‘The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas’ by Jaladhar Sen:

In today’s age, when Uttarakhand’s Char Dham pilgrimage has become a high-speed spectacle — marked by overcrowding, ecological strain and frequent disasters — ‘The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas’ by Jaladhar Sen offers a nostalgic return to an era of quieter, more introspective journeys. Traversing the sacred mountain paths was once an act of endurance and self-discovery, not comfort and convenience.

Originally published in Bengali as ‘Himalay’ in 1900, the memoir is now available in a fresh English translation by Somdatta Mandal. Sen (1860-1939), a poet, editor and philanthropist, rose to prominence during the Bengal Renaissance. Born into modest circumstances and struck by a series of family tragedies, he turned to the Himalayas as a seeker.

His reflections became pioneering travel writing in Bengali, but his name remains little known outside the region. This edition, therefore, serves both as an introduction to his voice and as a reminder of what pilgrimage in the Himalayas once meant.

Devotees set out on foot through rugged valleys and steep passes, not because it was fashionable or convenient, but because hardship was considered intrinsic to faith. The very act of walking long distances, enduring cold nights and unpredictable terrain, became a form of devotion.

Today, the contrast could not be sharper. The Char Dham yatra has turned into a rush of vehicles and helicopters. What was once an arduous walk of faith is now packaged as mass tourism, leaving little space for solitude or reflection. It is precisely this loss that makes Sen’s memoir so striking.

Unlike the heroic accounts of explorers who mapped new routes or scaled virgin peaks, his story is not about conquest but about encounter. He was not a mountaineer or an adventurer in the modern sense. He was, at heart, a wanderer who used his time in the Himalayas to observe, to question, to listen.

Sen’s journey was challenging because it was undertaken with limited resources and ordinary human capabilities.

Written during the colonial period, the memoir also offers an Indian perspective on the Himalayan landscape and spirituality, free from the orientalist gaze that colours many western travel accounts of the time.

The language is simple, yet suffused with a quiet lyricism. The mountains are not described as obstacles to be overcome but as companions that invite self-examination. The silence of a trail, the pause by a river, the glimpse of a shrine tucked in snow — these moments serve less as scenery and more as mirrors to the mind. Sen’s account speaks to anyone who has ever sought clarity in the act of walking.

Written as a daily diary, the memoir carries the rhythm of slower journeys: the dust of forgotten trails, the sound of temple bells borne by wind, the intimacy of fleeting encounters along the way. There is no rush to arrive, no pressure to cover ground quickly. The value lies in the experience itself — in being changed by the landscape rather than simply passing through it.

This book is a reminder that the Himalayas are not only geography but also philosophy, and that a pilgrimage is meaningful not because it is easy but because it is transformative. Sen beckons readers to slow down and rediscover the inner journey that the mountains, in their silence, still offer to those willing to listen.

— The reviewer is an outdoor enthusiast and climate expert