In the circa of the simian 1980 AD, the ninth year of the duodecennial cycle of the Chinese zodiac calendar, under the auspicious sign of metal of the five elemental symbols, an old and weary traveller found his final resting place on the banks of the nearly frozen Gurudongmar Lake at an altitude of 17,800 feet in the mighty Himalayas in the Mangan District of the Indian state of Sikkim. The etched crevices of his wrinkled epidermis stood a testament to a lifetime of journeying through the wilderness in some of the world’s highest, remotest, and harshest regions.
After many uncountable years of breathing the air, drinking the water, and consuming the food offered by mother earth, his mind had finally started to give in. He questioned the very meaning of his existence as only fragments of memories remained with him. A warrior, a lover, a poet, a philosopher, a hunter, a craftsman, a musician, he had perhaps been all, but now he could not remember. Flickering traits and sporadic muscle memories occasionally indicated what or who he might have been. Whatever he was, it was clear that he was a wandering being.
The wooden almirah he carried on his arched back containing bits and pieces of his life was more of an abysmal puzzle than a box of answers to him. Sitting beside an open fire under the dazzling night sky, he caressed an old Mongolian recurve bow. Though he knew that the weapon had a bamboo core, Saiga antelope horn belly, sinew back, bound together with animal glue, and wrapped in birch bark, he had no memories with it.
A single birchwood arrow with rare eagle-feather fletching tipped with a wide-metal-blade arrowhead in his shrivelling quiver was highly unusual for a hunter to carry. One never used such an arrow for hunting. It was simply not practical. Hunting arrows usually had crane-feather fletching with bone or wooden points. His metal arrowhead, however, had a hollow channel very similar to a whistling arrow, which hunters used to freeze their games with the sound they caused while piercing through the wind. This arrow was custom-built for something specific. What did he shoot with it? A scroll of parchment written by him in a script he no longer remembered or could read perhaps had all the answers he sought, but then he could not decipher it.
At night he dreamt about religion. Was he religious? At least he could not remember to be but spiritual he could have been, as he felt a strong connection with everything. Somewhere deep in his ebbing mind, he knew that religion was something that helped people find the meaning of things. Perhaps religion could help him decipher the meaning of his existence, but alas, only if he could remember who and what he had been. Somehow, he knew that the lake was also called the ‘Jewel of Sikkim’ and was considered sacred by the Sikhs, Hindus, and Buddhists.
Opening his eyes to the maiden rays of the next day’s dawning sun kissing the snowcapped mountains surrounding the magical lake, he wondered from which direction he had come. Did he come from the south of the Tibetan (Chinese) border, just five kilometres from where he was, but it was impossible to cross the mighty Himalayas from that side?
Then had he come from the town of Lachen via Thangu Valley in Sikkim. The route passed through the rugged terrain of a moraine, an accumulation of unconsolidated debris of regolith and rock, an ancient glacial till, with high alpine pastures covered with different species of Rhododendron trees. It was the only route that pilgrims usually took to visit the lake.
He wondered how he could remember such unnecessary things and not even recollect from which direction he had come. While nascent memories vanished fast, old recollections floated in his mind like the unbound pages of some ancient manuscript. Further, he could not differentiate which memory was a reality and which was a dream.
He remembered the folklore that Guru Padmasambhava, also known as Guru Rinpoche, founder of Tibetan Buddhism, who visited the area in the 8th century, blessed a particular spot on the lake never to freeze so that it could provide year-round drinking water to the isolated mountain tribes. Funny that he felt that he was there when the guru performed the miracle, but how could that be; it must have been hundreds of years ago.
Then he remembered another story about Guru Nanak Sahib, founder of the Sikh religion, dipping his walking stick in the frozen lake to create the unfrozen spot at the request of local shepherds sometime in the 15th century. He felt he was there too. Did both of the events occur? Or was only one of the stories true? Which story was true, which false, did not matter to him? It was a blessing enough that that thawed hole provided year-round water for drinking, and now he could spend the remainder of his days here, where there was hardly anyone to question and enquire about his being.
