Christmas again

Tura and Baghmara in Garo Hills geared up well in advance for Christmas. The forest town were decorated with sparkling multi-colour lights as it ready to celebrate the memories of the birth of the Son of Man. Rohminglien Buhril, who hosted L Keivom and I and who is also the Divisional Forest Officer of Meghalaya’s Tura and Baghmara districts, told us that the town would be witnessing a Christmas decoration competition very soon. The competition has become an annual affair for the Garo protestant and catholic Christians who populated the eco-friendly districts. Like the hidden lamp Tura and Baghmara celebrates the beautiful season unknown to the outside world. Everything beautiful hides while the ugly and the beast lord with evils. If the wait for the Messiah is still on, it should be over for that evading beauty is already wagging its tail in Garo Hills. When man comes to his realization he would flock to the virgin hills and mountains to see the already revealed power and glory. There would not be any need to wait or preach with doctored doctrines and fanatic religion. The power and the glory is more than enough to make the blind see and cease the long wait. The sights and sound are honest than any truth of the embraced religion. They are alive ever with His breath and touch.

We left Tura for Baghmara on December 16 evening. Baghmara is about four hours away from Tura. On the way we were gulped by the majestic night with sparkling stars that flooded the sky. We passed through “No Mans Land”, between India and Bangladesh. Rabbits and deer leaped away from the piercing jeep headlight. They don’t seem to find any comfort in it. We passed through many sleepy villages that were, otherwise, awake with homecoming like celebrations. I wonder not who came, for I think I know the unseen visitor. That’s salvation for me. Band of caroling boys and girls dotted the serene road in the cold and clean night. We passed them undisturbed. Sometimes four or five teenage boys would be sitting in the middle of the silent empty road with the traditional Garo drum. They seem to know no fear, but only the spirit that has shine through. Some were not clothed enough in that chilly night. But they seem to have more than enough. Their overflowing hearts shine in their faces. They don’t seem to be in want. They seem to have everything, which the mad world is racing for. Be it peace. Joy. Contentment. Rivers and water. Trees. Nature and all its beauty. Nations will war for them tomorrow while the Garos sacredly preserve them in their lap.

Coming back to Delhi is no joyful retreat. The mess and chaos with the angered ancient city does not seem to bear any resemblance to that blissful expectation that lifted Garo hills. The journey was Christmas. But we save the stirring spirits within us, undisturbed by the magic of many Black Dog nights. The best is still saved. So merry Christmas.