This is how it all began. Rajesh and six of his colleagues
were to attend another colleague, Manish’s wedding in Dharchula. It was to be a
touch and go trip, as the travel time involved was a lot and these guys had
only a day’s leave clubbed with a weekend… no boss would allow six of his men
to go on leave simultaneously to attend the wedding of a seventh! Despite
vociferous opposition from Rajesh’s friends, I wheedled my way into this
all-male party as the opportunity to visit the border town of Dharchula was too
good to resist.
We left Dehradun by the Kathgodam Express on the night of 17th
February 2011 and reached Kathgodam early next morning. Getting off at the
picturesque and well maintained railhead put us in the proper mood for the trip
ahead. Sipping cups of hot tea, we waited for our driver – Charu Chandra, who
soon arrived, ensconced in his silver Mahindra Bolero.
At 7:45 am, we started from Kathgodam, with clear blue skies
and brilliant sunshine. The road winded up to Bhimtal, the scenic town with its
placid lake and quaint houses. Next up was Bhowali, well known for its sanatorium
and fruit market. From there the road meandered down to Ratighat, where we set
our sight on the Kosi river which would be our companion up to Almora. At
Khairna/Garampani we stopped for a much needed break and gorged on delicious alu-parathas and the ubiquitous pahadi kheera ka raita.
Thus fortified,
we set off towards Almora. All along this badly damaged, bumpy road we
witnessed what the fury of nature can do… the flash flood of September 2010 had
caused the level of the Kosi to rise considerably and entire sections of the
road had been swept away. We passed houses with half their rooms washed away
and saw enormous trees stuck in the rocks, high above the waterline, marking
the level to which the river had flooded. Our driver Charu, who had been caught
in the flood and had to spend three days stuck on the road without food, gave
us a vivid description of the situation.
At one place, a temporary road inclined steeply up, causing
one of the bags to roll off the carriage. Horror of horrors! It was the bag containing
our only bottle of the indispensable liquid that was to fortify us against the
cold. Fortunately, it was quickly retrieved and with a collective sigh of
relief we thanked the solidity of the
usually fragile bottle. As Charu was reinforcing the ropes that held our
luggage, I saw a shaggy bhotia dog on the other bank of the river. It suddenly
jumped into the water, swam merrily across, shook off all the water and joined
another beautiful bhotia in a game of roll in the grass!
A few kilometers before Almora, we crossed the Kosi and started
our ascent amidst serene pine forests. As as the jeep rounded a bend, we were
treated to our very first glimpse of the perennial snows of the mighty
Himalayas. There was a buzz of excitement and even those dozing away in the
back seat were rejuvenated by the gorgeous sight. We stopped for tea at Lodhia,
just outside Almora and here we had a bite of the famous ‘Bal-mithai’ and
‘Singori’. I was surprised to see a number of swifts/swallows circling the area
near the shops. They would swoop across
and a few of them flew straight into the shop. The owner told us that they were
locally referred to as gotali and it
was considered auspicious if they nested in your home. He showed us a few
cardboard boxes that he had kept above his cupboards for the birds to nest in. Most
of them were taken!
Taking the by-pass to avoid the congestion of Almora, we now
wound our way down through pine forests, passing the Golu Devta temple at Chitai.
On the way we spotted a jackal peeping out from the side of the road, our first
and only wildlife sighting. A little further we turned left, leaving the road
that went on to the famous stone temple complex of Jageshwar.
We were headed up
towards Dhaulichhina, which offered us an amazing 180 degree panorama of the
snow covered Himalayas, including the Nanda Devi. All along we had been
travelling on the sunny, southern face of the mountains and at Dhaulichhina the
temperature suddenly dipped as we stood face to face with the perennial snow
ranges. Here, the pine trees had given way to stately deodars. Having downed a
few refreshing cups of sweet cardamom tea, we started our descent towards
Seraghat where we crossed the Saryu river.
The exceptionally severe monsoons and unprecedented rains in
the winters had caused intensive damage to this area. Though most of the roads
were passable, some landslide prone patches were in a bad state. Crossing these
areas was a frightful experience and invariably, our driver’s mobile phone
would start ringing just as he was manoeuvering a particularly treacherous
bend. Being a slave to this aggravating piece of technology, Charu would deftly
manage the steering wheel with one hand while holding the mobile to his ear
with the other. As he carried on long drawn conversations regarding the wind,
weather and other inane topics, our hearts would be almost in our mouths as the
road crumbled beneath the tyres and sent rocks and gravel tumbling down the
sheer slopes. Soon we were laying bets on whether or not Charu’s phone would
ring out ‘Radhe, Radhe, Radhe… Barsane
wale Radhe’ at the next hairy patch!
