SHE is a Myth found not in pages;
Heaven on earth confined in clouds’ cages;
Queen of mounts, swaying for ages;
By the wave of wands in the hands of mages;
Mount RORAIMA, A forgotten World, a floating isle plateau seated 7671 above the Forest floor, is surrounded by three different countries Brazil, Venezuela and Guyana whose borderlines intersect on the massive shelf, with all four sides being sheer 400-meter high cliffs. It is called as Tepui by the local inhabitants, means “House of Gods” and also the natives fear venturing up onto the plateau due to legends regarding ptero…”
The sudden blow of breeze breached my tent-castle caressing my senses, making me stop the account on mount Roraima in the middle. Closing the diary I came out of the tent to get enfogged by the vista in front of me. “No wonder it inspired Arthur Conan Doyle in writing his The Lost World. This place is magical, paradise in earth” I looked at the world beneath me standing on the edge of the floating isle, indeed at the top of the world, out of all the confinements that chained me once. It has been six years since my divorce and start of my career as a travel journalist. ‘A Star Journalist’, people of my kind used to call me.
The sun has set but his rays hesitating to leave this paradise remained spreading its hands to barricade the entrance of darkness into the prominence. I went back to the campfire near the tent and sat on the stone bench. On the other side I could see two other tents and a guide talking to the folks in the blue tent beside the peech one. Looking at their outfits I deduced that they might be hikers from some other country. I took out my wallet and looked at the picture of my father. A smile crept on my face; “I want to see all the beautiful places in the world” my only dream from childhood which I used to tell my father whenever he asked about my ambition. I have been to most of the places, beautiful and dangerous, in the world. But this place fascinated me like no other, the mystic beauty and the majestic view bestowed a spectacular feast to the eyes and heart. Waterfalls filling down sheer cliff faces into clouds, Labyrinths of stone pinnacles, Valleys carpeted with crystals, Carnivorous pitcher plants, Exquisite rare orchids, seated right above the Amazon forest. Everything in this place delighted me. It took two days’ continuous walk to reach the plateau , my excitement amplified with each steps in a ramp-like path that led me to the dream-land.
Travel never exhausted me, instead augments my thirst for adventure and filled me with contentment . As I took a light supper and sat near the campfire looking at the sky, I saw the guide approaching me. “Hola Senora, como puedo ayudarte?” he’s a wheat-complexed, tall and gigantic man with a fine physic. One cannot claim that he’s handsome due to his lop-sided mouth and a strange structure of his face. “Hello sir, I’m Zoya and sorry I don’t speak Spanish. Do you know English?” “ye ye Senora, I speak Engleesh. I Carlos, local guid. Ow can I elp you?” He asked with the deep voice struggling with the language. “Everything is good here sir, thank you” I replied trying to decode the guide’s odd expression. “Senorita Soya, I vill be stayving in the peach color tent near the blue von. Any elp wantad cal me” “Ok Mr. Carlos, Good night” “buenas noches” he left the place bowing to me.
Sleep seemed distant now. This place’s echoing silence occupied my thoughts. Not interested to resume my account I decided to explore the flat hill. The only light that illuminated the place is the lamp that set outside the hikers’ tent. I strode in the opposite direction of tents and walked to the stone pinnacles, a self-constructed labyrinth. It appeared as if a man-eating flora pretending to sleep to lure the prey. I took my mobile and switched on the torch to find the path in dark. After walking for another half-an hour deep into the maze, I comprehended that I’m in fact is not alone and chose to get back to the tent. All the directions looked alike and uneasiness gripped my spirit. “Is there anyone else here?” I could sense my voice shivering. No response. Might be my hallucination. I turned back and resumed my journey in a direction which seemed unfamiliarly familiar. “I must be foolish to do this, wandering in an unknown place that too at the middle of the night” chiding myself I increased my pace hoping to get out of the mess now I am in. I stepped in the stone stair hitting the rock nearby falling straight down the bush making my mobile flutter away. I landed in something soft yet viscous. I tried moving my right leg in vain and found that it is entangled in a thing which looked like a creeper, but exceptionally sturdy. I felt my leg getting throttled, also my other leg and hands too. I struggled against the strangling vine and shouted in a hope of getting saved.
“You should not have come alone” I heard a voice from behind. There stood a man in the darkness, an axe in his hands. I yelled in fear and pain as the man with bright blue eyes and archaic physic came near me. The vine reached my neck and I started gasping for air. He leisurely took hold of the vine and started cutting. His face so divine and calm. My heart skipped a beat. “You’re free now. Thank your stars that I’m here. Follow me now, I’ll take you outside” “But what is that thing, that tried to choke me” “It is Jimson weed; it not only strangles but create hallucinations and respiratory depression and kills people”. I followed him like Mary’s little lamb not even wanting to Know who he is. “Look there, your tent. Now go and get some sleep Zoya” “I don’t remember telling you my name sir” I responded with a surprise. “Even I don’t remember you thanking me for saving your life” he replied sarcastically as I blinked in awe “THANK YOU”
kilk 
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