I was drawing a story; without details, the writer's bobber would not sink. So, I sat down to pen a pointless and meaningless trip in the garb of a mountain expedition.
The author recalls memories from a 'pointless and meaningless trip in the garb of a mountain expedition in this story.
I was drawing a story; without details, the writer's bobber would not sink. So, I sat down to pen a pointless and meaningless trip in the garb of a mountain expedition.
It was a frenzied mania of my second childhood when I liked age old rituals, vintage wine, old rice; it was then that I famished to hike on the mountain trail once more, feet encased in old boots.
Body slightly sagged, my knees were a little deformed due to age, and the flourish of bravado had fallen from my frame. However, the aberration went well with my bull-in-a-china-shop persistence. The scornful comment about myself was a hollow self-evaluation. Otherwise, being an unqualified person why did I go for a perilious mountain expedition? But at that juncture, I developed a sense of 'less I care more happier I am' attitude, and the cat had got his tongue to have the fish and eat it too.
Therefore, my inner mind prompted, ‘Let's have a go’. Mountain did not call me, just a whimsical DNA code of my own. I wondered at what price mountain would bear me or ask me to go back from its threshold.
During the preparatory phase, I did brisk walking for a month near my residence to reduce my tummy.
I was apprised that a novel arrangement had been made to refurbish a run-of-the-mill mountain expedition to give it an ava garde character, in August 2022.
The purpose was to rename the 6111-meter-high Yunam Pinnacle in Himachal Pradesh's Lahul-Spiti area, by sprinkling holy Ganges water on it. The team leader scoured the map and discovered that the frequently trodden very mountain was a disinherited orphan.
Edmond Hillary, along with Tenzing Norgay, the first climber to reach the top of Everest, led the 'Ocean To Sky' expedition in 1977. This expedition was a crippled impromtu replica of that journey.
It was intended to give a tribute to renaming the mountain after Radhanath Shikdar, the unsung hero who surveyed the height of Everest. The proposal would be sent to the appropriate government authorities. Another practical joke was to celebrate seventy-five years of independence of the country. The Ganga water coming out of the twisted knot of hair of Lord Shiva would be sprayed on the summit at the beginning of August 15th, at twelve o'clock at night.
However, at the initial stage this ineffectual effort was almost jeopardized. Some braggarts, who were more interested in their self-promotional activities than helping the mission gave lot of blank assurances, that they would raise the required fund for this seemingly unique voyage. Eventually useless trumpeters played tricks and did nothing.
Amulya Ray, a talented mountain climber of yesteryears was able to overcome adversity and managed to reload the boast. Frequently held idle meetings, social media campaigns, and fruitless searches for patronage to cover expenses were the tell-tale stories. One or two familiar persons gave some personal donations without realizing the gravity of the odyssey. With lots of farce, a group of self-styled mountain bikers dressed in fashionable outfits gave a broadcasting pose in front of the camera in two or four nameless newspapers and started the mock journey with their motorbikes carrying sacred Ganga water in a copper container.
Their task was to carry the holy water to the base camp of the expedition. The place was across the Barlacha Pass in Himachal Pradesh in a remote wilderness called upper Bharatpur. Camp site was established adjacent to the Manali-Leh highway.
After reaching Delhi, their gasbag of enthusiasm did burst, and from there they pulled back. Those who promised to find the guarantor of the expedition, got exhausted by giving futile speeches and eventually vanished from the scene.
I met Amitabh Mallick at a budget hotel in Manali. He runs an agency. Support staff, logistics, equipment, and rations were all arranged and provided by him for the mission.
The team leader showed the outline of the trail on the contour map and considering me an apprentice in the mountain said, ‘You see the gradient of the terrain! Very friendly. For a routine nomad like you, hiking will be easygoing. But piles of pebbles or boulders may snatch off your inappropriate approach march. Rent a good shoe.’
There was a hint of false appreciation and disregard in my ability in his voice.
His comment irked me. Jokingly I said, 'What do you mean by easy gradient? Difference of 2500 feet elevation between the two campsites with no reprieve. If I mess up, I will perch on your shoulder.’
Team had a deep but inane discussion about raids on the mountain , at the hotel. Fresh samosa got older, teacups were looking for sips, biscuits became sultry, but not a single drop of booze was wasted by the participants.
Krishna went to Kullu to pay obeisance to the icon of mountaineering, Colonel Premchand, who was seriously ill and sought for his blessing. He anticipated that Premchand would soon embrace his last destiny.
It was a disgruntling expedition to me. My position in the team was different from other members. I was a low-blooded wanderer in a group of mountaineers. Wished to visit Yunam-Tso (Lake) at about eighteen thousand feet elevation.
An exhaustive preparatory hike in Manali has undertaken to two different trek routes of Hidimba and Vashisht Temple to acclimatize ourselves. Yogini falls was leaping down from a steep hill in a pristine and serene environment deep in the forest on the outskirts of the city.
