As I stood at the edge of Badi Bangus, my heart swelled with a mix of awe and wonder. The vast expanse of endless meadows stretched before me, a canvas of vibrant green that seemed to touch the very sky. This was Kashmir—not the commercialised version I had grown disillusioned with over the past two days in the more popular places, but a true paradise that made the state earn its heavenly reputation.
Our journey had been long, winding five hours from Doodhpathri through Handwara. As the familiar buzz of our phones faded to silence, I felt a strange mix of liberation and unease. Then, suddenly, there it was—a sight that stole my breath away.
Soft, white dots peppered the lush landscape. I was convinced those were cotton balls in slight motion, a magical realism that reminds us of Marquez. But those were flock of sheep, grazing contentedly, oblivious to the magic they were part of. They themselves were magic.
In that moment, all my doubts about Kashmir's beauty evaporated like mist. We paused, soaking in the scene, our excitement building as we imagined our campsite nestled somewhere in this slice of paradise. A few pictures were clicked, and many more, but we were conflicted if we should capture a slice of this heaven on our phones only to have less time memorising this through our eyes. We kept hoping that the closer we would arrive to our campsite, the more pious our experience is going to be.
But as often happens when reality collides with expectations, our elation was short-lived.
Our car took a safe corner. And we realised that we needed to trek down to a location we had no clue about. The descent into the meadow was a sobering experience. City legs unused to steep declines trembled as we carefully picked our way down, luggage on our wearied backs. Then came the stream—a roaring ribbon of water with nothing but a precarious thin log as our crossing. I watched locals navigate it with ease, while my heart pounded a frantic rhythm. Hand in hand, we inched across, each step with a silent prayer.
With zero cell service and no exact location for our campsite, we wandered around, guided only by the kindness of picnicking locals. The beauty surrounding us was undeniable, but anxiety crept in as rain clouds gathered overhead. We were unprepared, unconnected, and suddenly very aware of our vulnerability in this remote paradise.
As the first raindrops fell, reality set in. The meadow that had seemed so inviting now felt isolating. The impending darkness that was to follow once the locals make their way home on a Sunday evening, the intensifying rain, and our complete disconnection from the outside world weighed heavily on our minds. With heavy hearts, we made the difficult decision to leave.
Looking back at Badi Bangus as we prepared to depart, my throat tightened with emotion. The rain-kissed meadows shimmered like an ethereal Microsoft wallpaper come to life. It was heartbreakingly beautiful—a glimpse of perfection we couldn't quite grasp. I started to regret every step, wondering if I should just turn and just trust the process. But my mind started dragging my feet further as my heart kept battling the odds.
At that moment, I realized that Badi Bangus had shown me the raw, untamed side of Kashmir's beauty. It had challenged me, scared me, and ultimately left me in awe. Though our stay was brief, the memory of those endless green meadows, the rush of the stream, and the feeling of being completely immersed in nature's grandeur would stay with me forever.
As we began our ascent back to the world we knew, I cast one last longing look at Badi Bangus. A tear mingled with the raindrops on my cheek—a bittersweet farewell to a place that had shown me the true meaning of 'heaven on earth', even if just for a fleeting moment.
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