Below and around me lay the village, quiet and serene in the evening shadows, smoke rising from chimneys all along the slope. Looking down the valley, I could see the snow lingam of the Goshal Cone, glowing with the last flush of sunlight. On the opposite side of the valley, Karding and its monastery nestled in the shadow of the Dilburi peak. As twilight came on, all was quiet, save for the occasional gruff barking of a dog and the muffled roar of the Bhaga river in its cavernous passage. And then, the shrill haunting notes of the gyadung began to float down from the monastery. I was home at last.