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23/10/2010: Chopta to Tunganath and back
Today has a double good start for me. The first thing I realised
after getting up at 6:30 in the morning was that my stomach is
functioning perfectly. And then at 8:10 I found my diary. So I
was at the top of my mood when I went for a solitary morning walk
at 8:15, promising to return before Ballu finished preparing
breakfast.
A drizzle started within fifteen minutes, and I was forced to
walk back sooner than I had planned. I notice plenty of jackdaws
here. Their raucous crowing somehow suited to the gloomy
weather. I looked at the trail towards Tunganath. The mules and
horses are patiently standing in the rain. It had snowed last
night. The barefaced black stony peak of yesterday is now white
with fresh snow.
My breakfast (luchi and curry) was over by 9:00. This is
our last trekking day, and I am raring to start as early as
possible. But the fog and the drizzle are putting me
off. However, I can now see the far away mountains to quite some
distance. One side of the mountains is green with vegetation,
while the other side is barren and bare. The green vegetation is
punctuated by an occasional bugial, as if the
forest there has been shaven clean.
 The forest in front of the cottage
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I decided to explore the forest in front of the cottage. The
trees are tall and large. The ground underneath my feet is soft
but not slippery. Thick moss covers the barks of the trees. I do
not know what trees these are, but judging my the appearance of
the forest floor, the only fruit that grows in them are plastic
bottles...Bisleri, Kinley etc! Innumerably many of these lay
strewn all over the ground! Apparently the tourists leave them
in the inns and the local people dump them in the forest.
10:15am. The sky has cleared to a great extent, though an
occasional drop or two is still making its way down from the
sky. But I was loath to tarry longer. So I took my camera, diary,
pen etc in my pocket, wrapped myself up in Dipu-da's rain coat
(my improvised one was too clumsy) and started trekking up
towards Tunganath.
The trail (a not-too-narrow strip of concrete weaving its way
upwards) starts from the market place at Chopta. Many people
prefer riding a horse or a mule to the top. These creatures have
their stables near the starting point. Thanks to the generous
droppings of these quadrupeds, coupled with the rain water and
snow, the trail is quite slippery and dirty in this region.
But it soon casts aside this stigma as it meander through tall
trees. At places the trail has metal railings to guard against
accidental falls down the slope.
A trail with railings
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People of all shapes, sizes,
genders and age groups are going up and down. Some are trekkers,
some are pilgrims, some just ordinary tourists, but almost all
are Bengalis.
A wide green bugial lies to my left. Tempted, I left the
trail and walked on the grass for some time. At places there
are tall trees, quite a few of them!
One of the bugials beside the trail
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11:02am. I have suddenly entered a land of snow. A crystal clear
sky is now smiling upon a wide vista dotted with fresh snow. The
snow is more dense up there.
Ruma-di and Ruku are riding upwards on a pair of ambling
mules. The Ruma-di's mule has a naughty look. It is looking at me
through the corner of its eye in a mischievous way, as if
contemplating a suitable opportunity for a kick.
I am walking behind waiting for the right moment to overtake.
The mules stopped for a drink at a trailside water source. The
trail is wet here with ice cold water flowing freely down. I
overtook the mules while they were busy drinking.
Ruku and Ruma-di on horseback
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"Exactly like we saw in Switzerland, isn't it dear?" an elderly
gentleman wrapped in every conceivable warm clothing addressed his
wife in Bengali.
Switzerland?
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"What are you writing? A diary?" gushed a young lady, looking at
the pen and diary in my hand, and then added in the same breath,
"Will you write about me?"
"Oh, why not," I could not help a smile, "Where are you from?"
"I am from Budge Budge," the lady was prompt with her
identification details, "we have come on a trek here."
I duly entered this important fact in my journal, and after a
brief chat (during which the lady proceeded to give me a long
list of places she had trekked to) I bade her adieu and
proceeded at my own pace.
The trail here is almost straight for a long way in front of
me. It appears like a long snake dividing the snow. It looks
wonderful, but with my analogue camera it is hard to get the
entire expanse into a single frame. So I had to get off the trail
and find a vantage point in the snow. In the process I managed to
get snow in my gloves which were soon wet.
A turning point in the trail
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The snow here is really dense, but has lost the immaculate
character. Much of it has started melting giving rise to ankle
deep puddles on a slippery trail. It is hard to cross the puddles
without stepping into the ice cold water, as a long jump over
them might end up longer than planned thanks to the slippery
trail. So my shoes, socks and gloves are now all equally wet. And
it is quite cold up here. But still I am thoroughly enjoying the
experience. Back in Kolkata I shall be warm enough, but I shall
yearn for this experience then!
About three fourth way up the long straight stretch of the trail
I see a small cabin to my right. Built of stone, this tin-roofed
shelter bears the memory of many a loving pair, whose names I see
inscribed all over its walls. The cabin is situated in what may
be called a pass between two hills. The terrain declines sharply
on either side of it. A fall from here (which is not at all
unlikely owing to the extreme slippery nature of the path) would
lead straight down to dizzy depth.
