Eastern Sojourn(Continuing 11-14)

Day 11: Back to the Civilization

I wake up happily notwithstanding the uncomfortable night, the thought of calling my loved ones later once we reach Tsoka being the reason behind it. After breakfast we start for Tsoka. Instead of climbing the steep ascent to Devraali point towards Dzongri, we take the dense forest closer to the riverbank. It leads to Phedang, bypassing Dzongri. The snow is still ruling over the landscape. The path is full of mud, resulting into irritating sound of Pchk Pchk while walking. The sunlight is sparsely piercing thru the dense cover of leaves and does not help much to dry the mud. The trail is constant up or down, never flat, and always demanding. No known mountain is visible now. It’s hard to find the traces of our mission. The only assuring thing is the sound of Prek Chu flowing down on the left. A river can nourish mind also, I realize.

Many birds are busy in practicing early morning raagas, calling for our attention. Walking swift on the serpentine trail ahead of others, I try to find these melodious performers. In the process I miss my steps and slip on the muddy trail, not once but thrice. All the times the stick in my hand and the favorable fortune save me from falling flat. Encouraged by my escapes, I keep on going at the same pace, failing to notice that the red soil is even more slippery now. Another bird calls, an entrapment, and I fall for it. I slip full on backwards, but the backpack saves me from hitting the stones. The great lesson of the mountains is that Do only one thing at a time. When you are walking, do not distract yourself from the trail. If you want to observe the surroundings, catch a glimpse of a bird or an animal, do it gently and silently. Stop, See, Savor. Walk. One precipitous fall in these high altitudes can take you to the silent valley of death forever, unless you believe in afterbirths or rebirths.

We humans hardly learn the lessons though, and most of the times we learn them hard way. I am no different. My good luck makes me overconfident and I do not heed to the impending warnings. The forest whacks me more forcefully this time, drawing me backwards and sideward. By Golly Graciousness, I still go unscathed somehow. I decide that I do not want to test my luck anymore and slow down considerably. Jaggi overtakes me and I watch pink bandana leading our little platoon. Over one slippery step, he also falls, rolling over to the next step. Fortunately for him, he stops short of crash-landing his head on a stone. He survives with some bruises on his arms and knees and back. It dawns to me that this is leader’s curse. A leader needs to be ever so watchful.

There are small waterfalls on the way. One particular waterfall is completely covered in snow. We can hear water gushing below the thick white layer. We cross the landmass bridge on the waterfall which is not visible due to snow.  After a steep ascent, we finally reach to Phedang. I remember that while going to Goechela, this was the place after which we started encountering snow. Now that we are here, it pleases me to think that the snow will not be our companion anymore. We meet Mr. Sridhar, a gentleman from Mysore, who conducts summer trekking expedition for schoolchildren. Every year he brings groups of children from Mysore and Bangalore to Dzongri thru his firm Snap Adventures. We see his group of 17 children around the Phedang Hut. They offer us homemade coconut barfi. It’s delicious. My love for coconut is slightly less than my love for mountains, which borders on the infinity. To eat something made of coconut after 10 days is heavenly. Thanks to Mr. Sridhar who got it prepared at his home. We spend some time sitting on the benches at Phedang to watch the kids go about their activities.

The pink rhododendrons and the red magnolias smile at us in the caressing breeze on the way to Tsoka. The colorful flowers are relief from the snow after four days of relentless whiteness. The trail is still muddy due to the rain overnight –when it snowed in Kakruchong, it was raining here – but the joy of seeing the vibrant colors overshadows that minor discomfort. We let some yaks overtake us on the National Highway in the Mountains. The plant life is in abundance now. Every crevice boasts of handful of small plants. The fresh leaves signals of a new life. The pungent smell fills the air heavy. From a turn at a cliff, we spot Tsoka village. There are hardly 15-20 houses there, most of them converted to lodges, in this small village. The ground next to the Trekkers’ Hut is dotted with tents in all colors. Tsoka seems to be hosting many guests today. The monastery stands alone, on the far side of the small water body, connected by the wooden bridge. The simple building is spectacularly set in the serenity.

 

The trekking Hut in Tsoka is the best we have seen in the whole trek. The toilets are comparatively clean. The rooms are spacious and have wooden beds. We do not get space to setup our kitchen in the hut so Birjubhaiya finds an abandoned house and starts preparing the lunch. We do not catch any signal on our phones. The locals say that there are only a few spots in the village where mobile signals are received. We go to the ground next to the hut and after continuously laboring to find a right spot, we manage to step on a land on the slope not wider than four feet where signals are sporadically received. I do not get any signal in my phone though, but luckily Jaggi’s phone grabs the signals quite well. I call home and talk to my father and my sister. It’s great feeling to hear their voice. I cannot talk much in the fading signals. The friends have to wait for the next day as the connectivity is no longer available now.

After lunch, Jaggi decides to take rest while Suman and I go to the yak grazing ground, next to the two chortens. Facing the valley, we sit and enjoy the silence. The sunlight is glistening in the blades of the grass. A few birds are playing on the trees on the precipitous slope. The brown mountains on the other side look like ruins of past. I listen to some music on my Kindle. I read my favorite poem The Rhyme of an Ancient Mariner by Samuel Coleridge.

The clouds gather in no time and encase the sun in their volume. We return back to the hut. A few locals are playing a game of Changu. We watch them jumping and passing. Once the rain starts, it’s back to the inside of the hut. We sip tea and eat jaalmuri sitting on the dining table. A foreigner couple joins us. The man is from Britain while the lady is German. He is back from the Mt Everest Base Camp trekking from Nepal and now they are going to Goechela. We talk about our trek. The talk invariably leads to general discussion about India, Indian politics, religions and then US and its policies. I know we are back to civilization now. From the caring lap of nature, we are returning to the harsh world out there. The couple sadly gives us the news that Sri Satya Sai Baba has left this world. They talk about Baba’s huge following in England and Nepal.

Our dinner is a sober affair. We finish the food under the low flames of candles. There is a party going on in the dining hall. A huge group of foreigners is celebrating their successful trek. They dance, sing songs and rejoice in the glory of their expedition. The revelry goes on for late in the night. Off to sleep, I am content and glad about the lovely encounter with the mother Nature. 

Day 12: Retracing the Steps

The final day of the trek finds me properly rested in the night. The bright sun is illuminating Pandim and Narsing from the east. In the west the overstretching mountains shake hands with each other to convey morning greetings.  Pandim looks beautiful –I have lost count of how many times I tell that to myself- and we want to store that image in our eyes forever. Behind the Tsoka Hut, we watch the Pandim with adulation and an eye of a lover while sipping the black tea.

We pack everything –there is not much to pack anyway besides the memories- and start for Yuksam after taking the last breakfast of meshed potatoes and pancake. Birjubhaiya packs us our lunch for the day. The day will not be different than the day when we started, but in the reverse order. We say goodbye to our foreigner friends. One more turn on the right and Pandim will be out of our sight. We wave goodbye to Pandim. It’s one of the toughest farewells. The majestic mountain solemnly stands, as if the farewells are everyday affairs for it. I understand why it’s clad in the white now. Thanks for the wonderful time.

If white was the color of the mountains, the plants also have found it worthy to don it. The chap flowers have competition of the white rhododendrons now. The tall chap trees rule over the sky while the trail and the sides of it are full of rhododendrons.We descend to Bakhim in no time, hardly half an hour. We meet Mr. Sridhar’s group again. They stayed in Bakhim overnight and will start for Yuksam in some time. We continue towards Sachen.

The descent to Sachen also does not take much time. How easy it is to go down! Birjubhaiya is walking with me along with Suman. The time and distance passes in flash while talking to him. We plan our next trek, carefully detailing all the places. He asks for my mobile phone. He wants to talk to someone special as we stop to relax at bridge 4. Unfortunately there is no connectivity. We march on, avoiding getting hit by some yaks. At last, when we reach the 3rd bridge, my phone is able to talk, all sense and nonsense. Birjubhaiya calls a number and talks in a low tone, smile always escaping from the corners of his lips. He must be talking to his girlfriend, or fiancée, or someone like that. He throws the phone at me and requests me to talk to her and ask her to marry him! The voice on the other side has a hint of playfulness. Her Hindi is relatively pure than Birjubhaiya’s. Not mincing words, I tell her that Birjubhaiya loves her much and she should marry him soon. She avoids the matter, at least on the phone, and takes it as a joke. I just wonder what I have done as I give the phone back to Birjubhaiya. Will I dare the same f the girl on the other side happens to be my love-interest or will the courage desert me? I guess I will buckle in the pressure. Daring is easy when one need not pay for the consequences.

We finish the packed lunch of Faley, boiled eggs and boiled potatoes near the bridge 2 while Birjubhaiya carries on with the happiness in his heart which only love is capable of providing. The chirping of the birds get louder to match the melody of the emerald green water of Pao Khola hitting the boulders. A big group of trekkers meet us on the way. The 60-odd trekkers find it difficult on the first day. I almost forget to notice that it’s a hot day. From sub-zero degree Celsius temperature, now we are into 20s and 30s. I reach the first, and in a sense last, bridge before Jaggi and Suman and wait for them there. A few young men are knee-dip into the water.  Under a shadow of a tree, I enjoy the cool breeze wafting the song of the river. My comrades, and my only family in the mountains, join me in trying to stop the time running away. But time waits for none. Like the river running in front of us, between the bushes and the boulders, among the ridges and the rifts, the time also marches on eternally.

