Through green meadows and herds of sheep in the Himalayas - The Hampta Pass Trek

20^th August, Saturday. 10 PM

I had an early dinner. I am supposed to take a couple of hours of rest before I catch the morning flight to Delhi tomorrow. But I am not able to sleep. Its not my usual sleeping time. Moreover there is excitement as I look at the packed black-and-yellow backpack lying on the floor. I had made preparations as far as what to put in into the bag. Hiking stick, poncho, sun cream, woolen clothes and all that I can think of are required for the trek. A trek to the Hampta Pass in the Himalayas somewhere near Manali of Himachal Pradesh. I am part of a team of four. Agni-da, who is the leader of the trek has made all the arrangements. Kaustab-da is Agni-da’s friend. Hirak-da is also Agni-da's IIT college mate. I know Hirak-da from my Oracle days. He is the one who invited me to be part of the trek. All are senior to me. I didn’t do much research for this trek as Agni-da is the one who arranged for the guide and itenary.

21^st August, Sunday. 3 PM.

It was an uneventful flight from Bangalore to New Delhi. I reached Delhi at 8:45 AM. The bus is at 7:30 PM. So, I decided to check in at a hotel near Old Delhi railway station. Its just a room of 10 feet by 10 feet and an attached toilet. That’s all I need. It reminds me of my hostel room, which was even smaller and I survived there for three years. Oh Yes! That did not have any attached toilet, though. I had masala dosa from the Old Delhi railway station Food Court. I have fallen in love with that. Now I have made it a point to have one whenever I am near this area. Another place I love going to is Karim’s, not far from this place. Its actually beside the Jama Masjid. We all have plans to have dinner at Karim’s before boarding the bus. Quite an audacious plan, considering Karim’s serves the lip smacking and spicy Mughlai food and we have a 14-hour overnight bus journey after that.

Agni-da and Kaustab-da had called me a couple of hours back. They have reached Delhi airport (from Kolkata) at around 10:30 AM. Initially they thought of spending the time in the airport till Hirak-da arrives at 2:30 PM . But soon they realized that its tough to sit for 4-5 hours in the airport and that too in the departure terminal. They had called me and asked about the hotel I was put up. They have checked in one of the rooms of the hotel, though I have not met them yet. I am reading a booking called “Mirrors”, a book full of snippets and short stories from history that you won’t find in history books. Its interesting.

22^nd August, Monday. 2:30 PM

I had lunch and am now back to hotel. Soon we will visit the famous Hadimba temple.

Last evening I had met Agni-da and Kaustab-da at the hotel balcony at around 4 PM. Hirak-da had called me and came to our hotel. That’s when we met the entire team. Soon we set off to Karim’s. We had kababs and Mutton curry. The tandoori rotis they serve are the best I ever had. Then we reached the ISBT bus stand, from where the bus was supposed to start. It started on time. Something went wrong with the TV in the bus. So they were unable to play any movie. I was much relieved. I remember when I was a child and went from Mumbai to Goa by bus, I desperately wanted to board a bus with TV and VCR. That time I hardly used to get an opportunity to watch movies. Now, more often than not, I either sleep after the first minutes of a movie or just don’t bother to watch.

Gyakok!

The bus halted at a place, supposedly for dinner. We were so full that there was not even a chocolate that I can squeeze in. I had a good sleep last night. At around four, when the bus stopped in a roadside shop, I could see mountains around.

We reached Manali in time. Our hotel, Hotel Beas, was hardly 500m from the bus terminus. With backpacks, we made our way to the hotel. During childhood when we went for vacation, I always saw foreigners with backpacks, while we carried suitcases. And I wondered how come they manage to put everything inside that bag and at the same time admired their attitude of carrying their own things, while with suitcases we had to often take help from porters.

I have become familiar with Hotel Beas by now. Seen it from outside the gate about 20 years back and then only 2 years back spent a night here during the Kinnaur-Spiti road trip. We tried the Tibetan cuisine Gyakok for lunch. I must say, I loved it. In Manali, which is not far from the Indo-Tibetan
border, you get quite good varieties of Tibetan handicrafts and cuisine in and around the Mall road.

