Intrepid Chuck

Up in the hills of the Himalayas, I was drawn to reminisce an idyllic dream. Nagarkot is 7,000 ft. above sea level and I was enjoying the panoramic view of snow-capped mountains while eagles hovered above. The intrinsic Nerwani architecture satiated by luscious colorful flowers took my breath away. The religious significance of Kathmandu valley regularly drew a healthy conglomerate of pilgrims.

After a beautiful Himalayan sunrise on the patio, my friends and I enjoyed a cup of spicy masala tea and eagerly began a hike. “Two dollars please!” said a boy who barely looked up as he offered some faded postcards of the Himalayas. He was engrossed with a game on his phone as he sat beside a store that sold wooden masks. “What is your name”, I asked. “Buddha”, he replied, “Two dollars only!” Still not looking up, he displayed a handful of postcards. As I bought one, he suddenly jumped to his feet and inquired where we were from. We began to chat with him and asked why he wasn’t in school when earlier we saw some children in uniforms. Buddha told us that his mom had to go buy medicine for his sick sister and he had to keep an eye on her. “Want to come to my house?” he posed as he pointed us to follow him to a small clay hut.

There were several hikers who waved at little Buddha. “You’re quite popular, huh?” I quipped. Like a proud little man, Buddha led us to his humble abode. We stooped to enter the small orange hut as our gracious host pushed some linen off of a wooden bed for us to sit on. His father passed away when he was a toddler, said Buddha, and now that he is 9 years old, he is the man of the house. His business was to sell postcards.

Buddha showed us his school bag and his Bible. “See, these are my school things”, he said. His family was with a local church that often had missionaries reaching their town, he elaborated, that’s why he was used to entertaining guests. He excitedly told us about their community and places to visit at Nagarkot. Our adventure began to get more interesting.

“It is the people that makes a place truly rich”, I thought.

Later that afternoon, we bid goodbye and thanked little Buddha, our delightful host for the day.

We stopped to enjoy the monochromatic sun down. I have yet to see a more wistful sunset as light cascaded the perfect white canvass of the Himalayas.

As the air grew colder, I shoved the faded postcard in my bag which had Buddha’s name written down. Nagarkot has successfully left an indelible mark in my memory