THE OFF SEASON
“You can’t go, this is the off season. You must be out of your mind.” This was the most common expression we heard when we told people where we are headed. The look on their face was full of exasperation and sarcasm. As if they were mocking our very spirit of travel.
Travel, venturing into unknown, leaving the comforts of the home that we built for ourselves and everything we are attached to in anticipation of an adventure. Why is that so attractive? Whether it has something to do with our inherent desire for freedom or is it genetically coded reality of our nomadic ancestors? Well, whatever,
the answer may be, we all know that we are filled with wanderlust. Coming to think about it, the entire gamut of imagination in itself is filled with our desire to unveil the unknown. All of us are travelling in one way or another, and I guess it’s the journey that makes us rather than us making a journey.
“We are going to Gangotri and not Joshimath”, I told Joshi Ji as soon as the plane took off. “What?” He was perplexed. “But I have made all the arrangements in Joshimath, and besides, it is virtually impossible at this time of the year. It’s the off season for god's sake.” “I guess we won’t need those arrangements anymore” I murmured before turning my face away from the curses that followed. The flight to Delhi from Mumbai was short lived and by the midnight we landed in Delhi. Our real journey was about to begin now.
April, from the Latin verb “aperire” meaning “to open”, marks the time of the year in Rome when the flower begins to bloom. The month marks the beginning of life itself. It may be considered a divine intervention that we began our journey with the dawn of this month. At this time of the month every year, while the Indo-Gangetic plains are swept with hot and dry westerlies soaring the temperature well beyond 40, the greater Himalayan range is still bidding farewell to the winters. With temperatures falling below zero and frequent snow falls in the Himalayas, the Gangotri is considered to be at least a month away from the reach of plain dwellers like ourselves. At least in that context our attempt was a bit flamboyant.
Joshi Ji, he was the man who gave wings to my imagination when he shared his plan to travel to Haridwar to attend a program where his Guru ‘Shri Satpal Ji Maharaj’ was going to deliver a discourse. I proposed to tag along, a request to which he readily acquiesced. However, my motives were far more ‘sinister’, for may be my destiny lies on the road. Slowly and slowly amidst our conversation over a series of lunches I desired to venture a bit farther and he planned to show me Joshimath and Auli and end up making all the arrangements which went out of the window as soon as we boarded the flight.
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As the plan had changed we had no time to waste. In fact, we were short by a day, since we had to reach back to Haridwar in time to attend the discourse. Hence, we headed straight to kashmira gate bus stand from where we caught the first bus to Haridwar at around 02.00am. The bus dropped us off to Haridwar at around 06.30am in the morning from where we boarded another bus to Rishikesh for onward journey to Uttarkashi. This leg of journey took us close to 10 Hours and we reached Uttarkashi by 04.00pm. Looking back now, at this arduous journey on the winding roads of Uttarakhand, I must admit that travelling so much in the course of one day was a stupid decision. However, if you observe, it’s the stupidity that we always cherish in our moments of retrospection.
The road from Rishikesh to Uttarkashi is a sight for the sore eyes. A serpentine maze of twists and turns whereupon the bus moved in a fashion as if personifying the act of a gentleman winding his pocket watch to let it run for the day. The sporadically placed villages on the way with houses built on the cliff ledge and their unique step-agricultural farms narrate the story of the indomitable human spirit that is capable of springing life in the rarest of places. Are we then so different from nature? Our ordeal began when we reached Uttarkashi, the holy town drawing parallel with the city of lord Shiva, the Kashi herself. As soon as we got off the bus we realized that our bag containing the woolens is lost. Well, it may seem a small thing but when you take into equation our destination it was a deathly blow. However, tired as we were by continuous journey of more than 20 hours our instinct told us to find a comfortable room first. We secured a room in a trust owned guest house situated right opposite the bus stand and when we explained our final destination to the care taker – the look
on his face was that of a surprise mixed with mockery at the best. “ya toh aap logo ko kuch nahi pata ya aap log pagal ho (either you guys are ignorant or imbecile).” When we further enquired about his reaction he said “abhi koi nahi jata waha. Yaha se upar koi gaadi nahi milega (no one goes this way at this time, you won’t get any vehicle)”, and he turned his back on us.
