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19/10/2010: Khatara to Bura Madmaheshwar
The bedbugs have taken a heavy toll of my sleep last night. And the others have
snored so loud! Well, I am must hasten to confess that the others
are laying the same blame upon me (and for good reason, too)!
I was up at 5:40am, and my toiletry was over by 6:00am.
Ballu is
cooking chowmein for breakfast today. The mules have finished
eating all the flowers they could extend their muzzles to, and
now they are trying out the grass underneath their feet as a
variation. There is enough light around, though the sun is still
nowhere to be seen. It's not too cold, and Ballu is going about his
kitchen chores in just a tee and shorts! I am wearing a tracksuit
lower, jacket and a windcheater. Yet, it is not too warm up
there, where I can see a peak freshly covered in last night's snow. I
distinctly remember seeing the same peak lying bare yesterday
evening. We shall pass by that peak in our trek today, I am told,
but the snow would surely melt away by the time we reach it.
A few birds are around, mostly jackdaws.
 Morning at Khatara
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Today's trek is the toughest. It involves steadily going up
without any downward slope to soothe the aching lungs. From past
experience with similar trails elsewhere, I know that the trick
is to walk steadily. Speed is not important, but steadiness
is. And this is precisely what I told myself as I hitched my
rucksack onto my back and braced myself up for the
day's trek.
Our team started at 7:50am, the ladies leading. The rocky trail
wound its way up right by the place where I had my tea last
evening.
Our trail today is a continuation of the trail that brought us to
Khatara, which is a village a little way up a hill. Our
destination today is the top of the hill. The trail twists and
turns all along as it gains height. All the time we see the hill
slope up on our left, and slope down into a gorge to the
right. The turbulent Madmaheshwar Ganga gargled down the
gorge. As I am going up the hill the brook is dwindling into a
long, bright streak of white foam. On the other side of the gorge rose another hill about the
same height as the hill where we are. This hill, unlike ours
which is very rocky and mostly bare, is covered with a thick
forest. The sun rises from behind this hill, and so the forest
lay in deep shade for a long time even after our trail was laved
in the warm sun light. Far away I can see a snowcapped peak, that
I do not know the name of.
8:05am. A shaft of sunlight is coming out from behind a bend in the
mountain. Within five minutes the light is dazzling my eyes. It
is not hot, just warm, and almost blinding in its brightness. A
grass patch on the mountain on the other side is aglow as if on
fire.
The trail is by no means forlorn. Every now and then I am coming
across kids going to school at Gondar. An old gentleman
accompanied by a young lady are trekking down. "So you are
writing down whatever is meeting your eye, huh?", said the old
gentleman heartily looking at the pen and diary in my hand,
"That's a good idea, I must say!" And his cheery laughter
lingered in the air even some time after he and his companion had
vanished around the next turn.
It is definitely getting hot now. Off goes by windcheater, and the
warm jacket follows suit. I carefully tie the whole lot around my
waist, possibly looking like a Saturn in a wardrobe ring! The
pockets of my windcheater are dangling at a convenient height
for me easily take a handful of raisins out of them. Yes, I
remembered to stuff them with plenty of raisins before starting
today. These tiny energy boosters prove very helpful.
There is a long streak of white clouds behind me that looks like
a snowcapped range. Quite a distance below me I see a monkey in a
tree...in fact, there are many. I am looking down upon them from
somewhat like God looking down upon us mortals. Indeed, the
steeply climbing trail has
gained much altitude since I started today. Madmaheshwar Ganga is
hardly visible from this height. Only its deep rumble is all that
remains perceptible.
Oops, there is a herd of cow coming down from above. After some
time of mutual staring at one another, I managed to squeeze
myself at one side of the narrow trail to let my quadruped fellow
creatures pass.
The lizards are having a jolly time bathing in the sun, and
frolicking around. My enjoyment of the nature walk is, however,
rudely disturbed at times by the plethora of discarded plastic
down the trail. Candy wrappers, gutkha packets, water bottles are
the most conspicuous representatives of human handiwork.
At 8:40 I pass an inn, just a little room basically. Now the sun
is high enough in the sky to tinge the forest in the opposite
mountain with a glow. With the rays hitting the tree tops
obliquely I can clearly see that there are some trees much taller
than the rest.
The trail is steadily rising at a slope of about 30 to 40
degrees.
I see a few cows
grazing in the slope extending below me. Its remarkable how these
are balancing themselves on the slope! Ah, there are some sheep,
too! Look at their horns! Such big spirals! The chirping of
cricket has ceased some time back. Its place is now taken by
twittering of birds.
