The mountains almost took me.

Last year, I decided to step out of my comfort zone for once and go on an “adventure”. The said adventure involved going on a guided tour of the Malana village in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, near the Himalayas. I was part of a group of tourists. We didn’t know each other, but got along very well for the entirety of the trip. Another girl in the group, Priyanka and I were the only youngest members of our group. Both twenty-four.

Apart from visiting old temples and forts, staying in picturesque little cottages and feasting on the local cuisine, one of the fun activities was trekking over the Parvati Valley. Trekking is not particularly challenging, but for a city girl like me it felt like a big deal. We set out at nine in the morning. The scenic vista, the fresh air the songs of the birds and the warm smiles of the local people drove away any desire I may have had to go back to bed and just be lazy. I was out of my concrete bubble and I was going to do things. With that thought, I walked along with my group as the guide told us all about the village’s history, it’s culture and the significance the Himalayas held for these people. I think I had a small smile on my face the whole time.

But as we went uphill, I felt that smile fade away, along with all other emotions. My mind was taken over by a peculiar emptiness. All that made me human – happiness, empathy, compassion, anger, sadness seemed to be flowing out of me. As we went further up the mountain, I felt less and less. At the same time, a sense of dread also seemed to be lurking just under the surface. It was as if on some level I knew that something was wrong. That I really shouldn’t be feeling this emptiness. But the all consuming meaninglessness only grew stronger and stronger with each step I took.

As we reached the top of a cliff, the guide suggested that we rest for a while. I sat there on the grass and played with some pebbles. I tossed them in the air and watched them fall to the ground. I remember feeling some sort of satisfaction when I saw them hit the Earth. Then I looked at the edge of the cliff. It seemed to call to me. I had only one thought in my mind – that I should jump over the edge and end it. It became the only thing I could think about, even though some part of me seemed to fight it. But that voice of sanity quickly weakened and died down. The thought of jumping off the cliff became all consuming. Imagine an empty room with a single wasp buzzing constantly next to a closed window and the sound of the buzzing is all you can hear. That’s what my head felt like.

I got up and started walking towards the edge. Totally sure of what I was about to do. I felt like a corpse, feeling and fearing nothing. I was about to reach the edge and jump when our tour guide called to me. He asked me what the hell I was doing. That is what snapped me out of it and I realized what I was about to do. I quickly backed away from the edge, my heart racing. I felt like I was going to cry. The guide asked if I was Ok and all I could do was nod. He told me to come sit with everyone else. I didn’t tell anyone about my experience.

On our way down, Priyanka and I began chatting. She mentioned offhandedly that she felt “weird” when trekking uphill. I wondered if the same thing had happened to her too. But I decided not to say anything.

The next day, when we visited an ancient temple in the village, we began chatting up some of the locals. We told them about all the places we had seen and one of us mentioned our trek up the mountain. The locals fell silent when they heard this and exchanged uncomfortable looks. We asked them what was wrong. After some hesitation they told us, and their reply chilled me to the bone. They said that they would never allow their young people to go uphill, unless accompanied by an elder.

Apparently, over the last hundred years or so, the village had been experiencing a strange phenomenon. Any time a young man or woman, usually between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, went up the hill alone, he or she would almost invariably jump to his or her death.