 

Reaching to Yuksam is a low key affair. We walk silently, almost meditatively and stop only after crossing the tourism department’s office. I leave my stick there. Somebody else will have good use of it. The strong stick served me quite well. May you serve others happily. It’s hard to believe our trek is over, and indeed it is! Jaggi lifts his arm skywards one last time, in relief and exaltation. Suman has two thumbs-up. I don’t know what to do. I smile at them.

We decide to stay at Hotel Pradhan, run by a certain Mr. Pradhan. More than room, I am interested in the the bathroom. It’s huge, and it has hot shower! A bath has never felt so good than this day! After 9 full days, to stand under a hot shower is heavenly. I feel like it’s not the droplets which touch me, but it’s joy, pure bliss. As if I have discovered the paradise! I am feeling fresh, and light, like I am reborn.

Sitting outside in the sun, we finish lunch of Pizza, sandwich and rice at Gupta’s. It’s hot but I feel the sun penetrating my being positively. There is a long queue of empty gas cylinders in main bazaar. The delivery truck is scheduled to come today. The people have been waiting for more than couple of hours. It’s an utter waste of people’s time. Why can’t be the cylinders delivered door-to-door like in the cities? Why don’t we care for our very own brothers and sisters in the rural and remote areas as much as we do for our urban counterparts?

In the evening we go to Dubdi Monastery in Yuksam. The road to Sikkim’s oldest monastery is steep. After every 200m, there is a resting place for the visitors. Somehow I feel the incline is more than what I have encountered till now and I find it hard to climb. May be I was not ready for this climb when I started. Perhaps I need a leap of faith. I see an old couple laboring their way along with a foreigner lady. The gate to the monastery is closed, but not locked. We open it and climb the last few step to the holy place. Some kids are playing in the compound which is wide and decorated with flower plants. Kids are shy and I fail to approach most of them. One particular boy, while maintaining some distance, keeps asking me in broken Hindi, tum kahan jaa rahe ho? Where are you heading? I don’t quite understand what he means. The question may be physical, metaphysical or philosophical. I don’t know how to answer that. I am limited by my own shortcomings.

 

The monastery is closed so we cannot go to the sanctum sanctorum to prostrate ourselves in front of the deity or light the butter lamps. We spend sometime in and around the compound. While returning back, we are joined by the old couple and the lady we saw while climbing up. I assumed then that the couple is Indian, but as it turns out, they are French. The genial husband reminds me of Ruskin Bond. The haughty wife is clearly struggling with her steps because of arthritis. At times I want to give her hand to help her negotiate the slope, but I stop short as I know the man is quite capable of doing it and it gives him pleasure to do so. It is quite comforting to see two old people, deep in love, holding their hands to walk side by side in the twilight of their lives. Their only companion is an Alaskan lady whom they met during this trip. They want to know many things about India and also reconfirm what they have read and heard about the country. We talk about Hindu funerals, the epics Ramayana and Mahabharata, Buddhism and also about the kingdom of Sikkim. The Alaskan lady is especially well initiated into these topics. She talks about Satyajit Ray’s movie Sikkim which she happened to watch in Gangtok. I am astonished by how much interest these people take in the places they visit. They try to know everything about the people and the culture. They adopt the costumes and the accessories also while they are travelling. It’s truly remarkable how much they want to get mixed with people. That shows their openness and respect for other people.

Then the lady stumps me with a question. She asks me why Rama and Sita did not have a child even though they were married for 11 years before they went for vanvaas! It seems logical that they should have had a child if they were married that long. Frankly, I did not know they were married for  that many years before starting their 14 years arduous journey. Completely baffled, I search for words, reasons and responses. None comes. Finally, a little embarrassed, I reply that we do not ask questions of our Gods. Such a lame reasoning! Why? Why don’t we ask questions of our Gods when we put everyday man under so much scrutiny? Don’t we need to scrutinize them more since they show us way to live?

We spend good time with them sharing what little we know about this vast land of wisdom. After bidding them goodbye, we sit in a restaurant in Yuksam bazaar to drink tea. Slowly the darkness takes over the mountains in front of us. The crowd is gathering inside the restaurant which is run by a lady. Many young people are drinking thumba, the locally made millet beer. They are singing and dancing. The cheerful mood permeates the air. One intoxicated person pleads us to join them in drinking the liquor. We refuse respectfully. He thanks us for coming to Sikkim, especially to Yuksam, his own village. I wonder who should thank whom.

Mrs. Pradhan serves us the same food she prepared for her family. The home-cooked food is delicious. We finish it while Mr. Pradhan entertains us with his stories in high-pitched tone. His words echo in the ears even when he is not speaking anything. But, indeed, he plays a good host. The walk under the dark sky after the dinner is a relaxed affair. We stop at a shop to eat chikki, our dessert for the day. The whole bed is available to sleep in in the room. After 10 days, I will sleep outside a sleeping bag. From the prison that was the sleeping bag, I can almost sense the whole sky open above me. I reflect on my time in the mountains – I did not think about stock markets, Indian cricket teams, the work pressure or the world affairs during any of those wonderful days. How simple, ecstatic and surreal the life was! I am slipped into delirium.

Day 13 : From the Old Capital to the New Capital

The early morning finds us at Gupta’s for a steaming cup of tea. We load our luggage on the taxi which is to take us to Gangtok, Sikkim’s current capital. Biren and Birjubhaiya also join us in our journey as we need to pay them once we withdraw money from an ATM there. Besides 5 of us, there is no other passenger in the taxi. Everyone is silent on the way. The solemn look is constant on each face. What’s going in the minds? About the trek? About the days to come? About the imminent separation? Or is it tiredness which I equate with gloom?

One by one every town pass by us – Pelling, Geyzing, Legship etc. Just before Ravangla, we stop for a break on a winding road. The Kangchenjunga mountain range which we saw so closely is visible in distance. The snow-capped mountains watch over the green and brown lower mountains. There are hardly any clouds on those white pillars of the snow. Why the sky was not so clear when we were there? Is this a cruel game the nature plays? Or is it effect of distance? I will not know the answer of that, but the view Kagnchenjunga provided from the Goechela View Point 2 will remain fixed in my eyes forever, however brief period that was. What we see now is vastness of the emperor, what we saw then was the greatness.

After Singtam, we join NH31A. While we were going to Yuksam from Siliguri, I was perplexed by the absence of Border Roads Organization(BRO). My favorite BRO builds durable roads and bridges in these difficult terrains. What did not strike me than was that the BRO is a military arm first, and they work in the areas which are strategically located near the borders. As such, Yuksam and the West Sikkim do no pose any threat to Indian national security as it borders with almost friendly and very small Nepal and well-protected by the natural vertical walls of Singalila range. The north and the east Sikkim are different. Their proximity with Chinese border render them strategic in the security map and the roads are the veins which carry the vital supply of military needs. That explains the BRO landmarks I see on the road now. No doubt it helps common people also as the roads are the only way one can travel in this part of the country. I miss the witty BRO road safety messages on this stretch though.

The flower plants in the side of the mountain wall greet us outside Gangtok. If the outrageously colorful flowers are any signs, Gangtok will be beautiful beyond my imagination. We reach there at 11 AM. After climbing up a narrow file of steps, we step on the Mahatma Gandhi Marg, or the MG Marg, of the city. Looking at the street, my first thought is – where am I? An inexplicable chord touches the heart in an instant. The litter-free and spit-free area is clean beyond comparison. The column of different varieties of the flowers divide the road. On both the sides of it, the benches are laid for the people to sit back and enjoy the good weather. Multi-storied buildings of various colors, mainly the shades of green, rise over both the sides. A solitary tree stands in the middle of the road, as if speaking about the love of the people for the environment. Each Indian town boasts of one MG Road and I have not been to many towns of the country, but to my mind, I have no doubt that this the cleanliest and the most beautiful MG Road of the country. Bapu would be proud of it! Bapu might have not travelled to this remote place which does not have any rail network in the state, but the MG Road speaks off the virtues of cleanliness Bapu preached and followed so vigorously. Ironical it is that India’s best MG Road is in a state which was not part of the country till as late as 1975. And to say that Porbandar, the non-violent messiah’s birthplace, was the crime capital of the state of Gujarat till very recently!

Once on the MG Marg, we do not want to stay anywhere else. We pay to Biren and Birjubhaiya and they depart as they need to catch the taxi back to Yuksam. May we meet them soon again, on another fine trek. We find a room in a hotel on the MG Marg itself. The room overlooks the sprawling Gangtok city and the valley beyond that. The serpentine roads are crisscrossing the green landscape. On the horizon, among the clouds the massifs of Kangchenjunga range are visible among the army of the clouds. No wonder the Sikkimese people venerate Kangchenjunga. Like God, it’s omnipresent here. Perhaps it is the God.

In the afternoon We again set out to explore the MG Marg. The road is L-shaped. One side of the longer stretch is open for vehicular traffic. The side for the pedestrians is well-paved with tiles so that it can remain clean in the rain also. The wooden benches are polished and almost all of them are occupied even in the afternoon. Opposite to our hotel, there is a small statue of Bapu, in the middle of the road, surrounded by red, purple, pink and white flowers and the poles with hanging goblets of light.  There are sprinklers set between the plants at regular distance. I examine the plants. Every plant seems to be different than the other, except one particular plant which barely grows more than half a foot. Over the long line of these plants, the difference is the color of the flowers – of blue, yellow, white and pink.