23^rd August, Tuesday 8 AM

Last evening we set out for the famous Hadimba Temple. The arrow said it is 0.2 KM from the Mall. Its only when we started walking that we realized that the point (.) between 0 and 2 might have come from a different source! It was 2 km. While Hirak-da walked fastest and Agni-da was not far behind, I realised my speed was less compared to others. Anyway, I managed to reach the temple in my own pace. Recently I have started questioning on the existence of God, though I am yet to jump into any of the boats of theists or atheists. I am somewhat dangling in between. The question that God is the creator of everything, raises the simple question that who created God? Did God create God? Then who created that God? And is it possible to create a universe as vast as this, where the number of stars is more than the number of sand grains available on all the sea beaches on earth? When we were Chimpanzees, we never thought of God (there is no proof that any animal other than humans believe in God). So, did we create God or did God create us? Having said that, there is no doubt about the importance of God – an omnipresent moral being. Otherwise no matter how many police or army any country deploys, crime would have no limit.

The temple is surrounded by tall trees. Its almost like in the middle of the jungle. It was getting cloudy and dark. And soon it started pouring. Rains in the mountains is always so special. We ran for cover under a tea stall. It was still raining when we were having tea and coffee. And there was no signs of the rains being abated. So, we took an auto rickshaw to our hotel. Our guide, Manoj, came to meet us in the evening. He had an athletic built, though I felt he talked more than he should have. Not exactly over-smart, but on the borders of smartness and over smartness. He briefed us about the plan and the arrangements. We had dinner in the hotel and then went to bed early.

The sound of the river Beas, brimming with the monsoon water, thundered around. In the morning I woke up early and strolled on the river side. The river was literally caged between man-made meshed wires, if not by boulders. Now I need to take a shower and get ready for the journey ahead.

23^rd August, Tuesday. 5 PM.

A tough day indeed! At least for me. Its already becoming dark. The clouds have descended below. I am sure in the next few hours we will be covered in those cloud. We just had pop corn and soup, quite a unique combination. Now the dinner is going to be served. Its getting dark. Its getting colder too. The tents have been laid. I am just outside it, sitting on the soft green grass and penning down my thoughts.

We drove to Jobra from Manali, which was a 1.5 hours journey. From Jobra the trekking starts. While the horses were getting loaded with our luggage, tents and packaged food items, we got ourselves

At the start of the trek From Right: Hirak-da, myself,
Kaustab-da and Agni-da

photographed. We first had to cross a bridge built over a gushing mountain stream. It looked picturesque. And then we started walking. Narrow paths. Muddy paths. With marks of horses’ goofs and men shoes. There were maple trees. The colour of the leaves, though predominantly green, also had yellow shades in places. It was not that cold. The hiking stick provided the much needed support. The shoes provided the grip. Agni-da had already said he fell in all his previous ones. He had done four treks before this one. Both Kaustab-da and myself one each. Incidentally both have been to Gomukh. Its the maiden one for Hirak-da.

The first bride we crossed: Hirak-da and myself

I had a different view of trekking before my maiden trek to Gomukh. I thought it would be boring to keep walking and seeing the same thing for the whole day. On the contrary things and scene move so fast while you are exploring places in car. But this trekking and the one to Gomukh changed my perception. You soak the environment around you when you trek. You don’t just skim. It’s the

different between reading a book for two weeks vis-à-vis watching the movie made out of the book in two hours. We rested at times, under the maple tree, on the green meadow, where in one corner a herd of sheep noiselessly chewed on the green grass. Their shephard, along with their dogs, guarding them. Some people believe that Jesus Christ was originally from India. And that he was a shepherd in Kashmir. In the Hazratbal mosque of Srinagar, there is an impression of the feet of "someone local" where between the two joined feet, there is a visible mark of a nail, a clear indication of the crucified Jesus Christ.That person was originally from Kashmir and had also spent the last few years in his life in Kashmir. But he was away to some far off places in between.

I was capturing photos all over and was also running out of breath. That made me trail. The Gangotri trek, a year back, without any preparation, perhaps, made me over-confidence. However, I went on. The guide also showed his lack of experience in this case. I expected him to have somebody , typically called sweep, behind the team. On the contrary he was walking right ahead with Hirak-da, sometimes even ahead of him, and hardly looked back. I was left to fend for myself.