Our plan of having lunch at Berinag had to be called off as
we encountered a road block at Tapovan village. The road was being macadamized
and traffic was halted on both sides. We took this opportunity to stretch our
legs and check out the scenery. The entire mountainside was covered with
terrace fields in verdant shades of green and dotted with small houses with
slate roofs. As we munched on some snacks, a friendly black dog decided that it
was time for us to share our snacks with him. Finally, after almost an hour,
the traffic moved on and we headed towards Berinag which was once famous for its
high quality tea. Now most of the tea-gardens have been turned into fields or have
‘eco-friendly’ resorts constructed on them. Despite that, this small town with
gently undulating slopes offers an amazing view of the Panchachhuli peaks.
This
was our first encounter with this majestic group of peaks which we would be
viewing from a number of different angles in the next two days. Panchachhuli
means five pots, referring to the five cooking pots of the Pandavs, who are
said to have cooked their last meal here before ascending to the heavens. Charu
is a native of Berinag and we stopped near his house as he picked up some of his things. His modest dwelling was
compensated with a 180 degree view of the Panchachhuli and its adjacent peaks…
a truly amazing sight!
As we moved on
towards Thal, we travelled high on a ridge with lush green fields and a
magnificent view of the snow covered peaks. It was about 4:30 pm and the
slanting rays of the sun bathe the surroundings in a golden hue. We’d been on
the road for almost nine hours and so we stopped at a small eatery in Thal. Not
wasting much time we gobbled down some omelets and tea to compensate for our
missed lunch. Our destination was Munsiari, but enquiries from locals and drivers
coming from the other direction revealed that the due to heavy snowfall, the
road was blocked and snow cutters were being pressed into service.
As it was
starting to get dark, we were advised to break our journey at Birthi and
proceed from there in the morning. By then the snow cutters would have cleared
the road. The news that there was a lot of snow caused a great buzz of
excitement in our group but the thought of driving through slippery sludge in
the dark wasn’t very inviting. After much deliberation, we decided that it
would be saner to stop for the night at Birthi and leave early next morning
rather than risking our lives and limbs and bringing this journey to a tragic
end.
Crossing the Ramganga at Thal, we slowly inched up the dark,
steep slopes, passing Nachini, Tejam and Kwiti. Although there was no snow on
the roads here, we could see some on the mountains towering above us. As we rounded a bend, we suddenly saw the
edge of a brilliantly shining moon peeping over the rim of the mountain in
front of us. Mesmerized, we watched it rise slowly and by the time it cleared
the rim, the entire landscape was awash in its silvery light.
It was eight when we reached the KMVN Guest house at Birthi.
We’d been on the road for almost twelve hours and had covered over 250
kilometers! Making Birthi our night halt was a lucky break as the KMVN Guest
House was in an awesome location. Built just next to the 125 meter high Birthi
falls, it commanded a beautiful view of the valley below and the towering peaks
all around. It was truly magical… the sparkling lights of the village below,
snow on the tips of the mountains all around, the falls silently cascading down
behind us and a gorgeous full moon
covering everything in its resplendent light. Guddi, the resident bhotia dog and her
two doggie buddies sat at a vantage point near the guesthouse and kept a vigil
in the moonlight, carrying conversations with other canine friends in the
village far below.
After more than twelve hours on the road, the sight of hot
running water and cozy beds was a welcoming one. Being off-season we were the
only guests to check in that night. The efficient staff quickly cooked up a
simple but delicious meal of dal, chawal,
aalu-gobi and roti. Hungry as we were, we all wolfed down the
food quickly and then strolled in the moonlit lawns before retiring for the
night.
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Waking at five the next morning, I witnessed a first… a moon-set. As I sipped hot tea, the moon slowly set behind the mountain to the west. We got ready quickly and walked down to the path which leads to the falls. Sadly, due to lack of time, we could not go till the falls and had to content ourselves with photos of the Birthi falls in the background. The sun hadn’t risen but the peaks around us were awash in a pinkish light. Guddi and her buddies were in restful sleep after their night vigil and so I claimed their vantage point to soak in the sights while having another cup of tea.