Joshi Ji gave an accusing “I told you” look but for his own sake kept quiet. For he knows the short outbursts of temper I am capable of displaying on slightest provocation at times like these. I decided to enquire a bit more from other people in the town and the result did not inspire any confidence. Tired as we were, with most of our faculties giving up, we eluded ourselves from reality by arguing that since this is a tourist spot people are making up stories to reap some benefits from ignorant. But our arguments became invalid the moment we entered a police station travelers as our last resort. The officer on duty clearly lay out in front of us that we have arrived at least a month in advance. “koi nahi jata sahib, upar road band he aur sab jagah barf he, khatara he (no one goes that way, the road is closed, it’s dangerous)” he said, “aap log yehi se laut jao, ganga ke darshan toh yaha bhi ho jayenge (you go back from here after taking blessings from mother Ganga)”, he added. After that we decided to call it a day, had linner and retired to the cozy comforts of the clean and warm sheets.
After a long and refreshing sleep we got up next morning and Joshi Ji, looked at me with his enquiring cat like eyes, full of intelligence and yet innocent enough to inspire compassion. “Let’s have breakfast and decide where to go from here” that’s all I could say. Theorists say that everything that happens in this universe is pre-determined; they call this phenomenon with a variety of names – fate, destiny, kismet etc. Some other philosophers insist upon the importance of karma, they say that it has the power to change what is written and that your actions are responsible for your achievements. Well, whether it was our destiny or the stubborn will, our barricade finally gave away. There was a way.
We were informed by the cook cum owner of the 4 wheeled establishment, where we were having breakfast, that there are certain vehicles that go that way carrying the posts and other necessary supplies. He also pointed out the place from where we can get one. We immediately ventured and to our surprise there were not one but many vehicles standing waiting for the passengers. However, they informed that they only go up to Harsil – a village along the bank of Ganges about 25 Kms away from Gangotri. These vehicles are mostly Tata Trax cruisers which provide access to villagers living up in the mountains.
If the road to Uttarkashi was scenic, the road to Harsil was enigmatic. The road swirled and turned almost in a U shape at places. The way was mostly deserted save for a lonely cruiser coming back or for shepherds watching over their grazing flocks. From the road one can easily spot snow clad mountain peaks, lazy and stoical. The air
had already begun to send chills through our body and the memory of the lost bag of woolens filled us with a longing for warmth they could have provided. However, we, determined as we were in our quest, enjoyed the cold and immersed ourselves in the sight that lay in front of us throughout the way. Our co- travelers were laborers from Bihar specialized in working in such areas. One of them told us his experience of working in Siachen, building a school with the help of the Indian army.
The driver was nice enough to drop us till Dharali, a village just about 6 kms from Harsil in his pious attempt to bring us closer to our target. Dharali is a very small village divided by the mighty Ganges herself. With houses on both sides of the river joined by a sole British era bridge built by locals, the village had an aura of peace and
tranquility bordering on the deathly silence. At this time of the year it looked like a set of Hollywood flick “”The Magnificent Seven”. It was completely deserted and may have been taken for a dead town save for a single hotel cum restaurant where a couple of people were sitting and sipping the tea. Later on we came to know that one of the two gentlemen was the owner and the other cook cum helper of that restaurant. Dharali is one of the main villages which provide shelter to thousands of pilgrims who come to visit char dham (the four holy shrines). However, that season was still a month away.
We asked the restaurant owner while having tea if there is any way that we can reach Gangotri. “kya sahib, ye time upar koi nahi rehta. Abhi kaun jayega waha? (no one stays there at this point of time. Who do you think will go up?)”, “yehi last he, aap log yaha taka a gaye yehi bahut he (this is the end, you came here that is enough).” So that was it. We had come to another dead end. There were no passenger vehicles in sight, to be honest, there was not a single vehicle in sight save for a motorcycle. Motorcycle! Wait a minute, isn’t that a vehicle? And I knew how to ride. It took a long time however, 2 hours to be precise and 1000 bucks to persuade the restaurant owner to lend us his motorcycle. He was pretty reluctant, not because he feared for his 2
wheeler, “ye hi ek rasta he sahib, kaha le jaoge bike (this is the only way sir, where will you take the bike from here?)”, “lekin rasta kharab he, khatara he, aapke paas kapde bhi nahi aur thand bahut he, agar neeche gaye toh kisi ko nahi miloge (but road is not good, you don’t even have warm clothes. No one will be able to find you if you lost control and went down).”