Soon the sun hit behind a piece of cloud. This is much better.
A sadhu with naked feet overtook me from behind. He walks
really fast! Not that the path is too difficult, being made of
large pieces of stone neatly arranged. But still I am
sweating. Any mountain trail keeps on turning and twisting, but
this one maintains a steady direction for a long time before a
turning.
Ar around 9:07 I seem to be near the top of this mountain. The
trail does not end here, of course. Its weaves its way up into
what appears to be a continuation into the next mountain. It is
difficult to guess what the trail is going to do beyond the next
bend.
The chirping of cricket has started again, punctuated by the
raucous call of jackdaws. And there is a new addition: a kind of
mountain mosquitoes that are swarming around my face every time I
pause. They do not seem particularly interested to bite me,
rather they are just fond of flying around my face!
9:15am. The trail is now continuing into the next mountain. In
fact, it is not a separate mountain, it is like a second wave
in the same mountain. There is a green patch here covered with
the grass smooth as velvet.
Far, far below me Madmaheshwar Ganga is again visible. You cannot
see any movement in the water from this height, only a faint
rumble can be heard. I can see a mountain stream meeting the
Ganga. Their confluence is still in deep shadow, and they look
like two lightning streaks against the backdrop of the dark
forest.
The trail is particularly narrow here. A fall will mean
precipitation down the steep slope into the forest below. The
trailside is adorned with a kind of white flower blooming in
bunches. The surface of the mountain is fluted here. At places it
bulges out, and then grooves inwards. When inside the grooves,
one can see all the way to the bottom of the gorge. The sound of
Madmaheshwar Ganga can be heard distinctly. But the downward view
is obstructed from the bulging portions of the trail.
The sky is now overcast with light cloud. A shaft of sun rays
peeping through a gap is throwing a spotlight on the forest
opposite.
The sadhu who overtook me sometime back, has mysteriously
reappeared at some distance behind me! Possibly he was
answering nature's call somewhere in a bush.
At 9:40am I arrive at a little wayside inn called "Ankita
bhojanalay". This place is called Mykham Choti. I can see a long
water pipe embedded all along the trail. At places it is buried, at
others it is lying bare.
A forest started at 9:45. The chirping crickets are having a
merry time here. For the first time today the trail has leveled
out. Oh, what a relief it is to walk on a level surface again!
Not much sunlight gets inside the forest, so it's quite cold
here. The trees are covered in thick layers of moss.
The trail has picked up its upwards slope again within a
minute. As I emerged from the forest I was greeted by the bright
sun that that had emerged from the cloud. Some white kash
is growing by the trailside.
The sadhu is walking pretty fast, and I am trying my best
not be overtaken again. But he did catch up with me at 10:10.
My sideways glance at him elicited a warm smile from my
competitor. He looked the typical sadhu with sable-silver matted hair
knotted above his head, a kamandulu in his hand. The upper
part of the body was bare, and the short white dhoti
contrasted with the dark skin covering a well-built body.
"Where are you from?" he asked in Hindi.
"Kolkatta", I replied.
"Ah, all the people walking up and down Himalayas seem to be from
Kolkata, it seems!", he chuckled aloud.
"Do you live here?" I asked, almost sure to get an affirmative reply.
"I am from Karnataka."
Well, that's surprising, I thought. "Oh, I took you to be a
local, judging by your naked feet." I could not help saying
aloud.
"No, I have my shoes. But I thought that visiting sacred places
on naked feet would produce more
punya."
Whoever sits up there in God's office keeping account
of punya of the Hindu's must be having a hard time keeping
track of all the details!
"But these small stones hurt so", my bare feet companion added.
Indeed I had not noticed that the trail consisted of two types of
stones with the larger ones near the flanks, and the smaller ones
near the centre. My companion was careful to tread on only the
larger ones near the borders.
For a moment I felt a bit awkward in my power joggers. I felt a
bit ashamed in my heart that I was competing with a man who
didn't even have a proper footwear. He, however, did not seem to
care a bit. I looked at the rough stones on the trail, and tried
to imagine how it would feel to find myself in his...er, shoes.
"I am roaming in the Himalayas for the last one and a half year",
said my companion. We were now walking together. I felt it
positively humiliating for me to be overtaken by a bare feet
person. And somehow his company was cheering me up.