As time passed, he lost track of the days and times. He could no longer remember when he had come to the lake and how long he had been there. Not being able to recollect what or who one had been was perhaps the cruellest thing to experience in the December days of life. After all, what are we without our memories? Are we even alive? He often wondered while strolling beside the pristine lake in this magical land of the divine.
“Wake up, old man, wake up,” screamed a little shepherd girl and woke him from sleep. “Can you help me retrieve my little lamb; it has wandered onto the ice,” pleaded the child as the old timer rubbed his eyes with his palms to get a bearing of what was happening. Cautiously walking on the thin frozen sheet, the ancient traveller slowly approached the lamb, clapped his hands, and made some noise to steer the helpless animal away from danger. Ignoring the dancing man on the ice as if he was not there, the lamb trotted towards safety, and a beautiful friendship started between an old and fading brain and a young and discovering mind.
The little girl started coming to Gurudongmar with her small band of sheep every day. Her parents always remained at a distance and left the oldtimer alone. They preferred not to disturb the hermit who lived in the yak-skin tent. They somehow did not mind their daughter pestering the quiet human being. It seemed like the family were nomadic shepherds who had landed in the region and had camped in the alpine pastures in Thangu Valley, a few kilometres from the lake.
The girl would speak for hours with him. Her young and sharp mind would pose millions of questions, many of which the ancient man could not answer. She would go through the contents of his almirah, try to read his precious scroll, and even play with the Mongolian recurve bow and the single birchwood arrow. As time passed, interacting with the girl, the traveller realised that he perhaps need not seek answers to his being. Religion, which tried to put meaning to everything, seemed unnecessary. He realised that life was to be experienced, one fleeting moment at a time. It was unimportant to hold onto things, but it was crucial to live the moment as fruitfully and helpfully as possible. The little girl was there for him during his last days on earth, and it was a moment of blessing to experience.
“Wake up, old man, wake up,” screamed the little shepherd girl waking up the oldtimer from sleep. “Bandits have raided our camp. They have beaten and tied up my father and are hurting my mother. Save my parents, save my parents,” cried the poor soul.
Picking his withered recurve bow and the single birchwood, wide-metal-tipped, eagle-feather fletching arrow, the forgotten man ran with the little girl towards her camp to save her parents.
They came and stopped beside a small Rhododendron niveum tree on top of a little hill. He saw that two men had pinned down the little girl’s mother onto a bed of straw while another stood on top to violate her. A fourth man skewed a skinned lamb on an open fire, preparing a feast to celebrate their pillage of the innocents.
At that instance, a sudden ocean of memory flooded the ancient man’s mind. He remembered who he had been and what he was capable of doing. Placing the birchwood arrow on the old bow, he drew it with every ounce of his remaining strength. Calculating the distance to be more than five hundred meters, factoring wind, speed, and several other little things within a fraction of a second, he released the arrow with all his might.
The projective tore through the wind with a shrill cry, and the bandits looked up towards the sky. They saw a single dazzling arrow with its metal tip reflecting the golden rays of the sun, appearing to be on fire, descending from the heaven above. Before they could react, the deadly projectile went through the chest of the bandit in the middle and lodged into a tree trunk behind.
Spontaneously the bandit put his hands on his chest to cover his wound but did not feel any pain. When he removed his hands from where the arrow had passed his body, there was no blood or gash, as if nothing had happened. The bandits looked at the arrow lodged into the tree behind them. They were too scared to think about what had happened. Lucky to be alive, they ran, mounted their horses, and galloped away.
The little girl’s mother quickly rose and untied her husband. Both of them went to the tree trunk, and when the girl’s father tried to touch the arrow lodged in the wood, it dissolved into a fog of mist. They turned and looked up towards the direction from where it was fired, and there on top of the hill above their camp, they saw the silhouette of their little girl and the old man.
