The view from the top opens up a new vision

At the threshold of the seventh decade of life, I tend to agree with the words of Swedish film director Ingmar Bergman: Old age is like climbing a mountain. The higher you get, the more tired and breathless you become. But your views become much more extensive.

I realised the truth of this metaphorical statement 15 years ago when I ventured on a walk up a mountain to visit a shrine. I was a banking executive then on the verge of superannuation, a staunch unbeliever with a practical approach towards life. But my wife had insisted that I must visit this shrine for her sake, as it was situated near the town I was visiting on an assignment.

I was exhausted after walking for an hour on the hill track. Gasping, I sat on a rock beside the stony serpentine path and glanced upwards. The mountain stood like an enormous monster silently mocking at my drained body frame. I had climbed just one-third of the distance and already my legs felt as if they weren’t part of my body. My shirt, drenched with sweat, stuck to my skin.

Irritated at the futility of my endeavour, I wondered why people built holy places at such tedious heights. Why not a roadside temple or a down-the-street shrine? After walking for two more hours, I reached a grassy plateau. I fell like a log on the grass, my mind and my body both ready to quit. I kept lying prostrate with my eyes shut. A breeze fanned my cheeks and caressed my limbs as if to ease the fatigue.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw an unusual sight. The town from where I had started was spread down far below like a clay replica of a city with its buildings looking like matchboxes. From the distance above, the roads looked like bloodless arteries on a human anatomy chart. The toy vehicles were moving as if in a slow-motion movie clip. And people? Yes, those ant-like creatures creeping along the roads were men and women made up of flesh and bones.

For a moment, I forgot I was one of them. Sitting on the hilltop like an enlightened Buddha, I found myself pitying their mundane lives trapped in commonplace sorrows and childish joys, their funny little hearts filled with petty ambitions and worthless envies. All human pursuits seemed to me pointless and shallow.

Suddenly, I became aware of my train of thoughts. I had never been a contemplative person. Being a hardcore banker, I had no inclination towards philosophical matters. But there I was, pondering over the dilemmas of human existence. My mind was completely overwhelmed with humility and egolessness, visualising myself as an ant creeping on the face of earth. How did this sudden though momentary change come about in my psyche? Did that hill deity cast a spell? Or maybe it was a hangover from that walk that stretched all the limits of my physical endurance. Or maybe, most likely of all, it was that panoramic view of the town from the top which did the magic. Now I understood why these holy places are built at such awe-inspiring heights. A roadside shrine or down-the-street shrine might not do the trick.

Though I did not develop any faith for the deity, I returned a deeply religious man. That view from atop the hill is still preserved in a corner of my heart. It gives me peace which passes the understanding and strength to face the world in moments of utter confusion.

I FOUND MYSELF PITYING THEIR MUNDANE LIVES TRAPPED IN COMMONPLACE SORROWS, CHILDISH JOYS, PETTY AMBITIONS AND WORTHLESS ENVIES