At the end of the MG Marg, there is Star Theater. The posters of many movies stuck on its walls give it a colorful look. There is an exhibition going on there – projecting gangtok. Suman and I get inside to take a look. On the ground floor there is a photography exhibition. One particular picture which catches my attention is that of a long queue of people and empty cylinders, just like the one I saw yesterday in Yuksam. The problem is common across the whole state. The caption below the picture says it all – LPG:Line Patience Gas.

The exhibition on the first floor of the theater is about the future of the city. Various architectural projects planned for the city are depicted there.They are about flyovers, sewage systems, traffic management, malls etc. My favorite ones are the Butterfly Bridge, a bridge the top-view of which looks like a butterfly, and Gangtok Tower, a giant structure destined to be built in the middle of the city. Good thing about these projects are they are planned with keeping environment in the sight. I hope to see them as major landmarks during my future visits.

In appreciating the MG Marg till now, I have not noticed the shops on the road which draw people in hoards to this vibrant street. There are small sweet shops which serve mouth-watering delicacies, the smell of which makes one forget about everything else. The curio shops on both the sides display the local handicrafts, the hand-fans and artifacts of inviting beauty. Inside one such shop, I cannot resist myself from buying a whole lot of little wonders. We buy the colorful Tibetan cups with paintings of animals on it, some real and some mythological, from another shop. While returning, the rain also visits the MG Marg. The pedestrians rush to find a cover. Those who have umbrellas open them and bring their sky closer to them. Watching over the proceedings from a pavement standing under a roof, I watch the umbrellas playing with the rain. They are of all the colors, sizes and designs. Merging them all will make a rainbow. Instantly I fall in love with umbrellas. The words fall from my mouth as effortlessly as the rain in front of me – Ambar ka tukda tauda, lakdi ka hathha jauda, haath me apne aasmaan hai. The desire for one such umbrella takes the form within.

In the evening we decide to stroll away from MG Marg for a change. We cross to the other side by the footbridge adjacent to the Sikkim Tourism Office on MG Marg. There is a small bookshop on the base of the footbridge. Browsing thru the collection, we end up buying some travel books and a Tibetan story of love and magic. Glancing over the other side of the road, both Jaggi and I notice the poster of the movie Sikkim by Satyajit Ray. This documentary feature film was banned for many years and the ban was removed recently. The Vajra theater in the city is showcasing it. We want to watch it. Suman decides to stay back. As the theater is not very far, about couple of kilometers , and we have time on hand, we decide to walk the distance. Various government administrative buildings are along the way. The architecture of these buildings is simple but beautiful, reminiscent of the yore. The footpath is well-paved with cement bricks and a strong railing prevents the pedestrians from falling down on the road by mistake. All the roads in the city have such footpaths. The roads are closed for heavy vehicles. It’s amazing how much care has been put for everyone in the planning.

In our excitement to watch the movie, we forgot to realize that the poster was put as the next-change. It’s Thursday today and the movie will be screened from tomorrow, the Friday, as it happens with the release of all the new movies. Our bad! We enjoyed the walk though, and we don’t mind going back on our feet again. From a small opening on the road, where there is no building standing, we can see the twilight on the Kangchenjunga range.  The orange, red and the pink mix in delightful proportion to present another magnificent view of the mountains. Another day spent in the mountains! I am loving it!

We stop by at the Gram Shree Handicraft Mela on our way back. Craftsmen from all over the state come here to display their art. I buy a couple of things. As it’s time to wind up the day, there is an air of funfair in the mela. Some boys and girls are dancing on the tunes of Sheila Ki Jawani, Kajrare and other popular Bollywood songs. It’s unbelievable how Bollywood spans out to the people of this country who differ so much in their cultures and languages. But then it’s hard to believe so many things about India itself.

We wander around on the MG Marg in the night. We keep eating snacks from small shops. The soft music is played on. Another specialty of the MG Marg is the Bose speakers attached on the light poles. These high-quality speakers air the music the whole day. I did not notice it during the day. The beloved MG Marg keeps springing surprises. I am running out of superlatives for the road now. I will rest at it.  

Day 14: The End is the New Beginning

We search for tea early morning while walking towards the point from where we saw Kangchenjunga last evening. The tea shops are not open yet. We find tea only in one place, in a hospital, that too machine-made tea. After paying our morning respects to the emperor, we come back to the MG Marg. Hot kachoris and another round of tea sooth our stomachs. People are flogging the street. On their morning jog, they greet each other with salutary messages. Every bench is occupied. People come and shake hands with those whom they know. They are chatting, unmindful of who sits next to them. Those who are alone are reading newspapers or sucking the surroundings in. We measure the length and the breadth of the road again. While returning back, next to the Bapu’s statue, three kids approach me and request me to click their photo. They pull me to give force to their request. That is not needed, I will do it anyway. They look like destitute children. After every click, they request for one more and I happily oblige. It’s nice to see the innocent smile on their faces. For a moment, I feel Bapu is smiling inside me. For that the briefest of the moment, I am Bapu.

We are doing what the bulk of the tourists do – clicking our pictures in front of the signboard which announces the MG Marg. A foreigner is playing with a ball. He throws the ball in the air, the ball comes down to the earth but his gaze did not follow it. Instead he keeps on looking at the sky. I try to see what he is so keenly looking at in the sky. The heart momentarily stops beating. Wow! a spectacle has taken place in the sky. I have never seen such a cosmic wonder. Centering the sun, a full ring is formed around. The ring looks like a rainbow. The blue outer edge and the red inner edge form the perfect 22 degree halo. It is so wonderful. I call it the Lord of the rings.

We watch the halo till our necks start paining. We get back to our hotel, freshen up, pay the bills and venture out again on the MG Marg! My last meal in Sikkim is Aloo Chop, very spicy and tasty. We take our luggage from the hotel and hire a shared taxi to the bus stand. Outside the bus stand, we get the bus to Siliguri. While we load our luggage on the top of the bus, the traffic is halted and the temper flares. Good thing is that we need not to wait for the bus. We take our seats inside and take one last look over the Gangtok city. My memories of the city will largely consist of the MG Marg and the halo. There are many places to explore for a few more visits, I guess.

The bus journey feels dull after our happening undertakings in last 12 days. The heat is increasing as we approach the plains. The flying dust discloses the nature of where we are heading. We cool ourselves with sweet misti doi. That will be my saving grace for next week. The Teesta’s roar is heard again as we near the border of the state to West Bengal. The sunrays dance in flashy costumes on the water of the river. From the narrow high-altitude path, it’s widening in the plains. The uproar is dying down to slow murmur now, falsely giving the impression as if its might is reduced. If anything, it has acquired the strength of rhythm and continuity.

I have not thought about running much except while I talked to Roshni while taking dinner at Pradhan’s in Yuksam. Her cousin, Samir, has booked my accommodation in Dolly Inn on Bidhan Road in Siliguri. I check in in the hotel. Suman and Jaggi also come with me to freshen up before leaving for the NJP railway station in the evening. They have a train to Kolkata today. We meet Amit Joshi, another runner from Mumbai, who is also part of the gang which is going to run 50K from Lohapool to Pedong, Roshni’s native town.

We walk around on the Bidhan Road and eat samosa with tea. The sweets and snacks shops are plenty. It’s the time when people return home from their work. On their way back, they stop in such a shop, have a piece of jalebi or jamun, and get some packed for their families. We don’t need to get the sweets packed, so we finish more than our fair share at one of the shops.

It’s time for Jaggi and Suman to leave. Farewells are always uncomfortable, more so when you have shared majestic moments like the ones we did. In short span of time, we have been part of memorable moments. These two gentlemen are my family for last few days and I am going to miss them. I wonder if the next 7 days of life will give me as much pleasure, or even half of that. I will meet Jaggi in Bangalore but Suman? Not sure when will I meet him again. Our bonding is founded on and strengthened by the mountains, and in all likelihood we shall see each other again when another mountain calls both of us.  Farewell fellas!

Once my friends leave, I aimlessly walk on the Bidhan Road, not looking for anything but just to kill the time. Kill the time, did I say? How un-thoughtful! In reality the time kills everyone, slowly and surely. There is chaos on the road. Hand-pulled carts, cycle rickshaws, cycles, bikes, cars and buses rush violently to the empty spaces on the road. How on earth these things move in this anarchy? Maybe I am not back to the city mentally though my body is well back to it. I get off from the Bidhan Road to inside the markets. There is a vegetables and fruits market, clothes market, toys market etc. The prominent names for shopping are the Hongkong Market and the Bidhan Market. I will see them with more clarity tomorrow. For now my wandering is just concentrated on getting myself tired to retire early in the bed.

