It all started when I got a phone call from my friend Satyam. “Aman, want to go to Rishikesh for a day?” Rishikesh is a holy town situated along the river Ganges in the state of Uttarakhand, about 230 kms north-west of Delhi. August was a good time for river rafting since both the melting of the snow from the upper Himalayas and the monsoon meant swollen rivers. My friends were planning a short trip there and my ‘distinguished’ opinion was sought. My answer couldn’t have been faster. “Yes, of course.”
I had always liked adventure sports even before trying them; they offered a kind of thrill, a refreshing experience far from the boring and pathetic city life. I had watched ample shows on the ‘idiot box’ as they call it, and had loads of images stored in my mind of screaming men and women wearing funky outfits and gadgets either being thrown into a river or jumping off a cliff. It was quite evident that the long summer vacations had bored a majority of the class at my university, and now these extended vacations — 15 more days — could not be less than being a prisoner in your own house. This statement would be fit for all others; for I on the other hand would try to catch hold of one activity or another, engage myself in something worthwhile, though I would admit it did get difficult at times.
However, I soon remembered my brother’s experience of the kind of river rafting offered at the place. You would just have to sit like an idiot in the inflatable as it bobbed up and down and the ‘other’ men, the people running the sport, would do the enjoyable work. “No, not Rishikesh,” I replied after a while. “Why?” came a hurried tone, Satyam was apparently confused at my immediate change of statement. “It’s not good. Let’s go for a longer vacation, somewhere up the Himalayas completely on our own.” “Fine for me,” came Satyam’s reply. I knew at once, he wanted to go somewhere, anywhere.
So, without going into the details which involve calling other friends and asking if they wish to go, and they in turn asking their parents, then planning things out which involves a lot of arguing filled with silent grumbles, roars and loud laughter, we were finally ready with the details. It was the five of us: Ankur, Praveen, Saad, Satyam and me. Our destinations were the Valley of Flowers situated at an altitude of 3,200 metres and Hemkund Sahib, the highest pilgrimage place in the world, at an elevation of 4,329 metres. Both these places involved moderate to strenuous hikes and camping at night. We rented all our equipment — sleeping bags, carry mats, rucksacks and a huge 8-man tent — from the Indian Mountaineering Foundation.
Though the Eastern world is matching up fast with the Western world in terms of culture and the appetite for resources, adventure was the one thing we really didn’t look much into. I recall from the television and the newspaper how much money and time American families spend on vacations, especially somewhere close to nature, going on a long trek or travel through a mountain trail (I am only comparing habits). We, on the other hand, prefer to be on the ‘safe’ side. No doubt Indian families go on vacations but crossing rivers and mountains terrorises their hearts, at least that’s what I make out. Vacations for us therefore might be a pilgrimage place (which are numerous) or the nearby Shimla, Mussoorie — once beautiful towns which now have been ravaged by tourists coming from all over the country, especially the thickly populated North India. What remains of these places is an increasing population due to migration, filth thanks to the extremely ‘well-mannered’ and eco-sensitive Indian citizens who always remember to put waste into the dustbin, and more commercialisation.
Haridwar, 967 feet, 9 August 2010
Haridwar is another holy city around 200 kms from Delhi. We were to travel by train, not the five of us together but divided into groups of three and two. This was one long argument that we had — I extremely disliked going in this fashion, but I had to agree for one of my friends had something important to do that afternoon. I was in the first group. We reached Haridwar at 9:00 PM, the arrival delayed by an hour and a half. Haridwar being one of the most famous holy places in India attracts a large number of pilgrims and you can find scores of people at any time of the year. We found our way through the dense crowd to our resting place, a dharamshala, and put all our baggage down. Thereafter we went out again for dinner and a bath in the Ganges, for which my friends were really very eager.
