2 routes, multitude of emotions

Eesha Duggal

People who can walk the mountains know the hurdles faced by those who can’t. I didn’t come up with this profound observation, but strongly felt it described who I was — a mountain girl, fit as a fiddle.

When I told my father how eager I was to go for the perilous Srikhand Mahadev trek, he not only agreed to accompany me but also bought me a pair of hiking boots.

As our bus from Shimla wound its way past Bagipul, Kullu, a stranded truck in the middle of a narrow road meant we had to get off. The famed hospitality saw space being made for us in a packed jeep to reach Jaon, a small village from where we had to walk 3 km to Singhar, the first base camp of the 35-km trek to Lord Shiva’s abode.

At Singhar, we attracted attention and it didn’t take me long to figure out why. My father’s turban! When you are a Sikh who’s always lived in the hills, you must be ready for honest but amusing questions on how you “ended up” in Himachal, how you look so Pahari, and about your eloquent Hindi despite being a “Punjabi”.

As my father let out that he was a radio personality, adulation followed; and a cultural programme organised by devotees where we performed aarti. I felt blessed.

Next day, the spirit was soaring, but it does need the body to keep up with it. Huge rocks to the left and the raging Srikhand river deep down the narrow path — I religiously followed the orders of those ahead and behind me: “look straight”.

An hour later, I loudly popped the question: how long to Thachru, the next camp? Three hours was the unanimous answer. Three? I had to recalibrate my body, mind and spirit for the steep ‘Danda Dhaar’ — straight as a rod — climb.

Well, people who can walk the mountains know the hurdles faced by those who can’t. So, off and on, the yatris would matter-of-factly pull me up and lend me a hand! Bless them! Every person we met had the “Har Har Mahadev” incantation on their lips. They would look tired, but radiant. The mountain girl again took a breather and out came the tired question: how far to Thachru? Three hours.

“That was an hour ago!” I let out and my father asked me for my bag. I was dragging my burden of guilt when a yatri insisted on carrying it for my father. Dev, he was — Dev, the mountaineer. A Srikhand regular.

Thachru finally arrived. Dev said he would lead us on in the morning. When I did catch my breath, I let the breathtaking beauty envelop me. I could hear myself breathe. 

The trek to the peak was still some distance away, and more challenging. I was ready to go in the morning, but my father was not feeling well. Dev and the yatris implored us to do the darshan there itself and come another time. We did not argue.

The trek down was intimidating. One wrong step and it could mean instant death. Porter Rakesh was hired. The 20-year-old settled for Rs 700 after initial reluctance. By the time we got back to Singhar, Rakesh was friendly. He even insisted that my father take Rs 100 back.

At the base camp, we chatted with the yatris, some locals, others professionals from faraway towns. The talk veered around to faith, the mountains, the yatra.

I, very unlike me, did not have much to say and had questions for myself rather than answers on why I was there. Salvation? I don’t know what that is. Faith? I have no clear idea of that either. I was just so glad I was there.

I also finally understood what my friend meant about people who can walk the mountains knowing the hurdles faced by  others. Having faith in yourself is good, one must also let people’s innate goodness shine through. Simple, surprising acts of kindness are as awesome as the towering hills. Trust me, I’m a mountain girl. 

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An occasional trekker takes the tougher route, misses out on reaching the destination but finds a lot about himself

Sanjam Preet Singh

I’m no itinerant trekker. I doubt I’m even good at it. I still like being a participant. I had lost my way during the Churdhar trek in Sirmour some months back. I was really edgy for that half an hour when I was all by myself in the wilderness, but by the time I got reunited with my group, I had shed the baggage of hastened anxiety. 

So, when my three friends suggested taking the tougher “unofficial” route to Srikhand Mahadev, my new carefree spirit was quick to acquiesce. The 25-km trek starts from Fancha village near Jeori town; the traditional route is through Nirmand.

The first day’s trek meandered through a forest and we walked past trees that allowed a modicum of sunlight to penetrate, much like Churdhar. By afternoon, we seven — three boys from Zirakpur had joined us on the way — reached the first camp set up by Fancha villagers. 

The next morning, 25-year-old Anil Negi, who was deployed at the first camp, assured us that the route to Lord Shiva’s abode was easy. It takes experience to realise that when a Himachali gives directions, he assumes that your capabilities match his. They do not.

We began our long march. Rocks, big and small, replaced trees. We could see snow-covered mountains. The ascent was steep. So instead of looking ahead, I looked down, concentrating on the next step.

Trudging up the hill, we reached the first glacier. At Churdhar, I had a tough time walking on ice. Here it was not a patch of ice but a glacier! 

No one volunteered to go first. Just because my anxiety level was down by no means meant that the adventure threshhold had shot up. A herdsman climbing the glacier proved to be our saviour. We literally followed in his footsteps and thanked him profusely, but a tad too soon. Another glacier lay ahead, much bigger. Anil Negi’s assurances were for the likes of him, not us Punjabi trekkers.

It was 3 pm and it was important to reach the second camp before sunset. One of us proposed to return, another pondered, two suggested that we climb the hill to avoid the glacier. We agreed to the plan. We were crawling, if someone could see us from above — our feet and hands were clinging on to the mountain. As we gained in altitude, we were gasping for breath. And water was in short supply.

We criss-crossed three or four mountains to escape one glacier. At 5, we sighted the second camp. The way to it was another treacherous path. This time, we crossed a glacier with a not-so-steep gradient. Around 7, we hit the second camp after 12 hours of trekking. Our resolve to go any further had taken a beating.

After tea and dal-chawal (our first meal of the day), we snuggled into the sleeping bags, too tired to think of which direction our journey was to proceed. 

At 6.30 am, the ice was shimmering in the sunlight; the clouds seemed like hanging cotton balls. I felt like a speck, almost non-existent, free. It was a very peace-inducing moment.

The four of us decided to return, three opted to brave it out; they would not leave without the darshan. 

The journey back was no less demanding. A herdsman again helped us cross the glaciers. The rain made it worse as we slipped and fell several times. By the time we reached Jeori, we were exhausted, but no one was complaining, certainly not me.

Churdhar had made me less anxious as a person and a trekker, the Srikhand Mahadev trek more acceptive of what I could change, what I could not, and to take whatever came my way in my stride.

Another trek would follow for sure, and one participant would be more than ready.

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