O my friends! Come and plunge
into the depths of Champa Valley.
The peaks of the Dhaulador do not gleam
and the glen below seems a gulf.
The Winter is lying in wait
for the welcoming flakes of snow to fall
and we need no sweaters to quell the cold.
The gullies on the slopes are bereft of streams
and the pines in cols do not greet the tourists!
The unstirred leaves and grass are brooding
and the absence of the whooping birds
ring the bell to the end of the Spring.
But See! The upcoming Dhonis are hitting sixes
in the Chaugan sward.
Come to the Chamunda Devi temple.
Shout and hear your echoes from the hills opposite
and the sounds dying away
rattling far amid the lofty ranges.
We have no time to stroll on the salubrious Dalhousie
and have a gaze and be lost in the haze
of the snowy summits or in the roaring rivers.
Meek you are to roam in the sylvan glades
And seek solace for your restless souls.