The night life of Haridwar is very different from what you observe during the day. Amidst all the hustle-bustle of people and the sound of the roaring river there are many tales left unheard — tales which I could see and hear that night. Alongside the river, literally thousands of people were sleeping, some of them must have migrated from different parts of the country in search of a living, while others were those who could not afford to spend the night in a sheltered room. I tried imagining myself in that position but the sheer sense of insecurity I had faded the thought right away. It looked like thousands of people bowing down to the river Ganges in reverence for what all it had given us — arable lands, water to drink and bathe in — and how we had heartily reciprocated: offering trash, ashes of dead people and other day-to-day items which leave our house. At this time of year, the Ganges was filled with mud and was jet brownish-black, not that it was ever clean, but probably the heavy spell of rains up the mountains had eroded a lot of land. Any sensible person would never take a dip in the Ganges even if it guaranteed it would wash away all your past sins; only devout religious people took their chances, which included my two friends.
After dinner we arrived back at our rest house. The bus to our next destination would leave at 5 AM — only if my other two friends came on time could we catch this bus. And we did, just in the nick of time.
The Road to Govind Ghat
So began our long and tiresome journey to a place called Govind Ghat, the starting point of our actual trekking expedition. Our bus slowly gained altitude, and what started as straight roads suddenly turned into narrow zigzag roads complemented by the driver trying his driving skills, accelerating on turns! For a few of the unfortunate ones who had not yet completely digested their food, it was a hard time, and the consequence was pretty clear on the sides of the bus — long yellow streaks with particulate matter trapped within. For the first half of the journey I was in a mixture of conscious and semi-conscious state. One moment I would be appreciating the beautiful mountains rolling by and the other moment I was sleeping, then again woken up by the jerking of the bus.
At about 3:00 PM the bus halted altogether and many people, including us, got down to see what had happened. There was a long queue of buses, cars and bikes with their engines off. All the passengers were sitting along the edge of the road involved in their own affairs: playing cards, cooking food, catching a nap or just moving ahead trying to see what had happened. When I reached the event point, it was pretty clear. A massive piece of rock and debris accompanying it had fallen from the mountain, blocking the whole road.
Throughout the journey I tried to imagine how these roads must have been made by ‘cutting’ through the mountain, carving the path through TNT or dynamite. Though this furnished the purpose, the side effect was that a lot of trees and plants were lost in the process — perhaps the only things that stopped the rocks from collapsing, preventing soil erosion. One could clearly see that the portion of the mountain near the road had hardly any vegetation compared to other regions. When rain struck in this region it only made matters worse. In about half an hour the Border Roads Organisation came to the rescue and cleared all the rocks, blowing the big ones off with dynamite — in the mountains that sound is more like a cloudburst. In about two hours we were finally back on track, but since buses were not allowed during the dark we had to make a pit stop at a place called Joshimath.
Joshimath, 6,200 feet, 10 August
After being unable to find a good camping place we finally decided to rent a room and soon managed to find good and cheap accommodation. We had about 10 hours until 5 in the morning when our bus would start off to our destination. Among the things we talked about, the most important was perhaps the weight of the bags. Satyam and Ankur had packed very heavy bags and began to discard all the things they wouldn’t need — discard not meaning throw them away but keep them separate so they could be immediately left in a cloakroom at Govind Ghat.
We never really got to know when it was time to take the bus; it was the conductor who knocked on the door saying we were the only ones left to board. So, once again began our journey. This time, the roads were steeper and we gained altitude quite fast. While crossing through the mountains the thing that really strikes you hard is the colossal size of the structures standing right in front of your eyes. You start to think how they must have formed over millions of years. In fact, the Himalayas is one of the youngest mountain chains in the world and it is still growing in height — the Indian and Eurasian plates are still buckling against each other and in the process raising the landmass. Only the Andes is doing the same thing.
The bus swayed from side to side as we crossed narrow corners, ascending and descending through mountains with the faithful Alaknanda River always by our side. Soon it began raining and a sudden chill filled the air. The rain went on and off — the unpredictable weather is one of the characteristics of the mountains. Before long, the bus stopped and we reached Govind Ghat, the starting point of our trek.
About a kilometre walk from the bus stop was a market bustling with pilgrims. Most shops sold souvenirs associated with Guru Gobind Singh, the 10th Guru of the Sikhs, who had attained enlightenment at Hemkund Sahib. So you had pictures, key chains, idols, head scarves and the like.