I had to ramble through three kilometers of rocky ridges, pine forests, apple orchards, and wild bushes. Air was heavy and dampish with mist, and winds blew high. I had to negotiate a footslog, nose-snapping climbing through a narrow alley to reach the top of the hill and was astounded to see a startling waterfall roaring and splashing down into a plunging pool. The eternal and integrated form of such a secluded spot is often seen on tourist postcards. But in net practice, I realized batting turf would be difficult for me in the sanctum sanctorum of the remote mountain. Plan was to set up a camp at an altitude of fifteen and half thousand feet within the orbit of Lahul-Spiti district. The chariot passed along the unreal and breathtakingly beautiful Manali-Leh long road. Leaving behind the escarpments with the small town at Kelong, Darcha, Jispa, the vehicle enters Bhaga Valley. Down the road, I saw with an eagle's eye the
Bhaga River flowing north-west towards Tandi cutting through the gorge to join the Chandra River.
The new identity of the river at the confluence is Chandrabhaga or Chenab, the river duly crosses the border and enters the Kashmir valley. On the way we had lunch break relaxing at the charming Deepak Tal.
The team camped in an undignified rugged hilly area called Upper Bharatpur intersecting Baralacha pass, nudging Suraj Tal, the source of the glacier-fed Bhaga River. The mountains spread like a rocky reptile from one end to the other. The green was gone, and it was a strangely desolate landscape.
A rivulet quietly flowed through the canyon. There was confusion over the name of the watercourse. Tenzing Lama, the Tibetan owner of a roadside Dhaba said, 'Nala ka naam malum nehi, hum sab Baralacha nadi kahete hay'. (Name of the stream is not known, we call it Baralacha river.)
There was a grassy grazing ground beside the brook. I found a number of burrows of an oversized male marmot or ground squirrel over there. It was an isolated hidden shelter of that animal. The story of the ground squirrel had been on my mind ever since I returned from this trip. Now I've got the free time to narrate the anecdote here. The hole was an undisturbed den of him. It looked like a fox-sized ant dug into the ground to make its burrow. Occasionally he rambled on his four legs to look for life. Sudden intrusion into his domain by a group of urbane individuals feigning to be mountaineers did upset him.
When a marmot digs underground with its claws, gold comes up with the sand. The Greek philosopher Herodotus was once ridiculed for making such an absurd statement. But in the 20th century, French explorer cum anthropologist Michael Peissel cross-examined and found evidence that Herodotus's observation was not infallible. In the Tibetan plateau and high alpine region of the Himalayas, in the Kashmir-Ladakh Valley, when these ground squirrels dug the ground, soil blended with gold dust came up under the feet. Villagers were in frenzy to collect the gold-laced soil. The incident was known to me.
So, I spied and watched the nature-born creature around the burrow in case he would plough up any gold nuggets.
Rufous grey woolly fur coat on his torso, idiotic type of appearance, jutted out belly, puffy cheeks, short but strong legs, clawed paws, these were how marmots could be described. Very intelligent creatures. His movement was rhythmic. But he had repugnance in human presence.
He used to hide in the hole as soon as he saw us and peeked out of the dungeon after a while. Hearing the threatening call of circling hawks in the sky, he stood on the hind legs and alerted the neighbor marmots of the other burrows with shrill, chirping whistles. Sometimes looking at the sky, possibly complained in a complicated argument with God, about why his life was so cramped.
He had tunneled a network of small holes to escape from predators like jackals, weasels, civets. The first thing he used to do coming out of the burrow was to defecate, then to nibble on the grass, and socialize. Returned to the den as sun rose in intensity, made one more appearance before dusk.
He went on eating plants, alpine shrubs, 'Chagna, Ratnajot, Khardung' which bloom in rock crevices on riverbanks. Flowers and shoots are favorite foods for marmots. They protect the ecological balance by ceasing the overgrowth of bushes. This mouse developed an addiction to junk food chips and biscuits, tossed to him by tourists thinking of him as pet. We were equally guilty. He ingested our leftover rice hodgepodge abandoned in the bin.
Winter was advancing, and he would be hibernating in the cave for six months. Vegetation of the valley would be covered by snowfall. He spontaneously made an occasional exit to collect and assemble the food. During this six-month hibernation, he would not sleep all the time. It was an unreliable solitary confinement. Looking at the cave I wondered if it was hellish hideout, or a paradise hidden from the view.
Sherpa Lakpa Tshering told, this Snow pig is not secured from dangerous snow leopards. They crack ice layer and fish out the prey from the burrow. Leopard has no other option but to survive killing its prey. So, this is the food chain.
In the afternoon I attached my camera to the gimbal stick and started taking time-lapse photographs of the clouds. The marmot came out of the hole and got curious. He ran to the camera with body waving movement, stood on his legs for a while and licked the camera, then seemed to have taken a selfie keeping the river in the background. I captured the hilarious paw-trait in my still camera.
Mountains, forest, rain, snow, soil, are all ingredients of Nature and fitments for humans to live. This beautiful creature is also an element of creation. I will be back home with a piece of mother nature and will ponder over the memorable event for the rest of my life.
