A Love Affair with the Mountains - II

Continued from Part I

It was a leisurely walk for me. I found entertaining company in 20-something former engineers from Hyderabad, who labored to explain to me how train wheels are built, and how they steer differently (I don’t remember why we got onto that topic). After several years of being around arts college students at Xavier’s, or former arts college students at my workplace Star India, I was happy to meet people whose everyday conversations included science. A part of me still wants to be a scientist, but sadly the only current relation between me and science is that my hair is like Einstein’s.

Finally, we reached the Har ki Doon valley. I admired the view for a while – the Supin river sped past our tent and there were snow-capped mountains in every direction. Far away, a part of the Jaundhar glacier was visible too. Within minutes, the cold had hit. The highest temperature at that altitude was 9°C, dropping to -9°C in the night. At 3500 metres, even Uttarakhand’s state flower rhododendron lost its dark red color to turn violet or lilac. I thanked my stars that I had suppressed the impulse to skip thermals while packing.

That day, alone in the tent, I did feel a sudden stab of loneliness. I hadn’t spoken to family in days and I wasn’t even sure they knew my whereabouts. I despaired for a bit. I just had to step out and there would be plenty of people to talk to – I didn’t have to be alone. But some instinct stopped me from doing that. It may sound corny – or perhaps cruel, depending on your viewpoint – but that was when I felt that I could exist alone in the world, and life would still go on. I don’t mean to say that I would prefer it, but only that it was possible.

Cold. Period.

That night was the coldest I’ve ever experienced, although my tent was livened up the by the chatter of the 3yr old kid I was sharing it with. In the cold, small things like doing up a sleeping bag’s zip, or untying a knot became a task because I had to take off my gloves. I dismissed all thoughts of waking up to pee in the night, because the toilet tent was about 50 metres away.

The only respite was the by the fireside. The next morning was rather comic. Wet your hands while brushing your teeth, and then go dry them by the fire to regain feeling. Then remember that you haven’t washed your face, so wet your hands again to do that and then dry them by the fire. Rinse and repeat takes on a whole new meaning this way.

The valley of bones and flowers

That day, we set out to get as close as possible to the Jaundhar glacier. The guide had told us that to reach the actual glacier itself wouldn't be possible in a day, but the trek sounded promising. It turned out to be that, and more. From Har Ki Doon, no more mules traveled. Which meant that the path would be narrow, and in many places, only barely there.

We left the camp behind and crossed the river. After going downhill for some time, we walked through meadows. It was alternately macabre and pretty - there were flowers of many colors - small pretty ones. That, and bones. Bones of which animals, we couldn't really tell. A skull here, a leg bone there.

After the meadows, it was climbing over ridges. There was a clamber of excitement after we spotted some snow, until we finally reached the point where we had a clear view of the Swargarohini peak. Legend is that this is the peak the Pandavas climbed on their final ascent to heaven. Further away, the Jaundhar glacier could be seen. The harsh summer and global warming had caused it to recede 3kms more than usual. It was a sobering thought.

My attention was dragged back to the Swargarohini. It wasn't hard to see why the name, which roughly translates to ‘heaven-star’, fell. I could say it was something out of a painting, or perhaps out of a dream, but that would be just be an understatement. The mists that had covered the peak were slowly clearing. People basked or took photographs. I watched in awe for a while, and then took out my book to sketch it.

After glorious beauty, came the only moment of fear that I felt in the trip. We had been delayed a bit, after trying out an untested path in the hope of finding snow. The weather looked like it would worsen, and in this area, even hailstorms wouldn’t be too improbable. I think I must've been thinking about the ominous significance of the bones, and perhaps about the story about how the Drauapadi and all the Pandavas – except for Yudhistira – fell one by one along the way to heaven and died, uncared for. We were going downhill now, and for quite a while, there had been a mildly steep drop to the left. It hadn’t bothered me yet, but now we reached a place where the path itself was absent. I found myself scrambling with both hands to maintain balance. At some point, the person walking ahead noticed the desperation on my face, and I got a helping hand. Nothing like a bit of abject fear to make you feel alive, I’ll say!

It rained on the way back, but we made it in time for the only ‘hot’ lunch that we were to have in the whole trip. And then in the evening, there was a small fire around which we sang and danced. We finally got our guide Chain Singh to sing for us – it was a song about how of all the valleys, Har ki Doon is the prettiest and of all the mountains, Nanda Devi is the loveliest. Slowly, the fire started to burn out, and people started to trickle back into the tents. A few of us stayed and talked, until we noticed the sky. It was chock full of stars, and matters were helped by the fact that it a new moon day. Everywhere I go, there is one constellation that I can make out without fail – the Orion constellation. All our combined efforts failed to locate it this time, because there were so many stars! I cursed myself for not adding a book on astronomy into the Kindle, like I had originally intended.

Rivers and girls who chatter away

The next day, we left the Har ki Doon valley and started our descent. Downhill is supposed to be easier, but I was much slower than I had been when I was climbing up. I, lover of summers and sun and seas, had finally got what the big deal about mountains was all about it. I already wanted to go back. All the paths were now filled with stories – here was where we had first seen snow, there were the terrace fields through which we had hurried. No more hurry now. No more charge on my phone either. That day, I mostly walked alone, feeling slightly melancholy. We reached Osla once again. I talked to my mother through the town’s only satellite phone.

The next day, we walked down to Taluka. This time, I was accompanied by my 8 yr old cousin. We stopped at every little stream to “check” the water’s drinkability, spotted birds and butterflies. My cousin thought that Bisleri Mountain water tasted nothing like the water here and that she would like a job bringing real mountain water from the mountains. I think it was a good way to end the trip – the chatter of water and a little kid echoing in my ears.

There is a very palpable “bite” to cold air, a sort of pleasant sting that I didn’t consciously notice until I was the walking the last few kilometers of the trek. That’s when the sting of cold disappeared and mountains began to open up to the warmth from the plains. Our guide told me that it was still well under 30°C. I had to believe him, even though my body was saying otherwise. After having some of the local Maggi-lookalike called Saga, I was back on the top of the jeep for the 12km ride back to Sankri. It was a lot less bumpy this time, because we sat on our coats. It was chilly now, but after sub-zero temperatures, this was the kind of cold you could scoff at.

I managed to learn four words of Garhwali on the way back – ‘kan chhan?’ which means ‘how are you’ and ‘theek chhan’ which means ‘I’m fine’. I told you it was only four words.

And then we were back to electricity and beds and hot showers. As much as I would like to end with something deep and poignant about traveling, I don’t think a vacation in itself is life-changing. You’re just seeing more places, isn’t it? You just have a few more stories to tell, isn’t it? Maybe that is enough. 

(Picture no. 1 is courtesy Krishna Kumar Pisharady, picture no. 3 is courtesy Venkat Ramaswamy.
I fund my own travel.)