However, once again the stubborn will and the blessings of our revered father of the nation came to our rescue. He agreed and we took his pulsar 220 and began our journey. All we had in the name of warm clothes was a sweat shirt and a woolen sweater which was on our being the whole time. I gave the sweater to Joshi Ji and
wore his sweat shirt over my T-shirt and off we went. About 10 minutes later we realized that this journey is going to be longer than we had expected. It began to get so cold that I had to stop the bike frequently. Since, we had no gloves, hence I was compelled to ride bare handed and that’s when I realized the paralyzing effect of cold that I had read in the accounts of many travelers. It initially felt as if the skin on the back of my hand is beginning to give away, so much so that it may as well tear up at any moment and then I stopped feeling anything, even the touch of the grip of the accelerator or the clutch as a matter of fact. The road was narrow with a mountainous wall on one side and steep 10,000 feet straight fall on the other. It was so quiet that we could hear our own breath; the only other sound was the eerie, slow humming of the engine. On numerous occasions I stopped and kept my hands over the engine directly to gain some heat and that too will take at least a couple of minutes. It was a journey of less than 20 kms but due to weary road and intense cold which made us stop frequently to regain some heat it took us close to an hour and a half.
As if the Gods took our “need an adventure” jabbers to their heart, few kilometers later we found ourselves in the middle of a light drizzle. Suddenly the meaning of cold changed to mind numbing, bone chilling, skin piercing and frosty iciness. We could see atop the mountains the snowfall which was the source of that icy wind, dispassionate and full of vengeance. We thanked our luck when we finally took a turn and found a hut with tea simmering on the top of kerosene stove and a couple of guys wearing woolens enough to open a small store in Mumbai. As we waited for the rain god to rest a little the chai wallah enquired about our journey and the look on his face was satisfying for us. It was of a wise man who is surprised at the level of stupidity his fellow humans can show.
We thanked the owner of the establishment for his priceless hospitality especially the warmth his kettle provided as soon as the drizzle dried up. It’s amazing how, when faced with odds, a man’s basic instinct of survival overpowers all his wants. In that chilly atmosphere the want of luxury of a plush diner or freshly baked cookies didn’t even cross our mind. We were happy and content in that temporary hut made of wood and the tea that I usually never drink felt like an elixir of life and youth. The bipolarity of human nature is certainly parallel to the Mother Nature herself.
Our last lap was more or less smooth and the town of Gangotri was now very much in
sight. However, as soon as we entered the town we realized something was seriously wrong.
“Where is everybody?” Joshi ji exclaimed and in those three words he said everything. The people have been warning us since we entered Uttarkashi. There was no one. The buildings were empty and the door of the only clinic cum enquiry office was ajar. It swayed in the wind like the skirt of a careless lass playing in open. We decided to take our bike and took the only narrow road, lined up on both sides with empty houses, and observed that on the gate of the each house there hung a big old lock sealed with clothes and wax seal, as if it has been claimed by the income tax department. The entire street was deserted and only sound that could be heard, other than breeze and slow humming of the engine of our pulsar 220 was murmur of water. The holy Ganges was flowing in its ever calm and composed manner.
We reached the temple and realized that even in this barren island atop the mountain there sat one individual, defying the social instincts of man, lost in contemplation of the divine. He was saffron clad, plump and in this artificial wilderness was a sole survivor. The temple is a simple worship place, nothing ostentatious and yet whether it was the presence of that meditating hermit or the soothing vibrations of the flowing river, we felt what every human is truly looking for – peace. The temple was closed but when mother is available no child likes to go for a substitute. We left the baba sitting there with his eyes cold and plunged into the ice cold water of Mother Ganga and honestly it felt as if the purpose of the journey was complete. In that moment, it was much more than exhilaration one feels on achieving the goal. It was something for which the only word that comes to mind is tranquility and although we spent only about an hour there it felt as if a whole life has been lived and cherished. I think that’s the feeling a wanderer always search for. In the end man is nothing but a seeker. A seeker of eternity, and such moments make him realize it. However, such moments are short lived and wanderlust an ongoing phenomenon.
When we finally reached Dharali we were greeted by a much relieved owner of the bike. We decided to stay there for the night and were told that the idol of Mother Ganga from the sacred Gangotri temple was right across the old bridge. According to an age old tradition the idol of Mother Ganga is brought down in every winter to this temple in dharali and then on the onset of the season it is taken back to its rightful place. It felt like some old Chinese proverb or replay of the Alchemist, we were back from where we started a few hours ago with a wish to bow in front of this deity and found her waiting. It’s true I guess that if you want something from all your heart, the whole universe conspires to help you to achieve it.