Piling into the Bolero at 6:45 a.m., we started our ascent towards the Kalamuni Pass, which at 2700 meters would be the highest point in our journey. And the highest point it was… both altitudinally and literally! As the road snaked up the precipitous slopes, we saw patches of snow alongside and our excitement increased. Charu informed us that there were a total of fourteen hairpin bends to Kalamuni and that it would be fun if we all counted them together. Bends one to six were a breeze as we all joined in the counting. But as the altitude increased so did the snow and with it each bend became an increasingly slippery hair-raiser! By the time we reached the tenth our voices were shaking and the last ones elicited hardly a murmur as we all were praying for our dear lives!
And then… we were there… the Kalamuni Pass, with a small temple covered in snow, reminding us to be thankful for the safe passage. It was a self-service temple (the pujari having migrated to better climes for the winter) and Charu did the honour of anointing us all with tikas.
We were in a winter-wonderland! All around was pristine snow (as there were no other people except us), glittering in the bright morning sunlight. The brilliant blue skies formed a magnificent backdrop to the Panchachhuli peaks which now seemed to be a touch away. The snow cutters had done their job the night before and the road seemed like black velvet carpet that had been rolled out for us in the sparkling snow.
Charu was instructed to drive ahead and wait as we wanted to walk for a while. Like a bunch of excited school kids, the guys lay in the soft snow and threw snow balls at each other. Rajesh and Diganta built a small, smug looking snowman and draped my scarf around him. Around us were Rhododenderon trees with their boughs heavily laden with snow. A few times the branches eased the snow off and treated us to a mini snowfall. We passed a small waterfall with a rainbow visible in its wispy trickle.
A little further we came to another small shrine with a magnificent view of the Panchachhuli and its surrounding peaks. Here the snow lay much deeper and we all plodded knee deep into it. Ashutosh and Polash rolled in the powdery snow while Charu tried to make a snow angel. We could have spent the whole day just frolicking in the snow but we had a wedding to attend… and Dharchula was quite a way off.
Reluctantly, we piled into the Bolero and drove down 15 km to Munsiari, passing through the Potato Research Centre in Balanti, now covered in a sheet of snow.
We stopped at the KMVN Guest House, Munsiari for breakfast. As we waited in the sunny courtyard of the guesthouse, we soaked in the stupendous view… the Panchachhuli and its surrounding peaks dominating the landscape and the Gori Ganga valley deep down below. To the left was the route leading up to the Milam glacier, which is the source of the Gori Ganga and to the right, was the road we had to follow to reach Jauljibi and Askot.
Before starting off for Jauljubi, which was 66 km away, we picked up the famous rajma of Munsiari and a few packets of jambu a herb used to temper dal. Finally at 10:30 am we started our descent into the Gori Ganga valley. The dusty road snaked down dry and barren mountainside and as we passed a few villages with terraced fields, I couldn’t help wondering about the difficult life and harsh conditions that the people here faced.
After a bumpy ride of around half an hour, we came level with the blue-white waters of the Gori Ganga tumbling hurriedly over boulders and rocks. The road now followed the course of the river and the valley was dotted with a few villages amidst the thick mixed jungle. Just before Madkot, we crossed over to the left bank of the river. The rickety bridge with a number of wooden planks missing gave us all another chance to remember the Lord!
Madkot, which is 22 km from Munsiari, is known for its hot springs. Stopping at a shop in the tiny market, we were tickled to see numerous packets of ‘Legs’ chips… a spurious cousin of the famous’Lays’chips!
Just outside the tiny hamlet were the hot springs where we stopped to take a break. Sadly, the springs had been piped and tanks constructed for the convenience of the villagers. The whole area was littered with empty shampoo pouches and soap wrappers, left behind by the people who went there to bathe and wash clothes. Mukesh and Pandey decided to take a quick dip in the hot water while the rest of us basked in the sun.
The dusty track from Madkot to Jauljibi passed through some lovely landscapes, complete with waterfalls, mixed jungle and a few charming villages. Streams rushed down the towering mountains on both sides to join the Gori Ganga, forming some spectacular waterfalls. But each of these streams had to be forded by rickety wooden bridges which rattled and clattered as our jeep passed over them! At Lumti village, we stopped for a while as Charu tried to repair the errant horn. Looking around we could see tiny stone huts amidst green fields and the river splashing and tumbling down towards Jauljibi.
