There was a small village at the foot of a mountain. The village was called Shantipur. In that village lived a little girl named Turona. Every day, Turona would gaze at the big mountain from afar. In the morning, the mountain sparkled in golden sunlight, and by evening, it glowed in a soft reddish hue …
One day, Turona decided she would climb to the top of that mountain. Everyone said, ‘It’s too high, you won’t be able to.’ But Turona smiled and replied, ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’ …
The next morning, she set off with a bottle of water, some fruit, and a notebook. On the way, she grew tired, her feet ached on the stones, yet she didn’t stop. Sometimes she sat down to rest, listening to the sound of the wind and watching the birds fly …
Finally, after noon, she reached the top of the mountain. Looking down, she saw how beautiful her little village was, green fields, tiny houses, and a silver river flowing gently through it …
In her notebook, Turona wrote, ‘The joy of reaching the highest place only comes when you refuse to give up.’ …
Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of freedom, and inside her heart, there was peace …
She realized that the real mountain wasn’t outside, but within her. And that day, she had conquered both …
How we used to write short stories when we were young! I remember how every night I’d make up stories to tell my little sisters before they fell asleep. I used to jot down bits of them in my notebook too. Often, I’d go up to our rooftop with that notebook, gazing at the distant sky until my thoughts drifted away. I wanted to write, and sometimes, I did. Other times, I simply got lost in my own imagination!
I’m sure it happened with you too!
Anyways, now tell me, What is the ‘mountain’ in your own life that you’ve been afraid to climb? Or tell me, When was the last time you tried something even though others doubted you?
When R stepped off the small plane that landed in Paro, Bhutan, she felt something shift, not dramatically, but like the settling of dust after a long journey …
The valley stretched wide beneath her, green and golden in patches, framed by distant, unmoving mountains. It was quieter than she expected. Even the wind seemed to move gently, as though not to disturb the stillness that held this place together …
She had arrived not as a tourist, but as a teacher, a woman in her late thirties from Bangladesh, with a degree in English and a quiet but persistent belief in meaningful work. Years ago, it had been just a passing dream, one that took root on a monsoon evening back home, when her father handed her a book after returning from a short business trip to Bhutan: Married to Bhutan by Linda Leaming. She didn’t know then that the book would become more than a gift. It would become a roadmap …
She read it in one sitting, and then again, slower. The words painted a life far from the chaos she knew: one of rhythm, simplicity, joy without extravagance. Something about it stirred her. Not just the country itself, but the idea that a person could choose a gentler life, one rooted in intention. Ever since, the desire to live and work in Bhutan stayed with her, not loudly, but like a thread running through her decisions, pulling her quietly in one direction …
It took years to make it happen. Teaching jobs weren’t easy to come by. There were rejections, delays, moments of self-doubt. But eventually, things aligned. A school in Paro welcomed her. And so she came, with a suitcase full of essentials and a heart full of the unknown …
The school was modest: a few classrooms, basic supplies, and a staff of deeply committed educators. Her students were bright-eyed and curious, some from the surrounding hills, others from the valley towns. They called her Miss R with respect and affection. She taught English, but often, she felt she was learning more than she was giving …
In Paro, life had a slower pulse. Mornings began with mist hanging low over the rice fields. The walk to school was lined with prayer flags and the occasional passing cow. She started wearing the kira on school days, awkwardly at first, then with growing comfort. Suja, salted butter tea, became something she reached for on chilly afternoons …
She missed home sometimes: the sound of the call to prayer, her mother’s cooking, the overlapping laughter of cousins. But Bhutan had offered her something she hadn’t expected, a deep and gentle space to grow. Here, her work felt rooted. Each lesson she planned, each conversation with a student, each moment of solitude looking out at the hills, it all added up to a life that felt fuller, simpler, and strangely her own …
Some evenings, when the rain returned and wrapped the mountains in silver, she would pull out the old book her father had given her. The pages were worn now, the cover faded. But the feeling it gave her, that tug toward a life of simplicity and purpose, still felt as clear as it did all those years ago …
Living in Bhutan hadn’t made her someone new. It had returned her to someone she had always hoped to be: grounded, purposeful, and joyful. She wasn’t searching anymore. She was, finally, living the life she had once only read about …
She is here … Teaching … Living near the mountain valleys she once only imagined … And in doing so, she has become a part of a beautiful story …
And at the end of each day, amidst mountain valleys, in the hush of Paro’s twilight, that felt like enough …
Bhutan has a sacred place in my heart. I visited once, and it felt like stepping into a world where everything slows down. Peace seemed to rise gently with the mountains …
I remember the kind people, the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, and the quiet beauty of the dzongs. Everything left a deep impression on me …
Rafting was one of the most exciting parts, unexpectedly wild, joyful, and full of laughter. That whole trip was truly an adventure I’ll never forget …
Before leaving, I bought the book Married to Bhutan from Paro International Airport. After reading it, something in me shifted. It changed the way I see life, more simply, more mindfully, and with a greater sense of purpose
Restless I feel … My heart aches deeply … He captivates my heart …
My thoughts are scattered … Right now … Oh dear! I continually shatter my heart, Dispersing its fragments Until they touch The depths of your being, My beloved …
I was waiting For you And you didn’t show up while my odes started to burn … A heartache …
After a while, There a humble person came along .. Seemed so at the moment … I asked him to take a picture of me and There I sat at the corner of a bench In the garden … Took some time to Get my mood toned Up my unsettled face … There the man waited patiently … A gentleman ….
Once it’s all set yet unsteady As I was, I heard the man said, ‘Ready?’ Twinkled at him and said, ‘Yes’ Smiling … With the chilly breeze that was Passing through I preferred my warm Jacket kept aside And my heavy heart smile For the warmth I needed …. A harmony ….
Later on I welcomed a friendly Conversation with the stranger He seemed to like all of it … My chitter-chattering And laughter flowed freely, naturally … Then we started walking In the garden, blooming all around An attachment ….
The balance was the two umbrellas For each of us, His violet, mine yellow one We were walking and talking Keeping the in-between distance mindfully yet our heart-felt notions were quietly replaying … The undefined mysteries of the world, meanwhile … Letting love in our heart, unknowingly … After a while, we faded into our different paths Just two strangers with memories A detachment ….
Once upon a time, there was a couple. They lived together for 55 years. They haven’t yet had their dinner date outside home. This is the first time they are going outside to have their dinner date.….
Story to Be continued from me …. 😊
Meanwhile you may share your thought of the story of this lovely couple’s very special dinner date.
Author and lecturer, Leo Buscaglia, once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.
The winner was:
A four-year-old child, whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman, who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.
When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor,
The little boy just said, “Nothing, I just helped him cry.”
Roksana Tales 