We halted at another tea stall, almost in the middle of a vast valley and beside a river. We met some people who have returned from half-way. “About 40% return from half way”, said the shop-keeper. 

This is the view from the roadside tea stall

"Is Switzerland more beautiful?", I couldn't hold my thoughts. I hadn't been to Switzerland
"Not really...but there you dont have to trek to see this beauty."said Hirak-da.
I was much in awe of the Himalayas now. This is the Himalayas I always wanted to see. The place which is untouched by the human civilization, where the mobile fails to receive any signal from the outer world, where you don’t hear honking of cars.  Slowly I made my way to the tent for the day. It was beside a brook. There was a green meadow ahead of us. Up above a waterfall was the main 

source of the brook. My legs were too tired to climb up the waterfall. I sat beside the brook and chatted with Kaustab-da, while Hirak-da and Agni-da went ahead exploring the area, the waterfall. It is strange how we bonded in such a short time. While I knew Hirak-da, I did not know the other two even 36 hours back. And now we share so much stories of our lives with each other.

A gushing brook flowed beside us. That was the only sound other than some odd babbles from the far away tents of other trekkers.
“Never in my life have I been in such a peace”, Kaustab-da said, before he fell asleep on the green grass, hearing the murmuring of the brook.
The sun slowly hid behind the green mountain. The clouds were much below now. It was getting colder. Some horse dung lay scattered a few yards away. Occasional gush of wind brought that strange odour onto us.  Smell from the kitchen started coming.

“Dinner is ready”, called out our guide Madhu.

Agni-da and Hirak-da are already in the kitchen tent.  We called Kaustab-da. I am wrapping things too.

When it seems you catch jump and touch the clouds

24^th August, Wednesday. 7 PM.

Last night’s dinner was good. Even better was post dinner. Nobody wanted to enter in the tent. It was not even 8. We were standing outside, chit-chatting. The headlamp shone through a haze. The clouds that come even below. We were actually inside the cloud. There was a chilling wind. There were stars above.

As the cloud engulfed us

“That’s the Milky way”, said Agni-da pointing up. I had heard a lot about it. But didn’t know which one. I looked up.

“Can’t you see the white trail…look closely and you will see they are composed of closely-knit zillions of stars”, chipped in Hirak-da.

It was amazing. With no other artificial lights around, the milky way shone brightly. I can’t believe my eyes. I am so tiny…negligible in this huge universe. Is there any “God” who could have possibly created these huge masses and balls of fire? If God is more of the shape and size we visualize, then definitely not. Perhaps God is just a concept…perhaps it exists only in our minds and thoughts and beliefs. The sound of the waterfall from away trickled into our ears. A few streaks lights came from some far away tents. The Milky Way was gone…the clouds had something different in mind. A few drops of water fell on us. Rain!

“Its going to rain, I believe”, said Kaustab-da and went inside the tent. We all went in. Agni-da and Kaustab-da in one tent; Hirak-da and myself in another. We could hear the sound of the rain more pronounced. We went in the sleeping bags. The sound of rain increased. I fell asleep.At night the sleep was disturbed a couple of times...it was still raining.

When I woke up in the morning, it was a clear sky. The grasses were wet. But the sky was blue. The sun shone brightly. We had breakfast, packed our luggage and set off for an even tougher day. The

Two dried and dead tree trunks, presumably the bridge

first thing was to cross a river over some dried tree trunks, which can be safely called the earliest form of bridge. There was a steep ascent. Soon I realized I was having a tough time. I looked back to see the amazing valley and the place where we tented last night. I paused to catch breath. But as the treeline ended the air thinned considerably. So, now adding to my lack of exercise, was my breathing problem. The others marched on ahead. I had to take the call on whether I would like to continue further or return back. Hand on heart, I decided the latter. I was not able to pull it off. It
was not an easy decision. But in life you do take some tough decisions. It was not a matter of winning or losing. Yes, it would have been good had I been able to carry along with the rest of the group. But may be some other day. I turned back. I have read about stories people returning from as near as 1 km from the peak of Everest. This is nothing in comparison. I know I would come back to this place fitter and more equipped.

