As the Commander drove up the mountain, east Sikkim with its sylvan surroundings beckoned. A languid morning sun caressed the snow-capped peaks. Sleepy hamlets lazed, scattered and aloof on the undulated cascades of terraced fields.
From the window of my jeep, I watched mesmerized the magic mountain’s changing shades, criss-crossed by mist and light. It was sublimity on earth; sublimity because the intervening days have taken away nothing from that long moment of wonder. After three hours of grueling drive from Gangtok, we reached Tssango.