Under cloudy sky of the queen of hills
All leave Darjeeling
Climbing down the famous and spiralling railway track.
It is now perfectly quiet all around,
Except the distant bells from the gompah, sounding solemn and deep,
And tiny flecks of snow and cold dewdrops,
That keep falling through.
Only Nikhil, Surekha and me have stayed back
Here at this 'Moonlight Grove'
Nilgiri coffee is whistling in the kettle
And a bottle of 'old monk rum' waits on the table
The trembling flames of fire-woods
Are flashing on the bottle and the glass.
We slept long till noon like a winter snake,
We chose to sleep together, all three in a row,
Nikhil and me on the flanks,
With Surekha Sanyal like a sandwich, in between.
We had agreed this and the deal is kept,
And will remain as thus.
It will be raining in our sleep,
Snow will drip down the firs and the pines,
The cold winter night will be colder and still . . .
But when my sleep was broken
I found nobody around!
Nikhil or Surekha Sanyal
All having vanished like dreams
Only Jung Bahadur standing with a cup of coffee in his hand
And the bells of the Tibetan gompah sounding from a distant hill.
This much and with nobody else around,
Snow flecks were dripping in the forest, far and near,
Only snow, drip after drip,
Endless, silent and deep.

- Tusar Roy  (translated from the Bengali)