"I have been to most of the tirthas," he continued in
fluent Hindi, as he proceeded to give me a list.
"What do you do in Karnataka?" I asked, still unable to reconcile
a bare feet sadhu roaming in the Himalayas with any
profession in Karnataka. The only place that I have visited in that southern
state is Bangalore. So the name of Karnataka evokes the vision
nothing but software techies in my mind!
"I am a pujari there," was my companion's answer, "My Guru
lives in Bangalore, and I had been to the Himalayas once earlier
with him."
At 10:15 we came across a little resting place. Another upward
bound team was already resting there. I had a little drink of
water. The sadhu sat down on a seat, while I proceeded
onwards.
Barely five minutes later I learned from a pair of returning
trekkers that there was still about a couple of hours of climb
left.
The sun is out in all its glory. Part of the forest on the
opposite mountain is, however, still in the dark. I am not
feeling tired at all. I hear the crickets' chirp coming from
below.
The trail again entered a forest at 10:35.
The trees are providing shade from
the rather scorching sun. Indeed, it is bit cold in here.
The ground started to slowly level out under my feet from 11:00.
Ah, there is my old companion again, the sadhu. Boy, he
has caught up with me again! He sure walks fast! We continued our
chat from where we had left it.
"I plan to return home after a few months", he said.
"Have you been to Manas Sarovar?" Ever since I had read an
account of a monk visiting Manas Sarovar, I was fascinated with
the idea of sadhus trekking to that place.
"No, I haven't, but I plan to", was the answer, "I have my
passports made for that purpose." He tapped the bag that hung from
his shoulders.
So this spiritual guy has a good eye on the practical details
also, I could not help thinking.
"Won't you life back at Karnataka be hampered by your long stay
in the Himalayas?" my mind was still busy reconciling Karnataka
with the Himalays.
"Actually, I have left home without telling anybody. I had a
quarrel at home."
Well, that shed a different light on the whole thing! A man
leaving his home and roaming alone in the Himalays holds a charm
for many, including myself. Yet I could not but feel the lack of responsibility that
it shows for the family members.
We walked in silence for some time as I tried to balance out the
two aspects in my mind.
The trail is now almost level. We were walking quite fast. It was
my companion who broke the silence.
"It is easy to walk fast if I steadily look down at my feet," he
remarked.
I remembered reading somewhere that Buddha used to walk with his
eyes fixed on his toes.
At 11:25pm we arrived at Madmaheshwar. The trail tapered off
into a cluster of small inns. The temple, which was much smaller
than what I had expected it to be, stood at the far end. The
entire region was level. But it was not a valley, rather it was
just as if the rather wide level tract was hued out of the
slope. The slope continued to rise towards our right as we
entered, and continued to fall down to our left.
To my considerable surprise, the sadhu who was walking on
bare feet and carried a most humble looking side bag, suddenly
whipped out a rather sophisticated mobile phone-cum-camera with
a wide screen, and started taking photos of the temple. A couple
of young Bengali trekkers wandering near noticed this and could
not resist a comment: "Oh, these hi tech sadhus!"
I strolled towards the temple, going as much near it as possible
with shoes on. A peep through the small entrance revealed naught
but darkness. I am never interested in visiting temples. So I
wended my steps to an empty chair nearby, unhitched my rucksack
from my back, and slumped down on the seat.
The sun, bright and scorching, was yet pleasant to feel on my
back, now soaked with perspiration. The extreme corners of the
toes are hurting a bit. I took of my shoes, and the socks. Ah,
what a relief to let my feet breathe again in open air!
The very next thing was to open my rucksack, and delve down into
it to find my camera. I had lost that valuable instrument among
the sundry items shoved into my rucksack in the morning. It was
not easy to ferret out that truant, but finally I did succeed.
There three or four inns around, and about a score of tourists,
mostly Bengali trekkers lolling in the sun with sullen
faces. Some are shouting obscenities now and then without any
apparent reason whatsoever!
The temple is, as I
have already said, pretty small. It is situated in a cemented
yard about one tenth the size of a football ground. The entry is
through a short, gabled antechamber leading into the main temple,
which is about three storey high. The top is shaped like a
dome that does not end in a point or hemisphere but in a
line. This seems to the common pattern here, as I also noticed in
the pictures of some other temples in this part of India. The
entire temple is built of stone with little or no attention to
outward show. Facing the main entrance is a structure somewhat
like a goal post. Three metal bells are hanging from it. As the
devotees are entering the temple (which is happening quite rarely
at present) they are ringing the bell sending a peal shattering
the silence of the place.
