EARTH FIRE

Halfway up the Triund trek, off the main path, we noticed a small stone house sitting quietly on the mountain. A monk lived there alone — meditating at that same spot for many years. No city. No noise. Just the mountain and whatever stillness he had found by staying long enough.

He invited us to sit. His robes were deep burgundy, warm mustard, the brown of mountain soil. We found those exact colours the next morning in the McLeod Ganj market — Mookaite Jasper. His colours, held in stone.

He spoke about peace. About how the mountain teaches what people cannot. His words didn't land loudly. They landed the way stones land in deep water — slow, certain, permanent.

That feeling became Strawberry Quartz. Warm, alive, the colour of something that moves you quietly and stays.

Two stones. The earth he chose to sit on. The fire of everything he said.