In my return journey I was helped by a helper of the trekking team. He was wearing slippers and walking faster than me. I had the proper hiking shoes bought from Decathalon.

“Its so easy for us. Its just like we have in our village”, he said. He was from Nepal.

“So, which is a tough trek that you went recently?” I started peeping into his life.

“The Pin Valley trek (in Spiti Valley of Himachal Pradesh) I did a few months back was tough. People died”

“You saw them?”

“Yes, they were Sherpas like me. We were a total of six. We four were walking ahead. Two were behind us. Suddenly an avalanche struck. They died. Had I been 5 minutes late, even I would have died”

“That’s painful to see your colleagues die in front of your eyes”

“Its even more painful to carry them on your shoulders and carry them back. One of them was my childhood friend…we were from the same village” His eyes moistened, voice trembled.

We all were quiet…Birds tweeted somewhere, the breeze blew through the yellow-green leaves of the maple trees, And our feet made the rustling sound on the leaves strewn on the path.

There was a tea stall that I hardly took notice of when we started the trek. The trek starts just where the tea stall is. I sat there and called a driver, Amar Singh, who dropped us on the day of trek.

“I would take around 2 hours”, the tea stall owner said.  That seemed long enough! It started raining. I handed my new bought poncho to the Sherpa and tipped him, what he thought was for his help. But it was more of making me a bit more aware of what a life of a Sherpa can be – far away from home, from family, mostly in the mountains where the difference between life and death is just a couple of minutes or a few yards.

Rain in the mountains is so awesome. That day at the tea stall I realized it like never before. The distant mountains become hazy. The old man sat beside me. In fact, the first thing he asked me when he saw me was, “Everything is fine? Health ok? Don’t worry that you cant make it this time…you will surely make it next time” He was past sixties. Someone who has been seen returning trekkers for a long time.

“I love the rains in the mountains”, I said almost spontaneously. Soon I found a few more people taking shelter in the tea stall. Among them was a person in early forties. Tall, sharp looking, apt to be a good salesman. He was from Manali and works as an environmentalist. He told about the government’s plan to extend the hydel power plant and how it was ruining the beauty of the valley and the serenity of the place. He told stories about a man who came to Manali from Delhi, learned the local language, bought a dozen horses, made a good fortune, fell in love, was betrayed by the lady, took to drugs and ruined his life.

“He talked with you for so long. Do you know him?”, I asked the old man, once he left. I was still waiting for the driver to come.

“No, but he seems to know me. So many people come and go each day, I can’t remember everybody”

“He seemed to be know a lot about this place”

“But I don’t trust him!”

Humble mountain people

“Why?” I was wondering what those experienced eyes saw and those trained ears heard that made him come to this conclusion.

“I don’t trust people who talk too much. He seemed to be more interested in himself. These people care for none, but themselves. “

“I guess you are from Manali. Or is it Kullu?

“Manali. And you?

“Bangalore, though originally from Kolkata”

“I did not go to Bangalore or Kolkata, but went to Delhi once, about 15 years back”

“That’s a big city. How did you feel?”

“I didn’t like it!”

“Why?”

“I asked people about the address and they didn’t have time to answer me properly. There, the neighbours didn’t know each other and here, we know the entire village. Big cities have small hearts, we have bigger hearts. This person reminded me of people in big cities. They have less feelings and

more formalities”

A lady in early twenties peeped from inside the tea stall. We were sitting outside.

“Baba, we need rice and vegetables”, she said. She was his daughter-in-law. She joined the conversation. We discussed about the place and their struggle for life. I forgot about my incomplete trek. In fact, had I continued with the trek I would not have met this humble family or the Sherpa.

Then a shepherd came. He was almost untraceable among the thousands of sheep. He carried one on his shoulders. The sheep was groaning.

"A stone rolled from above and hit her on the leg", he said. He kept the sheep on the floor. It was writhing in pain. The sound of the sheep and her sad eyes said it all.

