How Red Is My Valley.

Cradled between the Himalayas is the heaven that encouraged distant travelers to visit. The camera’s memory card may fall short to capture the beauty. The exquisiteness of Chinaar is spectacular. The sweet water streams flowing and rushing down through the slopes of Himalaya enlivens you mind and soul. The valley brimming with varied colored flowers is a breath taking scene. A county is gifted with blossoming spring, sprawling summer, rustling autumn and crisp winter. Watching the herd of sheep over the meadow and the scenic locale might inspire a painter as well.

In spring the valley is blossomed with multihued flowers. A season when joyous birds chirp around, orchids heavy with fruits makes a voyager to think that is he in chimera or veracity. When the summer fruits brim over the cane baskets, the sweetness of apples, and the gentleness of peach, strawberries and cherries lure one to an extent of falling in love with.

The misty mornings lounge over bouncy valley. The radiant meadows drape the hillsides like a cloak. The blonde sunlight portrays the daybreak in crimson tide pouring out the splendor of autumn. The rustle of the fallen leaves adjoins to the music of the place and the sweet fragrance of flowers lingers on. White expanse of snow mushroomed far and wide camouflage the radiance of this seventh heaven. The soft snowflakes embellish the coniferous trees. The misty hazy breath and the chilly breeze gently tingles your senses. The tender sunlight deflect from the ice clad peaks and spreading the warmth. It is portrait of a true bliss on the earth.

Along with the beauty, beast is outfitted for ambush. From the past twenty years, the echoes of the blast sill prevail. The valley has lost much of its persistent charm. The fragrance of flowers is either missing or is killed in the smoke of the fire. Fear is the main factor that resides in everyone’s heart. The bloodshed that takes place is really heart aching. The songs of the birds can no more be heard. The only voice that falls on the ears is that of bullet firings, bomb explosions, and painful cries.
Hell has been unleashed in a once beautiful heaven. The pure water, once brought to the valley from the Himalayas, now is red with blood. The market that once saw the beautiful flower girls selling pretty flowers now dwells in silence. The little shepherds, singing songs of joy with their sheep on the meadows have disappeared. An evil force has psyched the youth in to violence. Those hands that once made extraordinarily beautiful shawls, carpets and crafts, now hold guns and grenades. The highways that used to be greeted by eager travelers now just see passing army trucks. This was a favorite haunt of all tourists at the spring time but now is just a land of terror. No one feels safe, because no one is safe. The treat of life has made the place lucid though it still remains. The lilies bloom but no one cares and the paradise burns, painting the valley red.