I like camping with my tent. When daylight strikes the majestic landscape outside, the translucent blue fabric of my tent conceals its harshness and pours a gentle light inside. My eyes thus open to the feeling of comfort and warmth as if I’m seeing the fair blue sky close to me. I often wake up lost, as if a peaceful, dreamless night has wiped away my memory. This happens usually. Today was not usual.
I woke up half annoyed and pressed hard at the surface beneath me. I unzipped the tent flap and got out barefoot in a state of upheaval, just like the cold damp soil below. Straight ahead, to the east, the sun bore its prominence in the sky, its glare blocking out everything in that direction. On the green grass below, the dew drops hissed in agony. Mountains seen far off were like a faded sketch on paper. The muted cold silence of the night had been overturned by this bountiful day.
Tom, in his bright yellow t-shirt and black shorts, had already started packing whatever he could lay his hands upon. Upon seeing me he smiled and asked “Sir! How did you sleep?” I stamped my feet on the ground and sulked. “Too many bumps on my side, I barely slept.”
In some sort of queer frenzy we changed our clothes, packed all our camping gear, and criss-crossed the bungee cords to the bicycle which held our stuff. After a while I looked around the field for a possible location that could conceal me from unintentional gaze. Nature’s call, I would say, truly happened here.
At 5:30 PM the previous evening we had started the last leg of the day’s journey from the tiny village of Chattru, in hope of reaching Gramphu, 17 kms away. Our high spirits grew thin when darkness set in. It took all our concentration, good luck and a fair dose of adrenaline as we sped across on invisible roads which were often flooded with water and brimming with an assortment of stones waiting to throw us off into the abyss. When the prospect of reaching Gramphu still felt like eternity, we decided to stop and camp on a field close to the road.
I took out my headlight, its glow now lost in the mist ahead of me, and moved towards a house I could see in the distance. A biting cold wind barrelled across the landscape. Born from the high grounds of the Rohtang Pass, it numbed my bare skin, chapping it dry. Smoke rose from a thin chimney that protruded from the roof of the house and brought memories of warmth. I saw the silhouette of a person, a man, and approached him.
“Namaste Sir, my friend and I are on bicycles and wanted to reach Gramphu today but it’s very dark outside and we can’t go any further. Can we put a tent here in your field?”
“Yes, sure!” came his polite reply. “Finding a level patch might be difficult since we just harvested the potatoes but you are most welcome to search.”
I turned around, moving my lamp in different directions, trying to get an idea of the extent and orientation of the field.
“Would you two like some chai?” he spoke again.
I wanted to cry out loud, thank him profusely and hug him tightly — but a less dramatic reply came by. “Yes, certainly! That would be great, thank you.”
I saw Tom standing near the bicycles rubbing his hands. I updated him about the conversation and after a few minutes of discussion we set upon to put our tent. With the onslaught of the silent gusts, controlling the rippling and unfurling tent felt like taming a wild stallion, but at last we succeeded. There was a wonderful feeling of happiness and satisfaction at the end of this adventurous day. Our cold, fatigued bodies had finally settled down to rest, snug inside our sleeping bags. The warmth of the chai seeped down and soothed the body while the aroma of ginger still lingered in the air.
Next morning, while we stretched and warmed our bodies, a woman in a green salwar-kameez and beige coloured sweater greeted us and invited us to have chai inside the house. Sitting cross-legged on a rug just across the radiating burn pot, we had chai in one hand and a piece of soft, fluffy Tibetan bread in another.
“I would have served you dal but it’s still uncooked… Where are you both coming from? We saw two lights far off on the road yesterday night and were wondering…”
“Oh, Ma’am we are very thankful to you for this.” I gulped the bread with some tea and then continued. “At Kibber, we discovered that there was little money left with either of us and were told that the next ATM was 185 km away in Keylong. Even though the kind gentleman at Kibber cut a portion of the bill, we were only left with Rs. 100. We left for Kibber that day and reached Losar. Since we had no money for hotel and little for food, we camped and cooked some packed things we had. At Batal, on the other side of the Kunzum Pass, the person at the dhaba saw our hesitant state on ordering anything and upon hinting, handed us two plates and told us to have food and not to worry about the money. At Chhatru, 35 km away, we were again treated for food by the kind couple running the dhaba.”
She smiled on hearing the story and then offered us more bread.
Out in the field, we checked our bicycles one last time. I heard the voice of the woman again behind me and saw her carrying something. “These are some fruits; you can eat them on the way.”
“Oh! Thank you so much, so nice of you.”
We bade her goodbye and started carrying the bicycles to the road. We saw the woman come again and this time she handed me a 100 rupee note. “Some money for your journey.”
I glanced at Tom to see his reaction and, following an expression discussion, replied, “Thank you Ma’am but we can’t take your money, you have helped us so much already.”
“Oh! I insist. You are my son’s age and Keylong is far. Plus, this will only buy you a few paranthas on the way, not a lot.”
So as to not appear rude by denying again, we took the money. We exchanged final goodbyes. The extra 100 rupees sure did make us feel rich, for on reaching Gramphu, just 2 km away, paranthas and chai churned comfortably within our hungry bellies.
By the time we reached Keylong in mid-afternoon, I only had a coin in my pocket. Waiting for the ATM to spill out some cash, I remembered the words of the man running the dhaba at Chhatru. I wanted to somehow pay him for the food upon reaching Keylong but he had said, “Imagine that today, you are at a friend’s house and enjoying a good meal.” He paused to light up his bidi, inhaled deeply and then spoke with a tone of melancholy. “My friend, everything is not money, there is also something called Humanity.”