A few kilometers before Jauljibi, the bumpy track graduated to the semblance of a road. Jauljibi is a bustling town on the Indo-Nepal border where the Gori Ganga merges into the mighty Kali and is thereafter referred to by the latter’s name. The dark waters of the Kali and the lighter ones of the Gori Ganga can be distinctly seen even after the two have met. The left bank of the Kali is Nepal and a suspension bridge links the two countries. Sentries from India and Nepal man the two sides of the bridge while a lively crowd crosses over freely from one side to the other.
We decided to cross the bridge and ‘visit’ Nepal. I asked the sentry on the Indian side if I could click a few photos of the bridge, a request he promptly and officiously refused. Putting the camera in my bag, we crossed over to the Nepal side where a narrow path led off to the villages. Rajesh asked the Nepalese sentry if we could click photos and he smilingly acquiesced! After clicking a few photos we returned to our country and picked up a few fruits and refreshments before setting off for Askot.
The road to Askot climbed steeply up the mountainside and we had a panoramic view of the ‘samgam’ of the Gori and Kali rivers with the town of Jauljibi in the background. A couple of kilometers out of town, we got stuck in a jam as the road was being widened by blasting out the rock face. Trucks, cars and jeeps lined both sides of the road and bulldozers and JCBs were clearing out the debris. Our jeep was on the edge of the cliff and as I was sitting next to the window, I could see the wheel inch dangerously close to the crumbling edge of the precipice and the frothing waters of the Kali way down below. One look down was enough to give me a severe attack of vertigo and I kept my eyes screwed shut till we were on safer ground. This ‘danger-zone’ will be imprinted in my memory forever as we were to cross it three times in the coming nine hours.
Leaving the Kali river behind, the road now wound up through dense pine jungles which are a part of the Askot Musk Deer Sanctuary. At the top of the ridge was the tiny town of Askot, named so because of the eighty(Assi) forts(Kot )that were situated in the surrounding area.
The PWD Rest House where we were to stay, was a lovely Raj-era building with an awesome view of the valley below. The chowkidar’s dog, a diminutive but exceedingly friendly little thing, welcomed us all and scampered energetically through the rooms as we settled our stuff.
It was almost four in the evening and after a cup of refreshing tea, we all got ready and started off for Kalika, Manish’s parental village, around six kilometers before Dharchula. For this we had to backtrack 13km to Askot and from there travel 15 km along the Kali river to Kalika. Menacing, dark clouds started gathering over the mountains and as we travelled through the deep valley of the mighty Kali and strong winds whizzed across. Fortunately, it was a local disturbance and by the time we reached Kalika, the storm had abated.
As we entered the tiny hamlet of Kalika, we were amazed to see a long row of men, dressed in turbans and long woolen robes, dancing rhythmically with shields and swords! This was the head of the barat and we excitedly got off the jeep to join it. Behind these men were seven young girls, dressed in the traditional costume and heavy silver jewellery of the Rung tribe. These girls were to escort the bride back after the marriage ceremony and so a heavily decorated palanquin, borne by two hefty men accompanied them. Right after the palanquin, was the groom Manish, smiling shyly from behind the sehera as he caught sight of us. He was mounted on a stocky mountain mare and was accompanied by his cousin holding a gaily decorated umbrella over him! The rest of the family and friends followed the groom.
Manish’s father welcomed us all with gusto and insisted that all the guys be dressed with turbans. So, while the barat inched along the narrow road, Rajesh and his friends were made to sit in an empty shop as two of Manish’s uncles skillfully draped meters of white cloth on their heads. The result was seven excited men, gleefully showing off their enormous turbans! Now all that was left to complete their inclusion into the barat was a swig of the locally brewed rice beer, chokti. This chokti was an indispensible, all purpose item… offered in tiny plastic cups as prasad to the baratis every time the barat stopped at a relative’s house for prayers, sprinkled like holy water over all and sundry to ward off evil spirits and most importantly… to provide the joie de vivre which is essential to these occasions. So, by the time we reached the outskirts of Kalika and boarded the waiting vehicles, everyone was in a gay mood. The cavalcade of around hundred cars and jeeps headed four kilometers towards Balwakot where the bride’s family lived.