Early in the morning the next day, the shepherd couple came and stood outside the yak-skin tent to pay their respect to the guardian of the lake, who had saved them. Inside the tent flopped the creaking pane of a wooden almirah, and inside it lay a scroll of parchment with the title “Memoirs of Sky Fire, the greatest archer in service of the Mighty Khan – circa of the simian 1200 AD.” On the floor beside a human skeleton lay a Mongolian recurve bow and the eagle-feather fletching birchwood arrow with the wide-metal arrowhead.
After that, the couple walked to a small heap of stones placed in a circle amidst a little grove in the valley. There they laid a bouquet of wildflowers on the grave of their twelve-year-old daughter, who had drowned and died in the lake trying to save a little lamb many years back.
Copyright © 2022 TRISHIKH DASGUPTA
This work of fiction, written by Trishikh Dasgupta is the author’s sole intellectual property. Some characters, incidents, places, and facts may be real while some fictitious. All rights are reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send an email to the author at trishikh@gmail.com or get in touch with Trishikh on the CONTACT page of this website.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Trishikh Dasgupta
Adventurer, philosopher, writer, painter, photographer, craftsman, innovator, or just a momentary speck in the universe flickering to leave behind a footprint on the sands of time... READ MORE
Weekend Stories by Trishikh 
Dear Ned, it is always such a.pleasure to see my stories showcased in your blog. I really treasure your constant support, appreciation, and love for my stories.
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Thank you so much for promoting my story in your blog. Now so many more people will be able to read it. Really appreciate your kind gesture.
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What a wonderful story.. Keep sharing more.
Have a nice day to you. 😊
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Thank you so much Akshita for liking my story. Nothing gives me more joy than when someone enjoys one of my tales. Have a great weekend.
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Your most welcome.. I would love to read your more posts.. Have a great weekend too you too
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I look forward to it Akshita.
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Wonderful story – thank you.
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I am so glad that you liked the story Ned. As you already know, that nothing gives me greater joy than a little appreciation. I treasure your compliment.
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i love this story with the twist at the end! i felt like i was there watching it unfold: kudos🙏🏼❤️
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Your beautiful words of appreciation for my story brings tears of joy and a feeling of triumph. I have not been able to concentrate much, writing stories this month, and was only able to write 1 story this month. Your words give fruition to this writing effort and encourages me to be more diligent in my writing efforts.
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Wonderful story. Descriptive.
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So glad that you liked the tale Vanya. Believe me, nothing gives me more joy than a little bit of encouragement and appreciation.
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Hi Trishikh, I was not able to read your previous story on time; will read soon and provide my feedback.
I was sick in the middle of August. My parents at home were worried. Luckily I recovered within a few days.
I feel, “reading is my lifeline”. Writers and poets from different origin with diverse tastes shape my personality.❤️
With you, I want to thank all bloggers for :
– expressing themselves,
– maintaining honesty,
– sharing love and
– building more peaceful world.🌍
Sky Fire and Wildflower
“As time passed, interacting with the girl, the traveller realised that he perhaps need not seek answers to his being.
Religion, which tried to put meaning to everything, seemed unnecessary.
He realised that life was to be experienced, one fleeting moment at a time.
It was unimportant to hold onto things, but it was crucial to live the moment as fruitfully and helpfully as possible”
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Dear Lokesh, glad to hear that you have recovered from your ailment and trying to get back to routine. Best wishes to you for that.
They say a reading man is never alone, never bored, and never lacking things to do. Glad to know that reading and writing is your lifeline. They are mine too.
You have picked up and highlighted a very crucial portion of my story, which talks about religious belief.
Have a great weekend Loku.
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Have a great weekend.
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The story ends with many pieces of enlightenment for the reader to gather. Loved this Trishikh. As they say,it is only during times of need we rise to the occasion…
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Dear Sunith, first of all I must thank you for your beautiful words of appreciation. You are very right about the various thoughts that might rise in the minds of the reader at the end of the story. It has elements of psychology, the metaphysical, humanity, heroism, and so much more perhaps. Your thought about “rising to the occasion during the time of needs.”
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You are most welcome dear friend
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Wow! Wonderful story, every detail so special.
Thanl’s for share, Trishikh.
Have an amazing weekend!