One sheep from this herd got injured

"How bad is the injury?", I asked

"Very bad.", came the reply.The sheep was heavily from her hind leg.

"So, what do you do with her? Will you carry her all the way to the village and show a doctor?"

"Doctor?", laughed the shepherd. The father-in-law and daughter joined him in the laughter.

"Babu-ji, here we dont have doctors to treat human beings and you are talking of a sheep? He will sell it to someone, who will have a good feast out of her. That's what happens to any sheep who are injured grievously", said the experienced old man.

I looked at the teary eyes of the sheep. She is living the last few hours of her life. Perhaps she knows it. She has seen her other friends, who got hurt, never to return to the herd. The eyes said it all. And so did the groaning. She wont live till sun down.

My car came. I thanked them profusely.

“What for?”, asked the lady. “What did we do that you are thanking us?” I didn’t have an answer. Am I thanking them for sharing a part of the shade of the tea-stall or sharing some time or sharing stories from his life? Or is it just a formality that I am so used to in the “modern” world?

“You people from the cities…” the old man added. I remembered what he said about formalities and feelings.

I checked in at the hotel. That same Hotel Beas. On the way, I proposed to Amar Singh about my plans to go to Keylong of the Lahaul district tomorrow. So that, day after tomorrow morning I can go to Chattru, where the team would arrive for the final leg of the journey and I would join them for the rest of the journey. He called a friend of his, Birbal, who met me sometime back. He is short, but very jovial.

“I have never seen him angry in the last twenty years I know him”, said Amar-ji.

I went outside to do some shopping. Then it started raining. I had given my poncho to the Sherpa. So, walked back quickly. Its already dark. River Beas is roaring. Its time I go to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, I didn’t expect the day to end this way. I met so many persons from so many walks of life – a hardworking Sherpa, a talkative environmentalist, a simple old man and his daughter-in-law, Amar Singh and Birbal.

When the sheep started her day in the morning, did she even think that her fate would be sealed by a falling stone?

25^th August, Thursday. 8 PM.

Today morning started with the alarm of my mobile piercing through my ear drums at 5:30 AM. And soon Birbal-ji called me. I was on the road by 6:30. Today we had plans to go upto the Baralacha Pass and then back to Keylong of the Lahaul district. We passed through rows of maple trees. Within a couple of hours we were at the Rohtang Pass, a highly marketed and hyped place in Manali. On the other side was the cold desert. While the cold desert does not have charm of the green valleys, it has that rustic look. It’s the difference between the smile of a well dressed bride and that of a village girl. One boasts of completeness, the other of rawness. People are much less. In the small car (Maruti Alto) we negotiated through the winding roads. The road condition was generally good. The main reason is the fact that this road is the lifeline that provides food and all essential commodities to the brave Indian Army stationed at the world’s highest battlefield – the Siachen Glacier.

We had early lunch in one of the roadside dhabas. It was colourful inside. There were also arrangements for sleeping. We saw bikers on the way. They were perhaps making their way to Leh. A common trend these days is to bike the Manali-Leh Highway. These sleeping arrangements would be handy for bikers.

We crossed the confluence of the rivers Chandra and Bhanga, together forming River Chandrabhaga or more commonly Chenab, which enters into Pakistan no sooner. There were fields full of cauliflowers. Debreena complains about the tasteless cauliflower in Bangalore. If only I could get a couple for her from here. If not rose flower, at least cauliflower! Birbal-ji and I were engrossed in conversation - about the people and their lives.

We came across a small lake. Deepak Taal. Someone was boating on the lake. Some hours later we reached Suraj Taal. Another gem of a place, that lies just beside the road. Suraj Taal is bigger than Deepak Taal, but you cant touch its water as it is a bit below the level of the road. There are big boulders that are not easy to cross. Deepak Taal, though smaller in size, is just a few meters off the road and on the same level. I could see the Baralacha Pass from Suraj Taal.

Birbal-ji and I were engrossed in chit-chatting throughout the journey.

