- Purushottam Agarwal 

This happening took place, in about 450 BC, in a village named Deratikku, near present Lohaghat town, in the foothills of Himalayas. This was the settlement where Nomads had settled. Probably the natural instinct for aloofness and obvious security lured the tribe to settle in this remote area. More over there was abundance of natural wealth, which could ensure adequate the means of livelihood for them.

 The village was nested on the bank of erstwhile river Ugrabeni, a tributary of Kali River, which flowed through the hilly terrain hosting high Deodar and Chir trees. The area was lush with greenery and scenic beauty. It was heavenly, as the nature had scattered all of its treasure here.

Sadanand had come here to make bulk purchase of handicrafts for which this place was very famous. Sadanand was very enthusiastic trader, of about 25 years of age. He was well-built, handsome and intelligent person. 

One early following morning Sadanand went out for a stroll to enjoy the extravagance of the nature. There was this Ugrabeni stream winding around the village. He stood on its bank and was entranced by exotic music in gurgling waters of the stream. The scenery was just overwhelmingly vibrant with breathtaking spread of beautiful forest around and silvery snow covered mountains. The rising nebula from gushing waters of the river arrested his fascination. The ascent of the stream from mountains was preceded by a waterfall, which filled the surroundings with its tumultuous roar. Thick haze of minute water droplets was suspended in the air over flaring white foam. The water falling from great height was metamorphosed into white effervescence bringing mystic yet melodic effects to the environs.

The scenery across the stream was more picturesque than what it was on this bank. Green canvas of the nature with dominating Deodar trees, high enough to kiss hanging clouds, was divinely. Conifers, top of them slanting to confirm steepness of the terrain, looked like a careless stroke of the great Painter. All what he saw aroused poetry in Sadanand; he, though he was not a poet, was breathing poetry, thinking poetry, reading poetry composed by the Nature.

The vagabond clouds, which were loitering in the sky, Sadanand fancied, were caressing and kissing trees under the cover of morning mist. When birds chirped in protest against this arrant and erotic behavior of clouds, these scamps moved into interior where sunrays were not powerful enough to penetrate the mist.  After accomplishment of their lust, these infidels unfolded their wings and fled across the stream.