I take dinner at Prabhu Bhoj on Bidhan Market, followed by couple of sweets. Oh, I love them! I stop by at a paanwala’s, before returning to my hotel room. Truly alone, by myself, I recognize that the first phase, the longest one, of my trip is over. From trekking, it will be running which will take precedence now. I am moving to the part two of my journey. The Teesta is done with trekking wild in the high mountains; it’s time to slow, continuous, rhythmical running in the plains. Time to start another story…

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 9-10)

Day 9 : Slightly  Closer

The early dawn has brought splendid sunshine with it. We are getting glimpses of what Thangsing can provide and what we missed yesterday – close and clear view of Mt Pandim. The massif of the mountain is thick smooth layer of snow. The side falling on the river side is sporadically showered with snow. The other side is fat skin of snow. The mountain is so close that one is tempted to start climbing to reach the peak. But the climb is more than 2500m and we are not trained for mountaineering. Joshua, one of our foreigner friends, says that the hill behind the Hut offers good view of the mountains. Our breakfast is almost ready but we are drawn into viewing the mountains first. We take the small uphill trail behind the Hut. The snow has accumulated on every inch of the space. The rhododendrons are standing like zombies dressed in white. I see footmarks. Someone else must have also gone by this trail. After a few steps, the trail reaches a dead end. The footsteps are now following a random path between the trees. I duck myself in many places to save my head from hitting the trees.

 

We rejoin the trail again once we negotiate the patch of rhododendrons. The narrow trail is steeper now. It’s quite cold than what it was at the camp. The vertical climb finally takes us to the highest point of the hill. Our eyes momentarily set on Pandim before stretching far beyond. Far far on the horizon, from among the clouds, a peak rises high above, out of reach for its neighboring peaks. That’s Kangchenjunga! We are looking at the southern side of India’s highest mountain. We can see only one side of the mountain from this point. The side is extending beyond our vision. The mountain is peeping out of its window to look at us. Nah, to have us its celebrated look. It’s calling for us. We are not very far now.

 

After breakfast we are ready to start for Lamuney, our next stop. Joshua and his family is returning back to Yuksom, so we bid them goodbye. The trek to Lamuney is very easy…the easiest we have till now. There is still snow on it. We are walking between the rift created by Pandim and Kabru mountains with river Prek Chu on one side. We cross the two bridges we visited yesterday. Small streams are aplenty on the way. They are ripe with wafer thin infant ice. They run their course before melting into Prek Chu. On our right, just behind Mt Pandim, we get first glance of Mt Japuno.Though it is slightly higher than Pandim, it’s view is obstructed by Pandim from most places because of it being very close to Pandim.

The gradient is small and the trail is wide with red and brown grass on both the sides. The ground is ideal for yak grazing. On our left, a brown plateau-like mountain has spread itself over long distance. It perplexes me that I have not seen any wild animals here. Jaggi has an explanation though. He thinks that even the animals are camouflaged here. He saw some animals during his trek last year and it was very difficult to differentiate them from the surroundings. A few red colored tents are visible now and that is Lamuney. The day is still bright and we intend to go to Samiti lake today itself to get magnificent reflection of Mt Pandim in the lake water.

A few foreigners are sipping tea sitting on rocks. We say them hi. 3 local people, presumably porters, are playing cricket! We Indians love cricket and can’t get enough of it, can we? They have made stumps and bat from wood. Clothes and plastic wrapped in a ball makes their last required accessory. We stand there, admiring their game at more than 4000m altitude. I click some pictures of them. My hands are inching inside the gloves to hold the ball. The small ice flakes have already started showering us. The sun is unsighted now. I don’t think we should go to Samiti lake in this weather. I look at Jaggi and we know that it’s the end of trekking for the day. Surprisingly I am not much bothered. I jump onto the cricket field and join the gang. Suman also follows me. India’s recent world cup victory is still fresh in my mind, as fresh as the water of Prek Chu running besides us. It’s time to break some stumps and swing the bat wild.

 

The game of cricket is refreshing but it has to end. The snowfall has increased. We sit inside someone else’s dining tent as our tent is not set up yet. We play cards, this may be the umpteenth time, watched over by our cricketer friends. Lunch is served and taken care of. Once it starts snowing, the day becomes monotonous and boring in the mountains. There is nothing to do. Your world reduces to your tent and sleeping bag and that’s not real world. That moment onwards, it’s more or less a long wait for the night, and eventually the next day of bright sun. The snow is relentless. No wonder the high-rising and ever-standing mountains are the only ones who can tackle the snow effectively. I remember one of my favorite songs - parvatoh pe barfaan barfaan, parvatoh pe thandi barfaan, barsan laagi re.

In the evening –there is no way to tell except with a watch- Jaggi and I go for a walk towards Samiti lake. Our yakman is tending his yaks. He is also going in the same direction. Prek Chu is slightly dangerous in the narrow and precipitous gorge. He crosses the river to the other side with the yaks. We try to cross but sensing our discomfort, he advises us not to go over to that side. We climb the nearby hill. The snow is severe after combining with heavy wind. Our blue-yellow tent is white now. The kitchen tent is also white. I can’t tell where is Pandim, where is Kangchenjunga. Where am I? I want to see my friends. I miss them. I miss my mother. I want to go back, but not before I see Kangchenjunga.

During the dinner inside our kitchen tent, our yakman is in mood for some obscene jokes. His style of telling a joke is more humorous than his actual joke. We enjoy it after a dull afternoon. We go to sleep early as we have to wake up really early tomorrow to go to Goechela, our destination. Besides the game of cricket, the only good thing the day brought was to take us closer to Goechela. And that’s not a small thing. Tomorrow we will be there with the mighty mountain…

The High and the Low

Jaggi gets up at around 00:30 to answer nature’s call. When he returns back to the tent, I ask him if the sky is clear outside. He says that it’s largely clear. Before I went to sleep, it was cloudy. No stars were visible. I was afraid that the weather might spoil our trek or view of Kangchenjunga. I am a bit relieved now. We wake up properly at 1:30 in the morning, if that can be called a morning. The sky is cloudy :( Given that good and bad weather change hands quite often in the mountains, we do not want to sit idly waiting for it to get cleared. As long as we do not have to face rain or snowfall on the way, we are good to go. Moreover, we will take that chance to have any possibility of seeing Kangchenjunga burning with red lava like sunlight.

Birjubhaiya makes us hot black tea and wish us good luck. You need them both, the tea and the luck. Along with Biren, Novel, our porter, also is accompanying us. He is going to Goechela View Point for the first time in his life, so am I. I feel more clothes on me than I have ever felt in whole my life – upon an inner thermal, there is a tee-shirt, a winter jacket and a raincoat. Two pairs of socks are trying to protect my feet while two caps are on the guard to save my little brains. It’s totally dark –no wonder- and the only source of light is my headlamp which illuminates my path ahead for about 3-4 meters. We are walking in single file with Biren at the front and Povel at the rear.

We cross the Prek Chu streams and climb up the hills before the Samiti lake. The sky is slowly opening up, revealing the soft glow of the moon and the twinkling little stars. Even in the darkness, we reach Samiti lake in no time. I realize how easier it would have been the previous day had we had supporting weather. There is a Trekkers’ Hut at Samiti Lake. In old days, camping and staying at Samiti Lake was permissible. Not any more. The hut is abandoned now. It is reminiscent of a haunted house – broken windows, screeching door, foliage on the ceiling and inside the hut.

We leave Samiti lake after a few moments. Hopefully when we return back, we will get to see a beautiful reflection of Mt Pandim in the lake. We are walking on the snow beside the water channel which is the source of Samiti lake. We do not know how far we are from the channel. The sound of the stream in the silence of the night is scary. I feel as if we are on the bank of a big river whose depth no living man can fathom. We try to stay close to each other so that none of us is lost.

On the way to Zemathang, the trail becomes very narrow and steep. My eyes are fixated on the trail. I see no left or right. But inside my heart I know that one wrong step can lead me to the frozen whiteness forever. My assessment of the risk may be exaggerated but that is what darkness can do. When you do not know or cannot see what you are up against, you always imagine that you are up against the worst monster. The sky is almost clear of clouds now. The stars are dancing to the tunes of the moon in a dazzling performance. The snow-covered trail is no less spectacular. The snow glistens brightly in the white background. It is as if I am looking at a reflection of the sky on the earth. There are twinkling stars in the dark black sky and twinkling snow on the white earth.   

After crossing Zemathang, we reach Goechela View Point 1. It’s still dark and we hope to reach to the View Point 2 before sunrise.  Biren asks us last time if we really want to go to VP2. He has his reasons. The VP1 is on a hill from where we need to descend into a plain of snow on the way to VP2. The descent is steep, almost 45 degree gradient. The climb to VP2 after that will be similar. We all nod our heads in affirmative. It’s hard to see the trail clearly in the dark. The snow compounds the danger of steep descent by making the trail slippery. I don’t trust my legs. In couple of places they slip against their own accord. I walk on four legs, with one of my hands holding the stick tightly and the other resting on the snow wall. Jaggi asks us to maintain some distance between us lest one person falling will result into a cascading effect. Suman is behind us and he trips down dangerously once. Luckily for him, and for us, Povel who is behind him catches his backpack just in time to prevent him from taking a short cut to the plain nothingness. All the while, with every step downward, I imagine about returning on the same path and having to climb up the very incline. That is nightmare!