The trail soon gives way to a flight of stairs. These are
definitely safer than the sloping slippery trail. Before long the stairs
end in region of dense immaculate snow. A little down the slope
to my left I see building housing the Garhwal Research Centre, a
wing of the Garhwal University for studying the Himalayas.
I see Tubu-da and his family riding up from below.
11:53am. I have arrived at the peak of Tunganath. I now look like
a jumble of red plastic (for that's the colour of Dipu-da's rain
coat) with some wet limbs jutting out of it.
To my right I see a structure not unlike a pagoda. A layer of
spotless snow about six inches thick is covering its roof. The
only thing that peeps out through the snow is a bright silver
globe sparkling at the top.
The Tunganath temple is situated a few metres ahead. A huge gong
hanging at its entrance is giving out a shrill shattering peal everytime
some one bangs on it. The temple yard is white with snow.
A well-built man in white-- apparently the priest-- is pacing up and down this yard in bare
feet!
The Tunganath temple
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The devotees are supposed to take their shoes off and walk on the
snow and get their feet washed in ice cold water before a
worship. I am never keen about worship in a temple, and I did not
feel particularly interested in subjecting my nether limbs to these
thermodynamic experiments. So I satisfied
myself with the outside view of the temple, which to my faithless
eyes appeared to be a crudely erected mass of stone.
There are a few thatch-roofed inns near the temple. These look
somewhat shabby and cold, though their very situation more than
offsets all such disadvantages. Our original plan was to stay in one of
these.
I see others in my team troop up for a worship. A dilapidated
signboard near the temple entrance bore the name Chandrashila and
pointed to a bifurcation in
the trail. I do not have any idea how far Chandrashila is from
here. Some locals estimated the distance to be around 1 km, but I
knew better than to trust these local estimates.
"Let me walk as far as the road condition and weather permit," I
told myself, "and then I shall return."
In contrast to the concrete trail leading to Tunganath the
present trail is much narrower and is made of uneven boulders,
some of which are treacherously loose. Of course I rarely get to
see the boulders as they are all covered under a white carpet of
snow. This trail is hardly frequented as I concluded from the
continuity of the snow which was broken by only two sets of
identical foot
prints, one going and the other coming. During my Chandrashila
expedition which lasted from 12:15 to 1:00, I did not meet a
single other soul.
At places the snow had hardened into ice, while at some places I
have to drag my feet out of potholes hidden under soft
snow. At 12:20 I noticed the
one set of foot prints turn into the other. So this is the
farthest someone has come since the last snowfall.
I am now passing through a narrow part of the trail, just a
couple of feet wide. As I stepped over the bottleneck the steep
decline on either side seemed to stretch out for ever.
"If I ever have to pass through this bottleneck during a white
out", I whispered to myself, "it would be an experience!"
I love to talk to myself when I am all alone. And this place
seems to offer an ideal opportunity for
soliloquising. But yet I am hardly giving voice to all the
excitement within me, lest I mar nature's silence, a silence so
grand that it seems an offence to disturb it.
The trail is narrowing down, and at its narrowest is hardly more
than a foot wide.
"Another thrilling experience in a white out!" I tell myself, as
I eye a swirl of white fogs rising up from far below me.
12:26pm. I have come to the other side of the hill. There is
warm cosy sunshine here. A number of little flowers are peeping
out from the rocky trail. A bunch of little birds flurries across
the sky. The steep descent that but even now looked relentlessly
deep seems to have put on a charm.
The trail started to go down after a stage. I do not know what
Chandrashila looks like. But the trail seems to end near a
cluster of trees yonder, where there seems to some kind of a
watching point. If I continue at this pace, I should not take
more than 45 minutes to reach it, especially so since the trail
goes all the way downwards from this point.
I was elated at this prospect, but then I paused. Dense fog is
rising up from below foreboding an imminent white out. I cast a
wistful glance at the watch point that is so near yet so
far. Then I thought about the precariously narrow parts of the
trail that I dare not negotiate amidst a white out.
After moment's wavering I decided to retrace my steps back to
civilisation. Now I am rushing up the trail, panting. I must get
over the narrow parts before the white out. The fog is slowly
engulfing me from all sides, but the trail is twisting and
turning like a live snake to avoid its clutches. My shoes and
socks are sodden with ice cold water, and it is not clear to me
why I am not feeling cold! The pin drop silence is broken only by
the sound of my own panting.
12:55pm. I am now walking as fast as I can up the trail barely
visible in the whiteout. As I turn a corner I see the dim out of
Tunganath loom large before me.
When I regained the concrete trail under my feet at 1:00 I felt
as if I am walking on the most royal highway ever made!
And that was the end of the trek! All the other events that
happened after that are as insignificant as the "happily ever
after" life of a princess. So I shall not dwell upon how I came
back to Chopta, and how we arrived at Hrishikesh the next day (after miscellaneous
troubles including punctured tires, and traffic jam caused by
land slides). The stay at the Govt lodge called Rishilok was
wonderful, as was the bath in the turbulent Ganga. I was tempted
to raft down the river. But time did not permit. But I am not
worrying about that. For I know that I shall come back here again...and
again...and again...
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