Elvira
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Dear Elvira, as always, I really look forward to your comment, and they do bring me great joy. You are very right, many details in this story have so much more to it, so many lines of thoughts to reflect upon.
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Dear Trishikh, than you very much for your kindness. Always a pleasure read your stories. I agree with you, many lines of thougths, was wonderful. Enjoy your weekend!
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Thank you so much Elvira, a great weekend to you as well.
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Thank you very much, Trishikh.
You as well.
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Very interesting story 🙏🙂
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Dear Ruqia, thank you so much for appreciating. Nothing gives me greater joy. Do visit again and read some of my other stories as well, when you feel like. Have a great weekend.
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Welcome brother . I will read more of your writings . You too have a great weekend. 🙏🙏
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Your story is touchingly and expertly told Trishikh. Well crafted plot with a heartwarming twist at the end. You kept up the suspense til the end. Awesome ✍️
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Thank you so much Suzette, so glad to have been able to bring forth this story in this particular way. I kindle your appreciation with much affection. Have a great weekend.
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My pleasure. Thank you Trishikh. And a lovely weekend to you. Happy creating 😊
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Nice one again. Nicely penned. I like it.
Just a correction 1980 AD 🇨🇳 Chinese Zodiac sign is Monkey 🙊 & element is fine with Metal.
Have a nice Saturday my friend. Cheers. 🌷
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Thank you so much for your beautiful comment. I really enjoy it. You are right 1980 was a year of the monkey, so simian is another way of saying monkey. Simian means an ape or a monkey. Just wanted to tickle the thought process of my readers with this alternate word for monkey. Glad that you brought it up. Discussing these subtle points in a story, makes reading such a richer experience. 😁 A great and fruitful weekend to you too.
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Got it 🙊😎 I dnt quickly observe this. It catch my eyes as I fall in same series and a different series. Monkeys don’t think twice an example here. 🤣
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I too am born in 1980, happy to be a monkey 🐵 ooo ooo eee eee. 😁
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Great to know. Same family 🤩 modern species with dressing 🤠 God bless and Long live. 🙏🌻
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You’ve done it again! Such a beautiful story.. it moved me immensely.. thank you so much.. Fiona ❤️
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Dear Fiona, thank you for always being so encouraging. I have not been able to concentrate on writing short stories in this month, thankfully am back on track. Hopefully many more good ones to come in the future.
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Very nice.
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Thank you so much.
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It’s a beautiful story. I got too emotional.
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Dear Alev, it gives me great joy to know that you got emotional reading this story. Thank you so much for appreciating.
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🥰
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🙂🙏
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Great blending of cultures, geography, and mysteries. I could see this becoming a legend.
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Dear Rebecca, yes I have tried my best, and the resultant story was very satisfying, affirmed by the love and appreciation of friends like you. I too hope that my stories, my characters become legends.
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The story brought history alive.
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Yes, as you know, I always like to dig up a little bit of history.
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You brought the Mongolian archer alive.
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Glad to have been able to do it. When I started writing I just did not know what origin story to give to the character, somehow it came out in this way.
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I liked the mystery that he did not know, so we discovered his identity slowly.
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Ya the technique worked. I too am so satisfied with the story format.
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Excellent!
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I hope you’re not berating yourself for writing one story this month, Trishikh. It is, after all, quality rather than quantity that matters.
This is an extremely rich tale, with wonderful descriptors of roads that might have been taken by the old man preceding the plot twists. You continually refine your art—and we, your readers, continually benefit.
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Dear Annie, thank you so much for sensing the anxiety of my heart for not being able to be as productive as I would like to have been with my writing this month. You are right, I take your advice and find much solace in my heart.
All of you my readers/ my friends have helped me grow in writing, for that I am ever thankful.
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Absolutely beautiful. 💜
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Thank you so much Carol. Really happy that you liked my story.
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💜
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Another beautiful story Trishikh! It really drew me in. I loved the power and magic. I especially loved the part about not needing knowledge and information but rather, living each day in the moment and enjoying. The experience of the warrior long dead and the little girl, dead also, but both able to protect and save the living parents fits right into the metaphysical experiences I’ve had throughout my life. In my experience all time happens in the NOW.
