This is how the novel opens:
"Here the hills do not roll gently into each other across the horizon; rather they collide into each other and tower into the blue sky piercing the fluffy white clouds. Then they fall steeply into the gorge far below carved by the snake-like river's relentless southward flow. The slopes of these hills are covered by forests, grass and man-made terraces, and crisscrossed by countless streams and rivulets and the ubiquitous ribbon-like foot trails carved out by the bare feet of hundreds of generations of human inhabitants. Despite their sturdy appearance, these hills are not as tough and resilient as they look. In fact, being of relatively new make in the geological clock, they are rather fragile and prone to natural calamities. Their uneven and soft surfaces are routinely ravaged by the relentless forces of nature - rain, wind, hailstorm, flash-flood, mudslide, landslide and earthquake, not to forget human action. These are the mid-hills of Nepal that run across the length of the brick-shaped country east to west and known to geographers and laymen alike as the Mahabharata Range. To the north running parallel to the hills lie the majestic Himalaya Mountains, perennially snow-capped, aloof and foreboding, and famed all over the world as the highest peaks in the world. For the average Nepali steeped in a religion that preaches inaction and lays heavy emphasis on the hand of God, these peaks are not there for to climb but to worship as the abode their myriad gods and goddesses. Beyond the snow-capped peaks lies Tibet, once a free and peaceful (and powerful, in the days of antiquity) land, now under the vice-like grip of Red China. To the south lie the lower hills known as the Chure Hills that run parallel to the higher Mahabharata Range. South of the Chure Hills lies the vast plain formed by the fertile alluvial soil of the great River Ganga basin and known affectionately to the Nepalese as the Terai."
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Somewhere down the line:
"To say that a Nepali loves his village would be an understatement, because to him his village is not just a collection of thatched-roofed mud-painted houses made of rocks, mud and wood. His village is the ribbon like foot trail that winds up and down the slopes of the hills, reaching every doorstep. His village is the dogs that bark at night and the rooster that wakes him up every morning before dawn with a 'kukhuri kaa' ('cock-a-doodle-doo' in Nepali). His village is the cow that moos in the cowshed when it is hungry and the goats that bleat when they get lost in the woods. His village is the hawk that swoops down from the sky to catch little chicks following mother hen and the pigeons that dance their dance of courtship on the rooftop. His village is where it is bad luck when a cat crosses his path and good luck when he sees a pair of doves sitting together. His village is the snake which supposedly carries a precious jewel on it head which only the most fortunate can see and the jackal that supposedly grows a horn momentarily every time it howls in the dark of the night. His village is the cuckoo that brings good luck to the first person who hears it sing in the Spring and the owl that hoots near one's window at night to tell him of his or someone else's impending death. Above all, his village is the farmer who prods a pair of oxen to the fields every day carrying a plough on his shoulders and whistling his favorite tune, and the womenfolk who gossip incessantly as they congregate at the village spring to fill their water jars."
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Somewhere further down the line:
A little before sunset on a cold winter's day a young man and a woman were briskly making their way towards the village along the narrow foot-trail that winds its way precariously on the steep slope several hundred feet above the swirling river.
"I am tired. Let's take a short rest, shall we?" said the comely young woman and stopped.
"All right," the young man said and followed suit, though he didn't look tired.
"How far is it from here?" asked the woman. Her voice betrayed her tiredness and mounting apprehension.
"One hour for a man and two hours for a woman," he replied with a wink. This is how Nepalese still measure distance in the hills. It's always in terms of time, and never in terms of distance. "I told you it was tough," he added.
"But I didn't think it was this tough. It will be dark in a short time. We should have started earlier," she said.
"Don't you worry! I know every nook and corner in this place like the back of my hand. Remember, I grew up here. Besides, we have a torch light." And he added, "We started at the right time, but our progress has been a bit slow."
"Then you should leave me here and go alone," she challenged him flirtatiously, with a half-tempting smile on her pink lips.
The young man eyed her with a mixture of affection and lust, and a mischievous smile drew across his handsome face. He winked his right eye and said, "Wait till we reach home, then I know what to do with you."
"What will do you?" she teased him, with an equally mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She was beautiful.
"Do you want me to show you right now, right here?" he playfully pulled her towards him. She giggled and pressed her warm and soft body against his as he caressed her taut breasts. She had a slender figure, fair complexion and a pretty face, the more so when she laughed. When she laughed a dimple formed on her right cheek which made her look lovelier still. A pair of gold earrings dangled from the soft lobes of her ears.
Then abruptly she stopped laughing and pushed him away. With a somber expression on her face she said, "I am scared."
"I told you not to worry. I'll take care of everything. Don't you trust me?" he said.
"If I didn't trust you I wouldn't have followed you into this wilderness," she replied, "but still I can't help feeling scared."
A cold gust of cold wind hit them and ruffled their hair.
"It's getting colder. Let's continue walking. It'll make us warmer and take us home faster," he said taking her hand. She looked up at the darkening hills and the forests upon them and followed him quietly. When she turned back to glance at the red sun a minute later, it was already half hidden behind the dark silhouette of the western hills.
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