That precipitous descent takes us to a cleft. Wherever I see, I only see the snow. We are walking on the gentle slopes instead of in the middle of the plain. With every step, we slide towards the center. It’s kind of snow-surfing without a surfboard. As we walk faster, and here we can, the sliding becomes more enjoyable.  Biren and Jaggi climb to the ridge to find out the correct trail as we are not sure if we are on the right one. We continue walking on the rich snow. We increase our speed as the daylight is breaking slowly, but it will be soon bright. It’s a long walk, very long one. I look for hint of the tall mountains, but cannot find any.  The ridges on both the sides are quite close and no other mountain is visible on the horizon. The altitude is more than 4600m now. VP2 is at around 5000m mark. We should not be very far, but the climb is very gradual. At last, after an hour’s walk which felt like not less than a day, I see Kabru peaks, after two days again! The joy of seeing the monks again quickly vanish in the thin air, as the peaks are already smiling in the after-glow of the first sunrays of the day. That means the golden light is gone and what we will see will be only silver white light donning the pinnacles.

 

I am almost running now, to get to the VP2 as fast as possible. I see Biren waiting at the base of the VP2. All the nearby mountains are visible from there – Kabru peaks and their neighbors – but one mountain is conspicuously missing. Without that one we will not consider the trip worthy of the effort we have put in. Kangchenjunga is tormenting us even now. At this point our collective life has only one meaning and motive – meeting the mountain. So the steep climb of more than 300m starts toward the peak of VP2, which will give us the clear view of object of our obsession.

We follow Biren on the narrow trail up. The temperature is surely below the freezing point. The peak which feels so near is actually quite far. One can realize that only when one tries to reach there. The energy is leaving us, but the determination fuel the legs to take one more step closer. Our foreigner friends have joined us. They started an hour after us from Lamuney. How good trekkers they are!

 

I drag myself up to the narrow ridge. Biren is ahead of me, but at a lesser altitude. I ask him for the trail. Suman is behind me. Biren says that we are on a wrong trail, we should go down a bit and take the correct trail. I don’t see any trace of the trail below. On the contrary I find a trail of not more than a foot wide on the ridge. Our foreigner friends get pass by us. I start following them. Biren warns me but I see no other path ahead. On my left I see a frozen water body. On the right is the steepest of the slants. I stop there and take a glance of the surroundings. A wrong step on the either side and I am next to nothing in a moment at the height of 16000 feet. A few steps further, the foreigners are celebrating. The prayer flags are fluttering. That is VP2. The Kangchenjunga is barely visible among the clouds. That sight gives me courage. We march on. Jaggi and Povel are coming from the other trail behind us.  

Kangchenjunga literally means The Five Treasures of Snow, referring to the five peaks of the mountain. As we all gather at the VP2, the veil of clouds is lifted from the huge massif of the Mt Kangchenjunga, India’s highest and the world’s third highest peak, at 8586m. What is revealed is sheer beauty, pristine and pure. We can see only one peak. In front of it, the Pandim becomes just a gatekeeper at the door. The Kabrus are only the loyal servants. The emperor is in front of us, royal, majestic, proud and almost arrogant. No mountain is carved as perfectly and precisely as this one. The sides join at the pinnacle as if they are extensions of each other. Clad in the full white, the firm emperor is sitting on the throne that is sky, unmindful of who looks at it and if anyone looks at it at all. It’s so self-assured of its powers that it needs no eulogies and confirmation from others and none can effectively sum up the great strength it possesses. I am looking at the highest of the highs and feeling the same. My only regret is that we cannot see it dressed in red or golden robs of the morning sun. How extravagantly beautiful that scene would have been!

 

It’s very cold here and my hands and feet are numb now. We all dance our celebratory Kangchenjunga jig there at 4916m altitude. Everyone seems to be possessed. One of our foreigner friends is hurling abusive words at Kangchenjunga which you can only attribute to the extreme love. The other one is singing Om Namah Shivay at the highest pitch of his vocal chords. Jaggi, Suman and I do our huddle dance. All of us are so happy. Then a sudden lightening strikes me within which empties me from inside. I want to share this happiness with my loved ones who are not here with me. Happiness is only real when shared, those last words etched in Christopher McCandless’s book in the movie Into the Wild appears before my mind. Though I am sharing the happiness with whoever is present here, the flood of happiness inside wants to drown a few others. I slump down to low from the high I experienced a few moments back. I want to blow up wind in the direction of the ones I love and spread my happiness to them in the form of a cool breeze. I know they will enjoy that breeze in these hot summer days wherever they are. I am sure I will give up my world to see them here at this moment, but what is my world but them. Yet how I know that they are all with me in spirit!

We keep on drinking the blissful beauty of Kangchenjunga for a long time. Ultimately the clouds again start gathering over the peaks and the cold gets hold of us. We start back, saying goodbye to the mountain unwillingly. On the way down to the base of the VP2, I slip twice but once my backpack saves me and the other time Povel holds me from behind. I keep on laughing though. I guess the joy of achieving the goal and the pain of not sharing it with my loved ones make me lose the focus. Once I hold Jaggi from falling and the next moment I myself fall flat on the snow.

I am feeling depressed now. A bit lost. The goal is achieved quite well and now I am empty inside. Everything is white, and inside it’s black. In front of me is a sea of blinding white, and I am unable to say if it’s real or if I am dreaming. I am walking on the trail in the direction of Lamuney, I think but I may be walking in the other direction also. Or I may not be walking at all. I am totally disoriented. I am in front of everyone else, walking at fast pace to run away from the white. I do not realize that there is a deer on the ridge of the distant mountain.  Jaggi stops me and points at the deer. I think it’s a stone but when it moves I realize I have become a stone. No doubt the animal is camouflaged. It strikes me then that why there are no Ruskin Bond or Rudyard Kipling stories about the wild animals in Sikkim. If you cannot sight them, you cannot write about them.

 

I remark that I may become color-blind. Suman brings more miseries to my sorry state by telling that color blindness becomes effective after a day so person comes to know about it the next day. The climb back to VP1 is hardly troublesome now in the daylight. The darkness accentuated the sense of danger in the morning or maybe I am not feeling anything now. The snow becomes our unwanted companion there. Though VP1 also offers good view of Kangchenjunga, the clouds and the snow have robbed us of that delight. That would have helped me somewhat to rid of my somber mood. I want to go back soon so I hurriedly cross the VP1 and Zemathang. Nature comes to my help finally. From a distance, I see a green lake nestled between the mountains. That is Samiti lake. Looking at it I find myself cheerful again.

I reach to the Samiti lake before everyone else. I find my camera’s memory card full. I remove it and insert a new one. To my horror, the camera does not recognize it! The beautiful blue magpies with orange beaks have gathered around me to get themselves clicked and my camera flunks at the most inopportune time. I try umpteen times to get the memory card working, but to no avail. In the end I give up, raging with anger. I see the magnificent birds play the games in the water. A rhythmic and curvaceous water channel ends up in the lake coming from the direction of Zemathang, thus becoming its source of water. The reflections of the surrounding mountains is quite weak in the lake because of the clouds. Pandim is not at all visible.  We stay at the lake for sometime, reflecting back on our journey so far. On our way back to Lamuney, we see a lot of birds, the most notably a black-and-orange bird. A wondrous group of white-winged birds take the flight like a squadron of air-force planes. I see our blue and yellow tent again. The yaks are grazing. I am back to relative sanity.

 

We take our lunch outside the Lamuney camp while the sun is shining for the brief period of time. The slow snowfall starts before we finish our lunch. We start walking towards the Thangsing immediately after the lunch, as we want to reach to Kakchurong today and spend the night there. For the full stretch I keep on thinking about Mt Kangchenjunga and more about calling my parents and the friends. By the time we reach Thangsing, the snow is coming in sheets. We want to wait at Thangsing but Birjubhaiya forces us to start for Kakchurong without any further delay. The boulder strewn steep descent is slippery because of the snowfall. On top of that, the fresh yak dung has made it treacherous. On the way we stop many times as we spot some birds in the forest. As we go down, the birds are getting bigger in the size.  Some of them are rich in colors.

We reach Kakchurong late in the afternoon. There are only two long rooms in the Hut here. One is utilized by trekkers and the other by their support staff. There are 9 foreigners in our room along with we 3 Indians. It’s still snowing outside and the gloom sets in. Birjubhaiya treats us with jaalmudi. We play cards for some time. The dinner is served early, after which we go to sleep immediately at 6:30. The wooden flooring of the room means that whenever someone walks in it, the heavy thud wakes everyone up. I feel as if the room is also shivering in the cold. I reflect back on the day. It was the day which brought insurmountable high and unfathomable low in same measure. Such is life.

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 7-8)

Day 7 : There are no differences under the shadow of a tree

The night reverted to its normal ways again, waking me frequently during the dark stretch. I had never been inside a tent for a night before, and it feels good to see that the tent protected us for the full night and did not leave us under the sky by flying awry in the windy weather. We have plans to go to Chaurikhang(4380m) and from there to Lam Pokhri before returning back to Bikbari(3800m) and eventually to Dzongri today. That means the day is going to be a long one. Biren and Birjubhaiya do not think that we can do all that in a day. We still want to try so we start early at 6 AM. The clouds are hovering around above our heads. The trail is gradually climbing up. We have to cross many rivulets on the way. The clear streams are passing thru the maze of rocks to finally become one with Ratong Chu.