Well, that's about all on the spiritual side. On a more mundane
note, a couple of solar panels are supported on two posts. Barely
metres from the temple yard a bunch of local youth are busy
playing carom.
The Madmaheshwar temple
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A south Indian priest with a muscular built that would
make mahisasura jealous, appeared from behind the temple,
came to the front and entered into the temple, all the time
tingling a bell vigorously in his hand.
At 12:05pm our mules arrived, followed by Ballu fifteen minutes
later.
The sky is getting cloudy, foreboding a gloomy tomorrow, and when
Ballu and I started for Bura Madmaheshwar at 12:30, the sun
light, cloud and light drizzle were competing who will get the
day.
I have already mentioned the upwards slope that we encountered on
our left when entering Madmaheshwar. It was along this slope that
we started to climb as Bura Madmaheshwar lay on the very top. Not
many, not even many trekkers, frequent the top it seems, as there
is no single well marked trail. It took us one hour to get to the
top. Thick fog is covering the place behind us. At one place
Ballu collected a long stick that would come handy later in
setting up our kitchen tent.
Bura Madmaheshwar is the name of the top of this hill. It is not
at all like a peak as depicted in children's books. It is
basically a gently undulating grassy terrain that sharply falls
off near the periphery. Such grassy terrains
(called bugials) in local parlance) are ideal grazing
ground for high altitude cattle up to September. Now in the
latter half of October the sole representatives of the quadruped
race were our five mules that arrived shortly after Ballu and
me.
Thick fog was swirling after us, and I barely got to see the
magnificent height of Choukhamba loom large above us before the
fog hid it from my view.
With the fog coming so thick and fast, we did not have much time
to waste. By 1:45pm we had pitched the first two tents. It is not
too windy. So everything is going well, except that a mule was
about to chew up our plastics!
The rain has increased a bit. The bountiful promise of an
imminent downpour did not however assuage our main worry: where
to find drinking water? Ballu had been to this place earlier, and
was confident that he knew a source of water. Following his
direction we could finally find the source, a bare trickle in a
little hole.
At 2:50pm Ballu started cooking. There is no sign of the others
yet. The fog is clearing a little, letting the sun peep out
again. "This is the right time for a rainbow", I said to myself
aloud.
"There is one right now, behind the tent," answered one of
the muleteers.
I whipped out my camera and rushed out in the drizzle. There it
is, the ethereal semicircle of colour dangling weightlessly
from the sky!
Rainbow
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By 3:00pm the fogs returned covering everything. The temperature
is going down. I have a jacket and an a windcheater on. It is OK
for now, but I am always afraid of windy evenings in these
areas...
3:25pm. Ballu is peeling potatoes, and a muleteer is doing the
same service to the onions. It is raining quite heavily now. I am sitting
huddled in one corner of the kitchen tent. Suddenly the tent
sprung a leak, and water started to trickle in...right on my back
out of all places! We are now six huddled inside the kitchen
tent, Ballu, Chandra Pal, the three muleteers and myself. A
reshuffling of places followed to avoid the tricking water.
Ballu is cooking khichri. The safety valve of the pressure
cooker has been replaced with a loosely fitting bolt that allows
plenty of steam to escape. A steam cooker, rather than a pressure cooker, is a more appropriate
appellation for that device in its present incarnation!
One of the two stoves has lost its pumping syringe. So
occasionally the syringe from the other one is fitted into this
one, and pumped. A good deal warmth spread out of these symbiotic
stoves, and I did not mind the somewhat pungent smell that issued
out of the container.
The other five are incessantly chatting in their own dialect. It
sounds like somewhat like the dialogue in a Kurosawa film. I am
occasionally making a comment or two, causing their language to
approach closer to decent Hindi for a minute, then to relapse
back into the local dialect.
We finished our lunch at 3:55pm, all but the ever faithful Ballu,
who would not eat until the others arrive. We are getting a bit
worried. Of course, the team leader Dipu-da is behind them, so
they cannot get lost. But still...
For the next 10 minutes or so the fog started to play hide-n-seek
with the hills. For a moment Choukhamba would peep out, and then
would hide again! Armed with my camera I waited for an opportune
moment. So when Choukhamba peeped out again, I rushed for a
vantage point with my camera. I rushed and so did the fog. I
barely managed to reach the spot and click my instrument before
the fog engulfed me from all sides.