Stopping a kilometer before the village, the barat reassembled and Manish once again mounted the mare which had galloped bareback all the way from Kalika to Balwakot with her keeper and furry foal. Petromaxes lit the dark village path and drummers provided the beats for the baratis to sway to the rhythmic dance. Entering a large field, the long line of baratis formed a big circle and danced merrily. Then we all headed up a steep, narrow path to the bride’s house where a fine shamiyana had been put up on the terrace for the guests. Two enormous, red velvet-covered chairs were set for the bride and groom and Manish was duly installed on one. In front of these chairs was a table covered with flowers, diyas and bunches of long grass dipped in chokti. Soon the bride arrived, dressed in a lovely red lehnga-choli. The bride and groom garlanded each other and were showered with chokti using the bunches of grass that had been kept on the table. . And that was the end of the marriage ceremony… short and sweet!
While the bride and groom were whisked off to a room for some traditional games and exchange of gifts, we headed for dinner. It was past eleven by then and we were advised by Manish’s family, to stay back for the night as the road between Jauljibi and Askot was not in a good condition. But as we had to leave early morning from Askot in order to reach Kathgodam by evening to catch the train back to Dehradun we declined the generous offer and after thanking Manish and his family, headed off for Askot.
Night driving in the mountain is not a recommended option, even by seasoned drivers, and here we were, careening away on the narrow, precipitous road along the turbulent Kali river at one in the night. News reports of numerous accidents on this stretch of the Kailash-Mansarover route played a nonstop medley in my mind and I fervently prayed that I would live to see my daughter and parents. Only after we had crossed the ‘danger zone’ after Jauljibi (for the third time in the past nine hours) did I stop hyperventilating.
It was a relief to reach the guest house at Askot in one piece and surprisingly, the tiny resident dog was still up to welcome us with woofs and wags even at his unholy hour. We quickly snuggled into our beds (mine being two single-seater sofas joined face to face to form a small, cozy cradle-like bed) as we had to leave by six if we wanted to be in Kathgodam in time to catch the train. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, dreaming of snow covered mountains, glacial rivers, tribal dances and of our jeep plunging down steep rocky cliffs to be engulfed by the frothing waters of the angry Kali.
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Despite the late night, everyone was ready on time so we could sip a leisurely cup of tea in the pink dawn with the moon watching over us. Bidding a fond farewell to the tiny resident pooch, who had graciously escorted us around the guest house, we left Askot at six, just as the sun had just begun to peep over the mountain.
Charu decided to take the new route which took us through Narayannagar, Mirthi (which houses a huge ITBP training camp) and Didihat to join at Thal. The narrow, lesser-used road passed through an amazing part of the area which offered us some breathtaking vistas of the snow covered ranges bathed in the golden glow of the morning sun. We stopped for tea at Thal, and, much to the annoyance of Rajesh, Ashutosh and I bought two large cane baskets, which were securely tied on top of the jeep along with the other luggage.
At Berinag, we stopped at Charu’s house again and had a chance to meet his mother and three year old daughter. The road work that had delayed us at Tapovan on the first day of our journey had inched further and so we had to stop for an hour near Seraghat as the heavy machines lay out a smooth, black road for us. As the long line of traffic was let off, we were caught in a convoy of ITBP soldiers who were with us even when we stopped for lunch at Dhaulachhina. While passing through Tapovan, I caught sight of the friendly black dog by the road, with whom we’d shared our snacks two days ago.
Passing through Almora, Khairna and Bhowali, the guys started a game of antakshri which soon turned into a kirtan as Ashutosh belted out bhajan after bhajan from the Art of Living sessions that he had recently attended.
By the time we neared Bhimtal, we gauged that we were running on schedule and could spend a little time at the lake. After clicking a few photos by the placid lake, we set off towards Kathgodam. Ten kilometers before Kathgodam, we stopped for tea at the tiny village of Salari. The dhaba (according to Charu) boasted of scrumptious pakoras and raita, which we duly tasted. As we sipped tea, a group of red-billed blue magpies swooped across the road and perched themselves majestically in the trees across. Burhil, who is a native of Manipur, remarked that these birds and a lot of other beautiful ones were very common in his hometown.
By six we were in Kathgodam. Unloading our bags (and baskets) at the station, we thanked Charu and headed off for the platform, where I met an adorable black dog, who wolfed down three rum-raisin muffins that I had baked for the journey. Dinner was a hurried affair at the station dining hall and at seven fifteen we boarded the train. As I lay in my berth, a kaleidoscope of images from the past three days played in my mind and the whole journey seemed like a fantastic dream. In the past three days we had covered seven hundred kilometers and had traversed some of the most breathtaking parts of the country. We had also been part of an amazing piece of the rich cultural heritage of the Rung community. As the train thundered towards Dehradun, I silently thanked God for this fantastic trip and fell into a deep sleep.
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