Perhaps the rains will fade quietly, or perhaps the lake still has a story to tell.
The rains of 2010 have not been harsh, nor have they been kind. They’ve lingered, steady and brooding, and now we stand at the fag end of the season. The clouds still circle above like vultures, heavy with what little they have left to pour, but everyone knows the monsoon is slipping away.
In Abu, though, rain is never just weather—it carries whispers, old tales, and warnings. The lake at the heart of our hill station is no ordinary lake. Abuites will tell you in hushed tones that it has a hunger of its own. When it claims a life—be it by drowning, despair, or dark sacrifice—it cannot rest until it has overflowed. waters must spill, as if purging the blood from its belly.
A few days ago, the lake claimed another. Suicide, they say. Now the town waits. Some scoff at the legend, dismissing it as superstition. But others—especially the old ones—watch the waterline with grim certainty. They know what is coming. The overflow is only a question of “when,” not “if.”
The hills, silent in their green mist, seem to be listening as well. A strange stillness hangs like the hush before a confession in the damp air.
I’ll keep watch, and I’ll tell you when the lake breaks. Until then, here are a few glimpses of Abu in its haunted, rain-soaked skin—beautiful, yes, but always carrying shadows beneath the surface.
Sloth bear opposite Santsaravor a BEAUTY
Standing Pose
Canopy over Plummy
Lower Khodra dam is almost full
St.Mary’s School Mount Abu
The school
Sparrow Hawk
Hypnotizing
Posing
A lovely pair
Wire tunes Misty Morn
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