”

Anara related the story of how she too hadleft her family far below in the foothills ofthe mountain. She said she was climbing tofind the source of the stream.

“You will find nothing,” the old man toldher. “Beyond here is only grief and misery. Imyself have looked. The air is impossible tobreathe, the cold is too intense to bare. Thereis no water to drink. The source of yourprecious stream is only lifeless frozen rock.There is nothing there. I have seen. I couldnot go back and tell what I had seen,because like you I thought I would be thebearer of great joy. Instead I can tell onlymisery.”

That night a terrible blizzard blew up, and itbecame fearfully cold. The old man wasterribly thin and sickly. In the morning he

said to Anara: “I have told you there isnothing here. Take my advice. Go backdown the mountain before it is too late. Donot have your dream shattered. Go backdown and tell them what they want to know:that the source of the stream is somethingbeautiful beyond imagination. Please go tomy family and tell them. Tell them you haveseen me, that I live in a place of greatwonder and happiness, and that I love them.Do not tell them the truth. Will you do thatfor me?”

Anara saw that the old man was close todeath.

“I will take you back down the mountain,“she said.

But he forbid her. “No. I can never go back.Promise me you will tell my family. It is all

I ask.”

“After I’ve climbed the mountain,” she said.

“No,” he insisted. “Go no further. You mustgo down now.”

The old man was very weak. Anara built asled bed and put him upon it and when theweather eased she started the long descentdown the mountain. But the weather quicklygrew worse again. She sheltered with hersick friend, but by next morning shediscovered he had died. Anara went downthe rest of the way to the village where theold man had once lived. She found hisfamily and told them what he had asked. Shesaid there existed a place on top of themountain which was so beautiful it wasbeyond imagining, and she was going there,for that was where the old hermit had found

peace, and he wanted them to know.

Then Anara set off up the mountain again.The villagers thought she was mad, forwinter was coming and the shepherds weredescending with their flocks. They thoughtshe was a dreamer.

Anara climbed. She followed the course ofthe stream. High up it began to snow and thethin air made her breathless. On she trudged.She passed the cave where the old hermithad spent his days, and she remembered hiswarning. She was alone now. There was noone. There was no other living creature. Atthis altitude no creature could live. Therewas just barren rock and ice and fog.Anara’s hands were blistered and burnt withcold. Her face too was gnawed at by thefreezing wind. She bent down, and still ather side was a faint trickle of water barely

inching down the mountainside. Shestruggled on.

How could it be, she asked herself, that somuch beauty in the valleys and foothillsbelow, arose out of such misery and dearth?Truly, the mountain, a place of suchsplendour seen from below, was in truthnothing but desolation and death. There wasnot even any view, for the fog, thosebeautiful clouds seen from below, wasimpenetrably thick and oppressive. Was thismy dream? Anara asked herself? Was it forthis that I gave up my family, for this icyinhuman waste?