“You are perhaps the last passenger I am ferrying. After this journey I will hang my boots and call it a day as far as driving is concerned. That would end by around 40 years of driving”. I had a strange feeling. Here I am with someone who is on the penultimate day of his service. I had never thought of such a day. And it struck me for the first time that how does one feel on the last or penultimate day of service? Looking back and thinking of the first day in office? The memorable events? The life changing ones? The best of colleagues and worst of politics? Do people compare the dreams of the first day with the realities on the last day?

“I have done enough of driving. I used to drive an SUV.” He went nostalgic. “I had a Tata Sumo, which I drove for many years. Then when I grew old, I sold that a few years back and got this Alto, a small car. But now I am tired of driving. I don’t enjoy anymore. I will convert this commercial registration into a personal one and use it for personal use. I will work in the fields”

He was a Buddhist. He talked on after-life.  He became philosophical at times and at times spiritual.

“I never get angry. What’s the use? You have heard the story of Buddha where one day he took one of his disciples, who frequently gets angry, to a lake. Its water stood still. Buddha told his disciple to throw a stone in the lake. The disciple threw and found the ripples spread across. Then Buddha said, ‘Lets go for a walk’ They walked some distance and then the Buddha returned back to the lake.

‘Do you see any ripples on the lake anymore?’, asked the Lord

‘No…none whatsoever’

‘You see, my child, our mind is like the lake. When there is disturbance there are ripples inside. Give it time. The ripples will die on its own. You don’t have to get angry or irritated. It will only harm you. Stay calm.’ “

Here I was getting some life lessons from a humble man. There are so many things to learn from so many persons. Education and learning does not end with educational institutes, as we are so often mistaken. What better life than being a student for the whole life? And that also raises the question, who am I? Am I not the product of thousands of people I have met all my life? All these people with their stories and thoughts made me what I am today. When I visit any place, don't I take a piece of the place - mountains, seas - with me. May not be the physical mountain or ocean, but in essence? And I am still learning and still growing. And this is same for all of us. We are individuals as well as the amalgamation of people around us. Some have influenced us more some less. Some influences are prominent, some subtle. Some people and events had a lasting impression on me even if it had lasted not more than a few minutes or few hours.

When I reached the picturesque Hotel Chadrabhana it was around 4:30. The sky was clear. The sun was warm. There were beautiful marigold and other flowers in the lawn. The hotel was quiet. I walked upto the reception and was allocated a room in the first floor. I did not feel like going out anywhere else, though the light of the day was sufficient. I checked into my hotel.

The huge mountains overlooked the room. The mountains devoid of any grass. Just brownish denuded majestic mountains. Do these mountains belong to anybody? Any country? Any state or province? Was it not supposed to be one whole world, which we have broken into fragments “by narrow domestic walls”? Does anybody or anything belong to anyone, for that matter? The society has laid down certain rules so that there is a human fabric and the society can achieve growth and sustainability. This fabric may be in the form relationships, friends and neighbours. While they bring good moments to our lives, is it not because of these very fabrics, these attachments that there are so much sorrow, heart breaks and tears? Otherwise, why does the Hindu hermits and Buddhist monks denounce the world to find peace in isolation? These attachments and bondings, which only exists in the three-pound mass that we call the brain, is perhaps the greatest maya, the illusion. So, while its true that staying within the boundaries of the society its not easy to become hermits or monks by shedding all our worldly roles and responsibilities, its also true we needn’t hold each other so tightly that the fabric is strained to tear off. We don’t own anyone’s mind, body or soul. So, why fall in the maya and try to even closely influencing somebody in the name of relationship? In this world, we all have come without any chains and would leave unshackled….that what Nature had decided. So, why take the social fabric, created by early men, so seriously that it affects the mind, body and soul, the very foundations of human beings.

There were not much people in the dinning hall. It was cold outside. Not much stars. I guess its cloudy. In the dark outside I can hear faint sound of rain drops. The mountains are asleep…its time for me to call it a day. It has indeed been a long day.

Hotel Chandrabhaga during sunset

27^th August, Saturday. 6 PM.

Hirak-da and I are at the Manali Bus Terminus. Hirak-da had tea and is smoking outside. Its cloudy and drizzling. In a few hours from now we will board the bus to Delhi and then fly to Bangalore tomorrow. Agni-da and Kaustab-da stayed back for an extra day. They will start tomorrow evening from Manali. Yesterday I could not write anything. It was packed. So, let me start from where I left day before yesterday.

