On our way out of Sunauli, a group of military men stopped our bus again. I wasn’t frustrated, though some were, because our journey was finally making progress. Our bus was stopped on a dirt road, surrounded by luscious green fields sprinkled with huts. Farmers were busy, in the distance, finishing their day’s work.
Like a scene from a movie, the sun was setting, casting a golden-orange glow over everything. I gazed out the dirty bus window at a woman making her way through a field, towards the setting sun. Her daughter racing to catch up to her. Their hair swayed with the gentle breeze that made the tall grass surrounding them dance.
I was unable to snap a picture of the moment, as my camera could not see through the dirty window, and it was impossible to leave the bus at that time.
Moments later, we were on our way again.
A gentle fog began to settle over the farm fields, just before we made our way up the mountains. Our driver boasted about his driving abilities in good fun, as we navigated the curvy, winding roads.
He carried on talking, with an eager crowd listening, but I checked out and fell asleep.
When I woke up, everyone else was asleep, or close to it. The driver and his assistant were having a quiet conversation as the bus driver dodged cars and oncoming busses on the path up the mountain. I looked out the window and was both horrified and amazed at how close to the sky we were, and how far from the earth we were. I could see glistening lights of tiny villages, and a sparkling body of water below.
Looking in front of the bus was a mistake, because with the headlights, I could see that we were driving a rocky, narrow path, near the edge of the road, with no railing. I looked at DN who was resting peacefully, and felt suddenly calm.