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Dear Katelon, you have so beautifully summed up my story and understood it thought process. I myself could not have explained it better.
I wanted this story to traverse different realms, time spans, concepts and so much more. Somehow the plot worked out, while I could still keep it a short story.
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It is fascinating how you intertwined the past and the present, mythology and reality and your story is presenting us with such a fitting description of the fading mind in old age. Especially the poetically composed sentence, ‘He realised that life was to be experienced, one fleeting moment at a time. It was unimportant to hold onto things, but it was crucial to living the moment as fruitfully and helpfully as possible,’ held my attention.
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I always look forward to and treasure your response, they always teach me so much more about my stories. Thank you so much. Yes this piece has a mix of a lot of different concepts.
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Great reply
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Such a wonderful story, Trishikh, a pleasure to read, not least because of your beautiful language and telling skills.
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Dear Stella, thank you so much. Yes, apart from language the plot is always very important, that is always where the real challenge lies. Most of the time I do not have a story line, and just keep on building until the story suddenly falls in place, but I have seen that whenever the story line is clear it is always easier to write.
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Help the orphanage
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You are doing good work. Help will surely come.
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This brought tears to my eyes.
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Dear Anna, I should not say that I am happy that my story brought tears, but then again I am really happy to have been able to create that kind of emotional connect. Your comment gives me so much joy.
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Thank you so much for promoting my story in your blog. Really appreciate your kind gesture to promote my writing. Now so many more people will be able to read my story.
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Surreal and zen like
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Thank you so much. Appreciation always gives me great joy.
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Zen like sorry typo
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Yep got it. I did the correction to your comment.
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Thanks…..
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Wonderful Story!
💖
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Thank you so much Cindy. I treasure your appreciation.
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oh I’m so glad. You’re most welcome!! 💖
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As always an amazing story!! 😊
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Thank you so much Arpita, you know how I always look forward to your comments. They bring me great joy.
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This is one more wonderful story, Trishikh, though after a gap, but it’s something different. I liked it, and as always, there was a great twist at the end. Keep writing, Trishikh, you’re an excellent storyteller.
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Dear KK, thank you so much. Knew that you would love the story. Yes there was a gap, and I have come to realise there can be gaps, but my fans always pull me back with lots of love and affection.
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You’re always welcome, Trishikh! It’s the quality that matters, and you don’t compromise on this aspect.
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Yes you are absolutely right KK.
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Wow. Excellent story! 💯💯💯
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Thank you so much. Always appreciate your appreciation.
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trishikh, thank you for leaving me a like on “Let the Lower Lights be Burning.” I enjoy your writing very much but find them too long for my focus since I am now old. Bless the younger readers with your talents.
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Dear Oneta, I completely understand, your best wishes and blessings and enough for me. I simply treasure them. My short stories are usually around 2,000 words. I am dedicated in promoting this style and format of short stories.
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Thank you for your kind response. I’m glad you browsed a while. There was a time when I did deep and difficult, but I don’t succeed at that level; maybe it is just laziness I am dealing with. 😀 Your short story length is a clock puncher’s paradise. Keep it up.
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Thank you so much Oneta, means a lot to me coming from a literary veteran like you. The blessings of the past generations is my most treasured posession. I shall always remember your words and cherish your encouragement.
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Trishikh, brilliant piece. Your detailed descriptions work so well. Each detail gives a feeling of an expert in that particular field–history, archery, geologist, gerontologist, child psychologist, and humanist. And instead of getting lost in details, they add to the story. A great artistic feat, that gives fresh richness to the story and we learn something beside the art of it. In a way the detailing reminded me of Earnest Hemingway, but I enjoy your sense of life much more than his. Well done.
Michael
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Dear Michael, I really do not know how to react to your comment, I am just shamelessly basking in the glory of this comment. Yes, you have said it so well, I could not have expressed this is words, but you just said is certainly what I have tried with my story, and I did not realise it myself before your comment. All the great writers of the past have their influences on us, like we strive to leave behind our influence on the future generations.