A view of the adjoining mountains from my room during sunrise

Yesterday morning, I woke up early. Again. The plan is to drive to Rohtang Pass, where I will bid adieu to Birbal. Another driver, Amar Singh, who dropped us on Day One of trek and also picked me
on return, will pick me from Rohtang Pass. Then we will go till Chattru, a 45 minute drive. At Chattru, Hirak-da, Agni-da and Kaustab-da will arrive around 10:30 – 11 AM completing the trek. From Chattru will drive for 2.5 hours to the Chandrataal Lake and be back at Chattru by evening in our tent.

While crossing the Rohtang Pass, we realized that at the turn, the road was getting repaired. It was full of mud, wherein tyres skidded and heavy vehicles risked the chance of getting stuck. That would leas to a massive traffic jam. Birbal-ji had some interesting stories about the Pass. He said, that when he was small the roads were not made and he, originally from the Lahual District, had to cross the

Pass on horse and by foot, which took a total of more than three days from Manai to Lahual. Today, it takes just a shade more than three hours. I had researched on Rohtang Pass, but kind of took it for granted that this road was there forever. He talked about the dangers involved during that time. The pain the family took – people from seven to seventy – to cross this difficult Pass.

When we reached Rohtang Pass, it was 8 AM. Amar-ji had already arrived. So, I just transferred my luggage from one car to another. I thanked Birbal-ji for taking me around the place. I doubt if I will ever meet him as he would return to his village in Lahaul and spent the rest of his life farming.

Amar-ji was a very nice gentleman. I started planning with him for a winter trip to the Spiti Valley when the entire region in blanketed under snow. We reached Chattru well before the team had returned. We were supposed to camp on a small field. Camping near the exquisite Chadrataal Lake, which was one of the main attractions when I agreed for the trek, seemed to hit a roadblock due to some technical and bureaucratic issue. So, we had no option but to camp in the small field. In fact, it lay exactly opposite to a dhaba where we had our lunch two years back. That time who would have ever predicted that one day I would be camping here?

On the way to Chandrataal Lake

I was sitting on the river side. Still working in my mind my thoughts on social fabric and maya that started bothering me from last evening. After sometime the horses arrived with the luggage. “They are coming…may be another hour”, said the Nepali who had escorted me to safety after I had to abandon the trek mid-way. He handed me the poncho, though the cover was torn. The team arrived around 11 AM. And we straightaway headed to Chandrataal Lake. I have been on this route just two years back. And yet it felt so refreshing. I was happy to see the 4G telecom lines being laid on one side of the dusty road. Communication and connectivity - thats what they talk about these days. We reached Batal and had lunch in a roadside dhaba. It was very colourful inside. The water to wash our hands was freezing cold. Then we started on the ordeal journey towards Chadrataal Lake through the jeepable road.

The lone migratory bird at Chandrataal Lake

The lake was nested among mountains. Its green and blue water simmered as the cold winds howled through the colourful Buddhist prayer flags. A lone migratory bird hopped around. The clouds didn’t look to be so high. We were already at 14100 feet above sea level. This is one of the highest lakes in the world. And it lay in front of us. Simmering and cold water. Its serenity would automatically calm someone who would sit on its shore for fifteen minutes. I remembered the story that Birbal-ji had shared. Looking at the lake, all the worldly demands and thoughts don’t surface anymore. You just watch the vastness and timeless beauty of Nature and think everything else is so temporary, so fragile…I was humbled to stand in front of the lake for the second time in as many years.

Our return through the bumpy road meant we were hungry when we arrived at the camp. We ordered snacks and were munching them as Kaustab-da, who runs a reputed hospital in Kolkata, started sharing his experience.

“Its only in places like here that we still see the humane side of humans. I have even seen sons waiting in front of the ICU and asking doctors when then they can expect their father to die. They have taken leave from office and cant extend it! And that’s not all. There were people who wanted to stop the ventilator of their dying parents so that they can join office early…people stoop to such low. Can you believe it?”

