Wishes have wings, they say. A dormant wish had long been percolating my very soul, and to sooth my senses I did follow the footsteps of ancient history to make a visit to Udaygiri and Khandagiri. A transcendental feeling overcomes me. I find myself into a trance in the enchanting delight of being embraced by the blissful arms of this Jain cavern aashram. The panoramic view of River Daya, a silent witness to the Kalinga war, from the nearby Buddha Stupa, tingles my senses. The expanse of the river having been buffeted by the vast stretch of the blue deep above and the age-old quiet Jain Vihar, has been for thousands of years mocking at the violence of war and peace.

And lo! I find myself not exactly marvelling at the spectacular peace of Nature’s art, but at the mingling of the river, the sky , the architecture and the chronicles-all with my Krishna within.

In the midst of all stains of solitude is brought forth to lay the foundation of some civilization, religion and society to bear up. Thereby the ancient Indian religion has carried through the message of the life since time immemorial. There is a fine thread , as it were , to tie the knot. Here both Krishna and Buddha epitomise the same meaningfulness of life. The strains of loneliness tell much of the religion-based life. As if, the mellifluous tone of the flute establishes at the loftiest point of sublimity. A transcendental feeling overpowers me.

Any of the religions allows it to be permissible to be engrossed in the mythological deities. We are utterly smitten by the marvel of the history lost in oblivion and the deities meandering sharply from side to side. Strains of old age civilization mingles with the solemn chants of Buddha. An exquisite view of luscious beauty!

Historical evidences suggest that river Daya had been tinged with hues of war. And, today with the progress of time the waters of the river have become holy - an eternal gesture of India shining. A panoramic view from Buddha’s Upasanasthala still tingles the senses. River Daya and Its bumptious sight and the rerefied atmosphere, the pages of history are simply relegated to the background.

The relics of Udaygiri and Khandgiri are still mesmerising; they contain a matchless treasure within their vaults. The embellishments scream with pride the tales of Ashoke who is known to have taken the shelter of Lord Buddha after the Kalinga war and propagated the message of non-violence across the world. My Krishna becomes an Ashoke beside the Upasanagrih, As if the mantra of violence against non-violence becomes one with the streams of the river spreading a sense of enchanting loneliness. The lion leaving out all its fierceness becomes an emblem of solemn solitude.

Here the silver sphere of the moon endows an enchanting atmosphere; there is no past to haunt, no present to worry about. Buddha and Krishna are established as human deities for good; here nothing hinders the senses to merge with our day-to-day life. The language of the ambiance only perpetuates the spontaneous flow of life. The annals of the past drapes unequivocally the continuity of life force giving out its inexpressible outcry offering a transcendental feeling. The presence of sun serves the memory to transcend the presence and reminisces the ages. Meandering sharply like the river, the time works out its way to placidity in perpetuity.

Layers of hue and colour in connivance with the ever blowing wind do render ever more mysticism to the expression of the inexplicable. What a show of light and colour ! The misty landscape continues to moisten the silvery paper on which it is given exposure unless the artist's brush wins over the skirmish between the paper and the colour. There seems to be a fine amiability till then between body and mind and paper and colour which provides the life force to carry on and on.

Here lies the quintessence of eternity. Buddha and Krishna mingle here in the periphery of sketches and colour. Non-violence, Love for humanity humility, forgiveness, generosity, tolerance -all the manifestations of religion are synthesized into a single whole with life and civilization. It seems, all religions have the similar end in view. Continuity of human civilization is the eternal truth. A perennial realisation pervades all though.

The vast expanses of land, the blue deep firmament, the stretch of river-all being unified, rain out a sense of ethereal melody and beauty on the canvas of the artist. A strong gale like strain emerging out of the Stupa transfuses with that of the flute of Krishna only to float across the River Daya. An exhilaration embraces us, as if, Buddha is awakened ; Ashoke's preachings of peace and ahimsa scatter across the mundane world of ours.