The Breathing Mountains

The Breathing mountain

Amidst the rugged terrain of Mt. Indra, an old woman, stood her eyes fixed on a point in the sky. "I have seen them, right about there," she said, pointing with a trembling finger to a spot on the mountain's side.

Arthi, our intrepid reporter, was quick to seize the opportunity. "Can you describe them?" she inquired.

With a distant look in her eyes, the woman began to paint a vivid picture of the strange entities she had witnessed. "They were shaped like luminous discs, each glowing in mesmerizing hues," she said. "It was as if they emerged from the very heavens, tearing through the fabric of the sky to appear here. But when I try to tell the other villagers about what I saw on that fateful day, they dismiss me, claiming it's merely a trick of my old age or my eyes playing tricks on me."

Arthi listened intently, her reporter's instinct urging her to believe the old woman's tale. "I think they are very real," she said earnestly, grateful for the information she had received. The old woman's hand gently caressed Arthi's cheek, the warmth of her touch infused with a sense of urgency. "Please don't go," she implored, her eyes searching Arthi's for a glimmer of understanding. Folding her hands in supplication, she begged for safety and protection, her vulnerability bared before the young reporter.
Arthi's heart softened, and she met the old woman's plea with a reassuring smile. "You have my word that I will be careful and safe," she promised, offering the comfort the woman sought. Her gaze followed the old woman as she sighed and departed, seemingly resigned to a fate she could not escape.

Venturing into the shadowy realms of the unknown, my intrepid crew and I embarked on a perilous expedition, determined to unravel the enigma veiling Mt. Indra. A mountain steeped in ancient lore, it was believed to hold secrets far beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. Some spoke of it as a mystical crossroad between worlds, a portal to the realms of the afterlife. Others whispered that beneath its forbidding surface lay a covert government base, shrouded in secrecy and concealed from the world. And still, there were those who spun tales of a hidden city nestled within the mountain's bosom, silently watching over humanity.

Our eclectic team consisted of Arthi, a resourceful freelance reporter, skilled in navigating the delicate threads of truth; Tony, the masterful cameraman and editor, who captured both light and darkness with artistic precision; Arjun, our guide, whose reluctance was overshadowed by the lure of a year's worth of payment; and myself—an individual fixated on the ethereal realms of the supernatural, drawn to the mysteries of UFOs and the occult.

As we set foot in a remote village tucked deep within the mountain's embrace, we knew our quest had truly begun. The journey to Mt. Indra was no simple feat, as the only access was a narrow and precarious rope-way leading to the base-camp. From there, an arduous five-day trek awaited us, leading us towards "the cave"—a mysterious opening that beckoned from the side of the mountain. Curious minds might wonder why such a conspicuous entrance had remained hidden from public awareness. The answer lay in the ominous presence of the military, who deemed Mt. Indra an unstable zone and ruthlessly barred intruders from treading its sacred grounds. History bore witness to the tragic fates of those who dared defy the military's decree. Trekkers were imprisoned, investigative teams vanished into thin air, and one ill-fated climber met his demise when a warning shot from the military sent him tumbling into the abyss. But the dangers did not deter the dauntless spirits of Arthi and Tony. With unwavering resolve, they joined me on this daring escapade, knowing that the secrets hidden within Mt. Indra could rewrite history. Arjun, though apprehensive, could not resist the allure of a year's payment, and thus reluctantly became our guide.

Two relentless days had slipped by since our departure from the village, and the unforgiving snowfall kept us on our toes, forcing us to set up camp early each day to weather the relentless storm. Arjun, ever resourceful, had procured white clothes that acted as a deceptive camouflage, allowing us to move stealthily, eluding the ever-watchful eyes of the military. Only yesterday, we narrowly escaped disaster when a vast expanse of snow gave way beneath us. In the panic, Tony lost his precious drone bag, abandoned in his desperate scramble to safety. We huddled, buried beneath the snow, hearts pounding, as the military patrolled the area to assess the damage, praying they wouldn't uncover our presence. Tragedy struck us on the fifth day of our treacherous journey. A fierce snowstorm swept through, tearing Arjun from our grasp. Desperation and anguish filled the air as we searched frantically, calling out his name into the biting wind, but he remained elusive. The pain of losing him, our trusted guide, was gut-wrenching, yet we clung to a glimmer of hope that he would find his way back to us, for he knew the secrets of the mountain better than anyone. With heavy hearts, we pressed on, following the path Arjun had meticulously marked on our map. As the day, marred by tragedy, drew to a close, we finally reached the precipice of the cave—the very heart of our investigation. Standing at the entrance, the darkness seemed to stretch into eternity, beckoning us to the unknown depths that lay beyond.