It was a complete white out. Ballu had asked me moments ago to
check if the others of our team were visible. So I turned towards
what I thought was the easiest approach to Madmaheshwar. There
was a dip followed by steady downward slope. I did get a dip, but
the ground again billowed up dimly in the fog. By 4:15, I was
convinced that I had lost my way in the white out. With
visibility confined to only a few metres around me it was
absolutely impossible to navigate myself. The bugial which
had appeared so small but ten minutes ago now seemed to stretch
itself indefinitely in all directions. I knew of only two landmarks,
our tiny tents, and the Bura Madmaheshwar temple which is barely
as high as a table. And these tiny landmarks were impossible to
detect in the otherwise featureless grassy terrain cloaked in
translucent fog.
The next fifteen minutes found me walking aimlessly. I wasn't
nervous, because I was sure the fog would clear away
eventually. But still I felt rather silly. I yelled for Ballu. No
reply. Then I discerned something moving quite near me. It was
a mule. Our mules were roaming close to our tents. If the mule
is here can the tents be far behind? But which way should I go
now? I was afraid that if I lost sight of the quadruped, then I
might get lost again. But a little bit of rambling around the
animal showed me the temple. I went up to it, and found the vague
forms of some humans. Elated I approached closer, only to find
that they are some local men. But still it was relief! At least
these were bipeds! A little more rambling, and I could hear
Ballu. My little adventure was at an end!
We were now really getting worried about the others. At 4:55 two
local chaps (possibly the ones whom I had seen from a distance
during my adventure) reported that they had seen our team having
tea at an inn at 3:30. Not quite convinced by the authenticity of
the news, all that we could do was wait.
And then at 5:20pm started the most memorable experience of this
trek. A most bitter hailstorm started. Ice globules of the size
of a pea hailed incessantly all around, and bounded up well over
a foot upon impact with the ground. Along with them fell the
mercury. We four are huddled in the kitchen tent that is shaking
frantically as the ice balls are hitting it like bullets. Two of
the muleteers who had gone to procure grass for the mules were
nowhere to be seen (They had taken shelter in a cave, as we
learned later after they returned.) The mules, poor creatures,
are standing patiently in the hailstorm.
"I must take the mules down to Madmaheshwar", said a muleteer,
"else the poor beasts are sure to die of cold!"
Hailstorm
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The storm has been raging for 10 minutes now. A stream of water
has made its way into the kitchen tent and soaked my shoes and
socks before my numb feet could feel the cold. But above all
these, we are hoping that the others in our team are not out
somewhere under this inclement sky!
Ballu put a sack over his head and went out of the kitchen to
search for them.
5:35pm. The storm continues, but as far as I see through the
frantically swaying opening of the kitchen tent, the ice balls
are bouncing less now. Is it because the ground is already covered
with ice? But the heavy downpour has increased. Water is trickling
in through many a chink in the tent.
The sky is slowly clearing up, though part of the cloud is still
lingering like the frown on the face of a spouse in the morning
after a night of quarrel.
5:50pm. Ballu has returned, thoroughly drenched in the ice cold
water. He could not find the others.
At 6:10pm, there was a sudden motion near the entrance of the
kitchen door, and Tubu-da's wife and the two children tottered
in. They were wet as wet could be, without any umbrella or rain
coat, just in cottons and woolens dripping with ice cold
water. Ice adhered to their shoes. Wide eyed and nervous, it was hard to tell if they
shivered more form cold or from fear!
Ballu leapt forward, and pulled them as close to the fire as
possible. The little daughter, I must say, was much steadier than
her mother who wept audibly. Some soup were boiling, and Ballu
handed a glass to each, wrapped the mother up in his own
sweater (a dry one that he had changed into). Of course, this
left him almost in his shirt sleeves, but he didn't seem
to care much.
The others (except Dipu-da and the elderly couple) had also
arrived. They were all cold, wet, confused and angry. Well, all
except Tublu-da, who seemed to enjoy the experience with a lofty
detachment.
"As I held my umbrella against the hailstorm", he told me later, "I
saw my fingers turn blue in the cold, but still I enjoyed it a
lot!"
A true spirited trekker, I must say!
The others, I am afraid, did not quite share this spirit, and
they may be well excused for that!
Dipu-da arrived alone much later. The rain had subsided into a
drizzle by then. The elderly couple were safely stowed in an inn
down there at Madmaheshwar.
So at the end of an eventful day we are again all safe and
peaceful, except for a simmering discontent against the team
leader for this "mishap".
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