Himalaya: Listen. Learn. Grow.

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3 min2018 OCT 25
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The colourswere so strange that words can hardly tell what a troubling emotion they gave.They were sombre blues, opaque like a delicately carved bowl in lapis lazuli,and yet with a quivering lustre that suggested the palpitation of mysteriouslife; there were purples, horrible like raw and putrid flesh, and yet with a glowing,sensual passion that called up vague memories of the Roman Empire ofHeliogabalus; there were reds, shrill like the berries of holly -- one thoughtof Christmas in England, and the snow, the good cheer, and the pleasure ofchildren -- and yet by some magic softened till they had the swooningtenderness of a dove's breast; there were deep yellows that died with anunnatural passion into a green as fragrant as the spring and as pure as thesparkling water of a mountain brook. Who can tell what anguished fancy madethese fruits? They belonged to a Polynesian garden of the Hesperides. There wassomething strangely alive in them, as though they were created in a stage ofthe earth's dark history when things were not irrevocably fixed to their forms.They were extravagantly luxurious. They were heavy with tropical odours. Theyseemed to possess a sombre passion of their own. It was enchanted fruit, totaste which might open the gateway to God knows what secrets of the soul and tomysterious palaces of the imagination. They were sullen with unawaited dangers,and to eat them might turn a man to beast or god. All that was healthy andnatural, all that clung to happy relationships and the simple joys of simplemen, shrunk from them in dismay; and yet a fearful attraction was in them, and,like the fruit on the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil they were terriblewith the possibilities of the Unknown.

At last Iturned away. I felt that Strickland had kept his secret to the grave.

" Voyons,Rene, mon ami, " came the loud, cheerful voice of Madame Coutras,"what are you doing all this time? Here are the aperitifs. Ask Monsieur ifhe will not drink a little glass of Quinquina Dubonnet. "

"Volontiers, Madame, " I said, going out on to the verandah.

The spell wasbroken.