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Another wonderful story.
| | Marthe Curry, Ph.D. | | Director of World Missions | | | | phone: 210-824-5387 | | mobile: 210-882-9226 | | email: marthe.curry@dwtx.org | | P.O. Box 6885 111 Torcido Dr San Antonio, TX 78209 http://www.dwtx.org |
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Dear Marthe, it’s always such a pleasure to receive your appreciation. You are 1 of the very 1st fans of my writing, and I always cherish and treasure the fact. My best wishes to your work and ministry. May the love, mercy, and guidance of our Lors be with you forever.
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A fantastic story, filled with questions and mystery, heroic moments that end with answers that bring more questions. I loved this yarn!
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Dear Patrick, so glad that you liked this little tale of mine. As always I am overjoyed to receive your comment. You have brought out the theme of my story in the shortest possible sentence. Thank you so much for that.
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A magnificent, magickal story!
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Thank you so much. Appreciation really makes my day. So glad that you liked this little tale of mine.
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Wonderful story !
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Thank you so much for appreciating. Encouragement really makes my day.
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Küçük kız. Gezgin ve anlam. Bir şeyin anlamı yakalandığında onu görebiliyorsun. Öyküleriniz çok güzel. Gerçek mekanlara gidiyormuş gibi oluyorum ve oldukça mistik.
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Thank you so much for thinking my stories are beautiful and mystical. I am so glad that by reading them you feel like you are visiting real places.
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I love this delightful little tale! I love the contrast between the archer and the little girl. Very moving, Trishikh! (I was having trouble posting the comment, so I submitted it more than once.)
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Dear Dawn, I always look forward to your comments. They do give me great joy. You have been a supporter of my writing from the very beginning, and I treasure our interactions.
WordPress has this commenting, like, and follow malfunction at times, but I am glad that your comment came through. Will delete if I come across a repeat comment.
Have a great day.
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Enjoyed reading it. In a short piece a lot of ground – topography, religion, philosophy and wonder – all have been encapsulated.
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Thank you so much Sandhna’ji. So glad that you liked the various elements in my story. Appreciation always works like miracle for my writing engine.
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Thank you so much for promoting my story in your blog. Now so many more people would be able to read my story.
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This is such a wonderful story! I love it.
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Thank you so much Kally. Always a joy to receive your appreciation.
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Very powerful words! Some of the best I have read thus far. I really love the story. Looking forward to reading more of your writings. 😍
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Thank you so much. You beautiful words of appreciation gives me great encouragement. So glad that you liked the story. Do visit again and read more of my stories, I am sure that you would love many of them.
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You are welcome! Oh, yes! I am surely coming to read more of your wonderful stories. I bet there is more to life in your others writings. Glad to hear from you! 😇
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The pleasure is equally mine. 🙂
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Interesting
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Thank you so much Ananda. You have always liked my stories, and that gives me great joy.
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This story feels like a holy parable.
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The parables are some of the most inspirational stories ever said. It is such an honour for me, to have my story compared to a parable. I treasure this beautiful compliment. Thank you so much dear friend.
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The story is quite profound.
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So glad that you like the intensity of the tale.
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Wow
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Thank you so much Hansel. So glad that you liked my story.
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Well written plot I think the story means that Heroism in one’s old age gives one a renewed sense of purpose. The little girl also must have saved the archer‘s soul from a meaningless death.
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Very right sir. I also like to think so that even beyond death, both the old man and the girl still could find a meaningful and helpful act to perform.
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Beautiful with a touch of Advaita, very well written . Wunnerful please continue writing it’s your calling!!
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Thank you so much Amitabh. I treasure your appreciation and blessings. It means a lot to me. I Always admire and am inspired by your vision and entrepreneurship too.
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Thank you so much for promoting my story in your blog.
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Beautiful story.
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So glad that you liked this little story of mine. Always a pleasure to receive appreciation.
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Always a pleasure to have my story showcased in your blog.
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