Occasionally I hear a bird tweeting from behind the bushes or on top of the brown ridge of the mountain on our left. All efforts to sight them go in vein for light is dim because of the clouds and, according to Jaggi, most of these birds are camouflaged with the surroundings. The serious ascent starts from the moment we leave behind the flat grassland. The sun is seen between the clouds but it’s devoid of its prowess and is reduced to a mere white circle. The mountains on the opposite side of the river look like a sleeping tiger as the vertical stripes of snow lay on the slopes. A flock of birds take its flight in an army-like formation just before our eyes. The boulder strewn trail is precipitous now. We take short little breaks every now and then. After persistent effort for two and half hours, we reach to Chaurikhang, the site of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute(HMI) base camp. The Garmin shows 4500m altitude. 

Our hopes of going further to Lam Pokhri are dashed when the in-charge of the camp, Mahadev Singh,  stops us at the camp. He says that it’s not permissible to go any further. We have come savoring the dreams of seeing Ratong Glacier on the ways, and the milky white reflection of it in Lam Pokhri water. The trainees at the camp have gathered in one place to start the day’s activities. My hands are freezing inside my gloves. We want reward for our effort, and the remedy to rid of the dejection of not being able to go further. And what better way to get compensation than a hot steaming cup of tea in this cold? Jaggi uses his Big B charm and the age of wisdom to get Mahadev Singh into talking and receiving an offer for tea. He dutifully obliges.

We watch the trainees practicing rock-climbing from distance. The camp sees many adventure enthusiasts coming from every part of the country and world to do some serious training. There are some 150 trainees in the camp right now. I would like to do this basic level course some day. Suman has tried to register for the camp in the past, but his application was rejected because he is under-weight. Now that'’s trouble! I fear same fate for my application if I try it ever. The shocking fact was that Suman has less weight than me! i don’t get to see such people often.

In the background, Mt Ratong and Kabru peaks can be seen when clouds show some mercy. They are not much merciful though. My eyes keep going in the direction of Ratong and Lam Pokhri. Some other day, says the part of me which complies to all the rules. Disguise them, break the rules and set out on your way, says the rebellious twin. Rules are designed to keep the society in order is the winning argument. Some birds are gliding effortlessly in the sky. They have no rules to comply, I assume. And still they are together, no infighting, no disorder, no grudge. What makes us humans so complex? Why can’t we just be ourselves and let others be themselves?

 

After the tea which took some doing on Jaggi’s part to get, we are again on our way back to Bikbari. Kaali, our loyal dog, decides that she has had enough of us. She does not want to come back with us. We leave her at the camp. The return journey does not take much time as the steep fall helps us. We reach to Bikbari camp at 10:15. I am already tired and give myself up to the inviting arms of the grassland. The journey to Dzongri is long one so we decide to take brunch here. Birjubhaiya prepares noodles soup, halwa and omelet for our ever-hungry stomachs. With some(!) food inside our bellies, we are ready to start the next part of our trekking for the day.

While coming to Bikbari from Dzongri, we came via Dzongrila pass. Biren says that we will take different route while going back, which is supposedly easier. We cross the river to the other side into the forest. It’s almost noon and the day is hot. I remove the extra layers of warm clothing. The forest is full of rhododendron trees. Most of them are dry. While crossing one dry stream, Suman twists his right ankle. We stop and wait as he applies lotion. I hope it doesn’t hamper his walking. He is ready to go now. I walk behind everyone else for some time. Suman’s movement does not suggest any trouble. Thank God! Ratong Chu is with us, the roar constantly making its present felt. On the opposite side, we can see some waterfalls breaching the mountain walls. They are beautiful. The snow-capped mountains of Singalila range in Nepal grow taller as we approach the riverside of Mt Doring.

There are no thorns in the trees, but the dry rhododendrons cut my skin nonetheless. The trail is narrow and there is no chance I can escape my brush with these trees. There are bruises along the half exposed arms. The day feels hotter among the trees. The sun is hitting us from the west. There is a fine stretch of around 200 meters, flat and scenic, before we start climbing Doring. The trail is made of sand or delicate soil. That does not help our cause. The legs feel heavy. Many a times I catch a branch of a tree to support myself. There seems no end of the climb. When Biren said this will be an easy trail, I thought we will be whizzing past our way to Dzongri. This turns out to be quite different than my initial thought. Finally, passing thru some thick green cover of rhododendrons, we reach to a point which is the peak of Doring. We sit for a while there before descending into Dablakhang meadows.

 

From the Doring Hill, we climb down to Dzongri Pokhri. There is no water in the lake now. It must have been beautiful when it had water. The damp and dry soil crisscross the lake which is bordered by rocks. The Dablakhang meadows look beautiful in the backdrop of Singalila range and Mt Pandim. Jaggi and I lose our way in the meadows. It takes us some time to figure out the right direction towards Dzongri Hut.  Upon reaching Dzongri Hut, I expect to go to room and crash down in my sleeping bag, as the day has been very long and tiring. I see our blue and yellow tent set far from the hut. The Hut can’t be so crowded that we have no room left for us! Sleeping in the tent in the night will be difficult as the snowfall is regular in this part of the world in nights. The lady who looks after the Hut says that all the rooms are occupied. We check the room which we stayed in two days back. We see only one sleeping bag there. The lady says that there is a foreigner in that room. So what? We can share the room, like we did last time. The rule is that when there are not enough rooms, trekkers share the space to make lives of their fellow travelers little easier. A local person who looks like a guide comes to us and remarks that foreigners need to be given first preference over the Indians! The foreigner guest will not share room with anyone else. Will a tree prefer a foreigner under its shadow, or for that matter an Indian? Does it even know or care about these shallow differences? Why don’t we learn much from the nature? That fret us, especially Jaggi. He gives him angry look and asks him to keep out of the matter while he talks to the in-charge. The altercation assumes heated proposition as the supposedly-a-guide does not budge and threatens us that he can spoil our trekking expedition. He pretends to be an Environment Conservation Committee member and chides us not to challenge his powers. Jaggi, not flustered by such fake claims and wanting to fight for his rights, asks him to do his real duty as ECC member and not step onto someone else’s shoes. In our hearts, we all know that he is just a guide or a travel agent. The poor lady does not speak much. She must have not been thru such situation. Finally the pretender gives up, sensing our resistance. He takes out the sleeping bag from the room and sets up the tent outside instead of allowing the foreigner sharing room with us. Biren tells us that he is just a guide-cum-travel agent from Gangtok.

After having tea and snacks, Jaggi and I go for walk as Suman decides to take some rest. A foreigner couple is sunbathing outside the Hut. We exchange greetings and start chatting. They have been to many parts of the country including Karnataka and Gujarat. They have picked some words from Kannada and Gujarati. Both of them are fond of South Indian food as well as Gujju food, especially vegetarian food. In their opinion, Gujarat offers the best vegetarian food in the country, and by the extension of that fact, in the world. I will not refute that by any means.

We have our own plate of vegetarian food of French fries, fried rice and boiled vegetables in dinner on a dining table inside the forest department house where our kitchen is set up. A game of cards followed. We trekked for almost 16 km today. All of us are tired. We go to sleep early. It was a long day but it brings us closer to Goechela, closer to Kangchenjunga, the mountain which has us in obsession. Morning, morning, come to us fast…

Day 8 : The Canvas Painted White

The morning is pleasant. There is no better time than this to make amends for your previous day’s digressions, however legitimate they might be. Jaggi tries to reconcile with the guide-cum-agent we involved in altercation with, but he is in no mood. With a squirm, he rebuffs our noble intentions and bitterly says that though we succeeded the previous day, that would not guarantee that we would succeed every time. He still holds the grudge against us. I tell him that success sides with truth. Jaggi offers that life is too big to be bitter about such small incidences. Nothing pacifies him. Young blood and bruised ego lead to a flood of anger. We leave him at that. He will see the truth some day. One can’t keep on postponing life’s valuable lessons forever.

We have an easy day today. We are going to Thangsing, which is at almost same altitude as Dzongri. Biren says that the trail is flat or downwards for the most part. We climb the hill on the North-East of Dzongri Hut before descending into plains on the other side. In far distance, we can see the river Prek Chu running its course in the gorge created by Mt Pandim and Mt Kabru. On our left Kabru peaks are rising over a long and gentle slope. On the far side of the river, Mt Pandim and Mt Narsing rise almost vertically to form a wall. The comfort of plains do not last long. We hit a trail of rocks. The melted snow has made the stones slippery. In places where the stones have not invaded the earth, the mud clutches the shoes. The black ornament that is the Kabru Dome has started disappearing with its taller twins. This is first time in last 4 days that the Kabru family is out of our sight. The trail is full of thick snow now. The rhododendron trees are standing in knee-dip snow. At many points we slip on icy trail. At Dasaraali Point, the Pandim stamps its authority. The majestic mountain has no competition now. The prince has become the king.

 

From Dasaraali Point, the trail to Kakchurong is downhill. The steep descent takes you down 300m in flash. It’s very hard on the knees as it’s difficult to control your speed in winding downward trail. Kakchurong is on the bank of Prek Chu river. The river is roaring menacingly. The clouds have gathered in one big heap of precipitous substance. We eat some dry fruits before starting on our way to Thangsing.  Crossing couple of small bridges on the river which has split into multiple streams before joining again in single force a little further, we start our climb. Slowly the snow starts falling. As we climb higher, the boulders are getting bigger in size. The snow is falling heavily now. I am enjoying walking in snow, with my vision broken by the falling lines of white balls. We find icicles formed around tree roots hanging in the air on the slopes or on the boulders. The force of the snowfall slows us down considerably. In a few moments, everything turns white – the mountains, the boulders, the trees, the trail and the sky.