Does working with machines, make us machines? And we don’t realise them? The couple who ran the shop in Kye Monastery or the old uncle at Gomukh or the one I met a couple of days back on the tea stall were so simple. Is it because they are not “gadgeted”? Perhaps here is the reason why God should be there, at least the believe of God. So that we don’t categorise every action as a transaction. We need to fear someone, who may be God, who can punish us for wrong-doings and reward us for the good things we do in life.

Inside the tent

We were about to have dinner when we smelt rain. When we were having dinner, it started drizzling. After dinner, it started raining heavily and we went indoors – inside our tents. The pitter-patter on the tents is such a music to the ears. Its right beside you and above you. In the dead silence of the night, all you hear is the sound of rain drops and a gush of wind thrusting itself on the tents.  And I know there is no one around in this cut-off land. There was one person we met who had planned to bike through the Spiti Valley all alone. I wondered what the roads will be like after the rains. And I also thought of the plight of the Rohtang Pass after the rain. But then, in life we don’t have control on most of the things, which we conveniently leave it to the “Almighty God”.  The thunder echoed on the mountain walls and it seemed to shake the earth below. I peeped out, the headlamp on. But there was none. It was total darkness. Rain splashed on my face and I quickly retreated to the tent. We are really so insignificant and I am reminded in so many ways whenever I hit the road.

The morning sun looked so oblivious to the rains at night. Except a few wet grass and muddy patches, it was hard to tell that there was thunder and lightning all over the night before. We started our return journey. Sleeping bags were rolled, tents were folded, the kitchen was dismantled, left overs and unwanted kitchen stuff were burnt. There was no sign that we stayed here one whole night. We didn’t leave any footprint behind. And I am sure now someone is surely camping there now and they would wrap up things by tomorrow morning. Just like us. Isn’t it strange that the whole life we fight tooth and nail for so many things, try to keep things organised and arranged and yet, when we leave the place, our footprints are wiped off with time?

We reached Manali at around 12. Hirak-da and myself went into Agni-da and Kaustab-da’s room to get refreshed. I had Gyakok once more for lunch. I just started loving that dish. It was cloudy the whole day. Hirak-da just told me he will check whether the bus has arrived. It will arrive anytime. Tomorrow morning, we will reach Delhi. We have plans to have paya soup at Karim’s and then the afternoon flight to Bangalore.

28^th August, Sunday. 4 PM.

I am en route to Bangalore. I tried to sleep in the flight. But could not. So, I thought of penning the events since last evening. It was actually uneventful. The bus ride was comfortable. We reached Delhi today morning at 7:30 AM and straightaway headed for Karim’s. But to our dismay, Karim said they open only at 9 AM. Just opposite to it is the famous Jama Masjid. Thousands of pigeons flew above. And we sat there – on the staircase, reminiscing the events of the last seven days and how quickly they passed. Hirak-da told me stories of the part of the trek I missed. The cold stream they had to cross, the challenging Day Three when they actually had to cross the Hampta Pass, the steep uphill, followed by the steep descent, the aching legs and the sun-tanned skin. The sunrays which started off soothingly soon made it presence felt. We looked for a shadow, behind some pillars. We were growing impatient and wondering why the hands of the watch moved so slowly!

It was 9 and we were on our way to the restaurant, again. The mutton paya was a lip smacking dish. I must admit, it was a treat given by Hirak-da and after many years I felt like someone senior in college did the honours. He dropped me at the airport. His and my flight were from different terminals. I dug my bag and found a book. I had hardly read it in the last seven days. I had high hopes of finishing it.

In a few minutes from now, the airplane will touch down in Bangalore International Airport. Manali seems so far away…the Hampta pass seems a world away. I look around. The people around me does not have any idea of what am I thinking or writing about. Just like I don’t have the faintest clue of what they are thinking.

The airhostess comes with a trolley and politely asks, “Sir, anything to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you.”

My stomach was full with the delicacies from Karim’s and mind so full of memories. I was too engrossed in my own world. The world of maple trees and flocks of sheep, of simple men and bursting brooks, of denuded mountains and pristine lakes, of the azure sky and green meadows…

Lost in my own world