 

The climb keeps getting difficult. How on earth people say this is easier trail? There are no easy treks in the mountains. And if there are, snow will not make them appear so. At every turn of a corner, I hope to see Thangsing Trekkers’ Hut or a prayer flag signaling for it. Not yet. I try to catch hold of Biren but he is out of reach. There is handful of snow on my backpack. White, milky white, like the raw plastic balls I saw years back. Or like the thermocol balls. If it continues like this, there will be a new mountain of snow in front of us by the evening. I notice the rhododendrons. It strikes me instantly then why the leaves and the branches of these trees or the pine trees are either downwards or upwards: that helps them ward off ice. Nature nurtures everyone and everything, and how well! Just then, climbing an almost vertical slope, I see a hut. That’s Thangsing! Aah, the relief! Biren and Birjubhaiya are already there. It’s 12:30 in the afternoon and they greet us with hot orange juice.

 

There is only one room here in Thangsing in the Trekkers’ Hut. 3 of us need to share it with 10 others, all of them foreigners. The room is made of stones, with a wooden ceiling. The inside walls are not plastered, and are uneven. Once we spread our sleeping bags in one corner, there is no space left anywhere. Probably this will help against cold in the night. Luckily some space is created when a family of 3 foreigners move to another hut operated by the forest department. 3 of us run a race in the snow in which Suman wins. I almost get tripped in the end but fortunately hold myself from falling down. We stamp our footprint on the snow, and the next wave of the never-ending fall destroys it like it never existed. The snow is ceaseless and it is depressing now. The temperature is well below zero. The noodle soup and steamed momos lift my spirit but only for a while. Everyone in the hut is reading. We buck the trend and play cards. That tempts our foreigner neighbor and he also joins us in the game of Rummy. he is new to the game and takes some time to get adjusted to.

 

A silver lining appears in the sky after 4. Everyone is out now to get whatever they can of the sun. Jaggi, Suman and I start walking upstream, in the direction of Goechela. We intend to go for some distance following the reverse trail of the river Prek Chu. We keep walking and come across a bridge supported by two wooden logs. A similar bridge follows after a few meters. We see a yakman tending his yaks while the sun is shining. That does not last long though. The clouds think that the sun has had enough attention and should go back home now. We also return back lest the snow covers us from toe to head.

Our foreigner friends insist that we should all play snow-golf. I don’t know what is that but it turns out to be an enjoyable game. And you can play it without any accessories. Some of us take small wooden logs as our preferred leverage. A few put a mid-size stone inside their dirty socks and plan to use it in the game. One person has a Frisbee. We need to throw our leverage towards some designated point, like a tree, or a stone, which is akin to a hole in golf. Every hole has par score, like in golf. If we hit the birdie in less than par number of shots, we get above par score. It’s fun game as during the long and slow game, we get to talk to each other over the walk towards the holes. We cover the full ground in front of Thangsing Hut playing the game. The game is over before the snowfall starts again.

After a quiet dinner, we go to sleep early as the snow is still relentless. After Kakchurong, the snow has been our constant companion today. Anything and everything was white. It feels the painter was running out of any color so he painted the canvas with brushes of white, layers upon layers. I hope the day stays clear when we go to Goechela. Kangchenjunga is notorious when it comes to allowing the view of its golden peaks to the visitors. As I close my eyes, first time in my life, I don’t see black. I see only white…

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 5-6)

Day 5 : The Sky Lights Up

I wake up suddenly. It feels that I have spent a long time asleep. It must be dawn. I feel for the watch to check the time. To my utter disbelief the time is just 10, not AM but PM. It’s hardly 100 minutes since I have slept. This is going to be a long night. I decide not to see the time again till morning. The sleep eludes me. The dogs are barking outside. Even they are awake! Is the night too cold or is this called altitude sickness? Judging by the constant sound of struggling movements of others, I assume they are also sleep-deprived. Krishnan’s snoring is the only formidable challenge against the mighty sickness. 

It’s our rest day. And what you do on such day? You get up early at 4 in the morning -in case you are not already up, get ready and go to watch sun rising over the sleeping mountains. I am glad Biren knocks the door. It’s been a long sleepless night and I have been waiting too long for the savior. Everyone is complaining about not getting proper sleep. Krishnan is the only one still silently wrapped up in his sleeping bag. I remark that he is the only one who could actually sleep in the night. Jabaan kheech lunga agar kisine bola mujhe achhi neend aayi hai, comes the guided salvo fired at me. The tone and the intensity is so high that we incredulously break into laughter. Krishnan, you too! I wanted to say those words but my laughing spell did not see merit in it. The morning has started well. It’s gonna be a good day.

The dawn is yet to break the night’s spell. We climb the small hill in front of Dzongri Hut and start eastward towards Dzongri Top, which offers view of sunrise over the mountains. Behind me, in the west, over the Singalila mountain range in Nepal, the almost full moon is all set to watch sun going to its business for the day. It must have snowed in the night since the path is full of fresh snow. The white ornamental snowflakes are entangled in the bushes. Most of the mountains are covered with white blanket. We are actually above the clouds. The thick layer of clouds is trying to rise to the level of the mountains.The temperature is zero degree Celsius and it feels like every bone is freezing inside the body. We cross a hill, follow the narrow trail and see the fluttering prayer flags. The flags are local people’s way to thank the Almighty to help them survive in the harsh weather. It’s also kind of landmark to identify a place. That particular place is Dzongri Top.

 

 

At 4167 meters, Dzongri Top offers the panoramic view of the full range of mountains which not many other places can provide. From East to West, Narsing, Pandim, the three Kabrus, Ratong, Kumbhakarna and Frey’s Peak stand tall. In between North Kabru and Pandim, Kangchenjunga is slightly visible, tormenting the viewer and enticing him to get closer if he wants a full view.  What catches my attention is the Kabrus: the South and North Kabru are extrelemy white, covered fully in snow and give impression if someone has plastered the snow on them working overnight. They look like the monks in white robs, unflinching in their devotion. The twins’ younger sibling, the Kabru Dome or Kabru Black, is fully black and dome-shaped. In comparison to their taller twins, it looks more human and thus fallible. That is the only black mountain in the full range. It might be out of place. Or placed strategically to enhance the contrast.

 

The sun lights up the mountains with morning light of red and golden hues. Light seems to be touching the soul of every life, be it humans or trees. The sky regains its blue color. We click some group photos for memorabilia. I am busy capturing the peaks. Krishnan is standing next to me. A foreigner lady is on his other side.

He looks at her and asks, Are you a German?

She frowningly replies, No, I am from Poland.

This conversation would have been completely forgettable if not for what follows next.

She asks back, Why did you think I am a German?

Krishnan’s reply is, From the texture of your skin…

I cough a laugh. I am barely holding myself from breaking into splits. I am not facing them so I block my mouth. This is quite a novel way to identify someone’s country. The question in my mind is, how many other textures Krishnan knows. He has solid explanation that he was living in Germany for a long time and can identify the Germans by their skin texture.

Though the sun is out now, the cold does not cease to freeze us. We cannot stand at the top for long. We start back towards Dzongri Hut. Suddenly the wind starts blowing heavily. The weak snowflakes are lifted from the ground or from the bushes in air and flying recklessly. I am slapped on face by some of them and it hurts. I better hold myself lest I will start flying in this wind. I stop on the trail, my back facing the wind, the feet firmly on ground, holding my stick and hoping that this little storm will pass. As the wind slows down a bit, I start walking fast. The chilly breeze causes me running nose. I feel as if I am breathing snow and exhaling water in the process. Penetrating the rampaging wind, I reach to the hut. Vinay struggles his way to the Hut. He is in trouble. He had trouble climbing to the top. He felt giddy. Jaggi says that he has altitude sickness. That’s another bad sign. These are signs of the challenges to come in coming days as we go higher.

The breakfast consisting of bread omelets and hot pancakes is waiting for us. After finishing every bite of the food, I try to sleep but I find no entry to that impregnable fort. I venture out. The sun is shining bright. It’s time to take bath – not in water, that will have to wait for a few more days- but in sunlight. I climb over to the small hill. Our porters and yakman are enjoying the sun. A little further, Sandip has spread himself over the grass. Making my camera bag as the pillow, I stretch myself over the gentle slope. The warmth of sun is caressing my face gently. The white smoke of the clouds rise from the valley every moment and hurry past us. In childhood, we used to say that the clouds are going to fill water in them. Those were the days of watching a train whistling past on the track, splashing in the rain, getting dirty in mud and watching clouds in the sky. This very day, I watch those clouds passing by on horizon. Drifting…drifting away…like wandering thoughts…in the realm and reality of their own.

When there are no clouds --and such moments are rare- there is a clear view of Singalila range and Kabrus. The alpine trees are lined up on the slopes of the mountains. In some distance I can see some alpine meadows where yaks are grazing. I switch on my iPod. The first song it plays is ye hansee waadiyaan. Every time i enjoy nature’s bounty, somehow my iPod always succeeds to echo the sentiments of my heart. The next appearance is aaj main upar, aasman neeche. The ever grateful iPod does not fail to thank nature and sings shukraan allah.

Ashish and Ashutosh join us. All of us watch the clouds taking different shapes – a horse this time, a deer next, a dragon the following moment. The canvas of the sky is throwing shapes in wide variety. I would love to pass my day just watching the artist spraying the white color on the canvas. Ashutosh and Ashish walk to the rock on the cliff. It overlooks the alpine valley beneath. The river Ratong Chu is down somewhere, currently hidden by the tall trees. We sit there, silent with the valley and the Singalila range in front of us. Some birds fly in an imposing formation. They do that quite often here, says Sandip. I observe a solitary crow flying up starting from valley deep down. It flies over our heads and goes behind the Hut in a flash.

Jaggi, Krishnan, Vinay and Suman also join us there. I am expecting that Vinay will come up with an ultra short plan, proposing to skip Bikbari and Chaurikhang which are there in our original plan, and instead directly go to Goechela, thus finishing the trek in next 3-4 days. Instead, to my sheer horror, he says that he is returning back tomorrow because it’s not advisable to continue when you are down with altitude sickness! I miss a heartbeat when Krishnan also says that he is returning back because he has knee pain! He started getting pain from yesterday and it’s getting aggravated. They want to go further, I can see that in their eyes. But when your body speaks, you should listen to it, else it shouts a great deal by the way of intolerable pain. They know that they have made a correct choice however painful it may be. It disturbs me thinking about missing them. That also makes me miss my other friends and family members.

In the evening, Jaggi, Sandip and I walk halfway up the Dzongri Top. Kabrus are magnificent in the setting sun. There is something soothing when you look at those monks. It’s transcendent. They remain there forever, like a reliable friend.

Sandip does not stay much inside the room. Every time he comes back, he has information about a new foreigner. He is inclined towards them, I suppose. This time when he enters the room, I expect to hear about another foreigner. Instead he says that night sky is beautiful. We should go and take a look. The dinner is over. Everyone is preparing to go to bed. I want to check the sky before starting my tryst with sleeplessness again while others stay inside the room. I will thank my luck all the life for that decision. There are hundreds of stars dotting the sky as if in a big religious procession. They are so close you actually get tempted to stretch your arm to get hold of them. The peaks and the sides of the mountains are decorated with the bright starry lights. They twinkle like children are laughing wholeheartedly.  Sandip sets his camera many times to click the photos. I am just happy looking at the sky. We find Saptarshi, or the Big Dipper, in that big crowd. I know only that group of stars and it has fascinated me since my childhood. My hands are numb as they are out of the gloves to hold the torch and help Sandip set his camera. But the heart is all warm with the delightful scenery above us. When I close my eyes to go to sleep, the stars still shine brightly in them. Thank God for all the stars…

 

Day 6 : Separation and Punishment

First time I slept properly in the night during this trek. It was of the kind which you dream about in your sleepless state with open eyes. The sky last night must have blessed me.  Our ways separate today – Krish and Vinay will go back, Sandy and Co. will head towards Goechela. We will take a tow-days detour to Bikbari before returning to Dzongri and eventually making our way towards Goechela. It’s time for some group photos. Everyone is eager to get a photo in their camera. Krishnan and Vinay are going back with Ajay. Their eyes speak, and speak quite clearly. The pain of not continuing is visible in their eyes. Krishnan encourages us to finish the trek and make them proud. We will, I nod in my heart. We hug each other. I hope they transferred some energy and determination to us. Farewell, my friends! The mountain is still there. You will soon get a call again.

At around 8:25, we start for Bikbari. Instead of climbing towards Dzongri Top, we descend into Dablakhang meadows which is a good place to camp. It also offers a big grazing grounds for the yaks. Four chortens stand at the end of the meadows. Behind that princely Pandim rises resplendently. We leave behind the view of the mountains for a steep climb to Dzongrila. We keep making light fun of each other, and especially Birjubhaiya, to make effect of the ascent lighter. He gets himself photographed couple of times. He keeps saying, aaste aaste. Go Slow. He thinks that Jaggi looks like Amitabh Bachchan. To prove his point, he always refers him as Jagtaap, to rhyme with Amitabh, instead of Jagdish. I am slightly ahead of others. At one point, I see two foot-trails and get confused. I ask him which one to take. Kharaab raasta mat lo, achha raasta lo. How simple! And consequently how difficult to implement in real life this philosophy is!

 

We encircle the Dzongri Hills on our way to Dzongrila. The Garmin shows that the altitude is 4360m at the pass. I have never been to such heights before. Hurray! I am climbing mountains. We all are. Forget about humans, even our canine friend Kaalu is a mountaineer now. By now, we have realized that it’s a female dog, so we rename it to Kaali. She is with us for last 3 days.

The pass is full of thick snow. Once you reach to the top, the vista opens up to offer splendid view of Kumbhakarna, Ratong and the Kabru peaks. Kumbhakarna looks like a burly figure of human sleeping in the sun, so the name. Some people call it Sleeping Budhdha. Kabru Black, or Kabru Dome, is so close that you can actually kiss it from here. And true to the name, it’s black! And imposing. Jaggi says it’s the only mountain which is not beautiful. To me, it’s a black mole which adds to the beauty of a fair lady. Or a piece of jewelry she puts on for a change. We climb on a rock and click many pictures. I jump down from that rock like I invariably do every time I get a chance. Jaggi and I have a Saurav Ganguly moment when we remove our shirts in the sub-zero degree temperature and and get clicked.  

We climb down to the other side thru snow and infant ice which breaks at slightest of the pressure. The path is almost flat now. Kabru Dome is on our right. Ratong Chu is on our left, running like a vein in a bulky body. The emerald green water is bouncing on small boulders in a narrow span. The rhythmic sound of the river is piece de resistance. There is a waterfall on the other side in distance. We need to cross the river to go to the Bikbari camp which is on the right bank of the river. The descent from the ridge to the riverbank is precipitous. And it’s full of river sand. The 150m fall takes some effort as we need to be careful so we do not fall.

There is a makeshift bridge on the river to cross to the other side. 4 wooden planks are set on each side on two big rocks. Two of the planks are not reliable. So we have to walk only on two planks to cross the river. Biren helps me reach the other side. Kaali is afraid of crossing. She walks on the bridge halfway and turns back. She sits nearby, contemplating the crossing but courage deserts her.  Finally Biren goes to her side and runs after her. Afraid, she runs towards the bridge and crosses it in hurry.

There is a Trekkers’ Hut in Bikbari but it’s not maintained at all. That means we have to pitch a tent. Biren, Povel and our yakman help set up our tent. Kaali is tired after her struggle to cross the bridge. She is fast asleep next to the tent. We have tea and biscuits. The thermometer shows 26 degree Celsius on the scale! That’s quite high, but we are feeling cold. Mysterious are the ways of mountains!

Ratong Chu is slowly working its magic on us. The crystal clear water, washing the sins of the stones, is enticing. After the lunch which we take sitting on the riverbank, we give up in the face of unyielding river. In a place on the bank, where pebbles are as clean and pure as prayer beads, we jump into the river. Little did we know that the sun doesn’t heat up the water here. We immediately develop the cold feet. For a few moments which feel like eternity, I stay inside, hoping that the cold will pass. It does not. For those few seconds, the river takes me over from the feet to the head and from the mind to the soul. I am the river.

We spread our mattresses outside the tent, very near to the river, so we can listen to the soulful rendition of nature’s sweet melody. How perfect everything feels – some rising mountains seen from the crescent view the valley offers, stone marbles lying in the riverbed, the sky which is home for us now. Face upwards, I watch the clouds making different formations. Coming from the direction of Mt Ratong or from behind the brown rising ridge in front of us, they meet and separate in the sky. I see the world go by, unmindful of past and future. The clear blue of the sky is almost unreal. I see a horse, a dog, a duck, a goat, a flying dragon, a child and a man in the sky. When there is no cloud, I see my loved ones – oh, I miss them! How much more the joy will be if they are here. But they are here: a river like mother, a mountain like father, a bridge like a sibling or a friend. If there is ever a perfect place, it has to be this. If there is ever a perfect moment, it has to be now.

Snowfall just then reminds me that life is not always --and rarely- perfect. We are driven into our tent involuntarily. We play cards for some time. Suman and Jaggi wants to take a nap. I try to read a book. The mood does not set in. I listen to some music. I come out of the tent. It’s almost evening. The weather is clear again. I take a walk along the river. I wish I can flow like it, ceaselessly, seamlessly, unabashedly. For now, I just watch it do all that I cannot do.

Night falls early. We take dinner inside the Trekkers’ Hut kitchen. The noodle soup is delicious. The clouds have started gathering their army outside. It may rain in the night, or there may be snowfall. We have to be ready for a long and cold night. Just before we go to sleep, Jaggi asks a question which will linger in my mind for a long time – why we punish ourselves so much by running marathons or trekking to the harsh and uninhabitable places?  I know one of the answers: it is to have the experience which I had in the afternoon, to feel one with nature, to feel the presence of God, and to stop feeling anything and just be still. Such experiences do not occur always though, and there must be some answer which is true for all the times. When the time is right, the answer will come in sight and there will be glowing light…