The aura stopped ventilating. Dark clouds invaded from a distance. Threatening vibration of thunderous cloud resonated in the air. Lightning flashed behind the dirt cloud. The sky was shattered by startling thunderclap. The rain heavily poured down over the hills. I sheltered in my tent shielding myself from the wind and rain. Ice crystals along with the fine bites of rain, created a fear and the uncertainty of mountain climbing.
The place was in the rain shadow region near dry Ladakh. Rainfall is always low in this cold desert. But we faced unpredictable wet weather, as the earth is getting temperate gradually by human's destructive act.
Wind was blowing in great force, I de-stressed myself from the chill inside the tent with a steaming coffee mug. Match box was wet, not a single stick was usable, so, could not light the cigarette. The rain stopped subsequently.
The nomadic wind in the darkness was still gusting in flurry. In the month of August, it was full moon on lunar day, which heralded the arrival of new moon in the dark fortnight after midnight. A hanging glacier covered itself in cloud looked mystic in faint radiance of moon.
The night was young. The crescent bronze disc floated and sunk in the water-filled clouds in the round sky. The flowing creek glistened like silver foil in the scattered light of the moon.
The night was piercing cold. The rise and fall of the thermometer were under the control of nature. Silently saying goodbye, the moon disappeared. Krishna was snoring loud in the warmth of sleeping bag. Sleepy saliva was rolling down the closed eyes. A dream in my sleep was a dream of awakening.
The sun forced a way through the clouds and sunlight flooded the river valley in the early morning. Neighing wild horses trotted along the streambed. A flock of goat and sheep strolled past my tent and advanced toward the runnel. Shepherd Ramesh Singh Thakur who brought his herd from Chamba Valley drove his pack. It was not wintertime yet, but there was a hint of frost in the air. Now he would go down to a safer zone with his herd.
The team was about to head toward camp-one. Amulya, the leader of the team was in uncomfortable condition. His head was spinning and was lying drowsy in the tent. A suspect case of Cerebral Edema, preparations had been started to send him back to Manali as soon as possible.
-"If Cerebral edema turns to pulmonary edema, it will be a hopeless case", team member Dr. Gangadhar Mahapatra whispered,.The doctor would take him to Manali for emergency treatment. The rest of the team would go to Camp One.
Weather was freaky. Krishna Kamal, the great mountaineer of yesteryear, was the mentor of the team for the rest of the days.
Krishna came to Himalayas from time immemorial forty long years, half in pride and half in rumination. A vacuum of leadership was created once the leader himself had fallen sick. After breakfast, the team went uphill along the beaten path, an autonomous journey for all. Banking upon his rich experience Krishna tried to keep the pace with others. His marinated lungs with smoking and prolonged static inertia resulted chest palpitations while ascending.
I started walking upwards the rocky mountain along with Krishna and the sack of adrenaline leaked like him. With a Rolls-Royce type goodwill , vintage Krishna managed to move up relying on his reputation. Two experienced mountaineers, calm and composed Rajasekhar and tall, stockily built Krishnendu, who was age wise one-size younger than Rajsekhar were upsloping smoothly. Two had a plan to summit the seemingly innocuous twenty thousand feet high temple. But nocturnal bouldering plan to scale the mountain did not go well with them. They disliked the idea.
I was following young porter-turned-my personal guide Lavles Thakur, supporting my weak knees with kneecaps. I was optimist for a positive result. The destination was further ahead than it seemed. I thought it would be uncomplicated to traverse the craggy domes but was proved wrong. Inside windcheater I was profusely sweltering. The bellowing lung was blasting to get the oxygen from air. I was shaking my head from fatigue.
On the bottomless valley, the mountains stood in an unreal silence. Spring initiated the melting of snow of the mountain that continued. River was flowing in ferocity through the gorge being blocked by countless boulders. I heard screaming of the river.
Whilst climbing up the narrow gully on the last slope over the many rocks’ teaser, my knees bloated, and lung bulged. I had thrown up my fist many times to the God of fatigue. When I parked my feet on the ridge, I heaved a sigh, the day's trekking was over for the moment. I felt like I was reading a novel - Climb and Punishment.
Even two hundred years ago, the Himalayas were a pile of inert rocks useless to humans, that was thought to be an abode of ghosts and demons. The blind faith is null now.. Now all animals move across every nook and corner of vast expanses.
Camp-one was put in place on Yunam's heel. The vast galaxy was trying to catch the windswept clouds with outstretched hands. I withdrew my eyes from the frame of countless mountains and concentrated to my alp. Dwindling day light was yellow and dull. Oops, where did I come? Was it an exposition or expedition arena? Ambience here was so displeasing.
The exhilaration of mind dissipated instantly. The stage was very crowded, tents of different climbing parties were pitched patchily. Climbing Yunam does not require Mountaineering Foundation’s permission. Everest-like traffic jam was likely on the card. Little above than twenty-thousand-foot tall Yunam is easily climbable in fair weather. Everyone thronging here was in light mood. The beat of Hindi songs, laughter, cacophony flooded the atmosphere. Mother with a juvenile boy, a honeymoon couple, a dating twosome, cohabitants of all ages assembled rubbing with various desires.
A mountaineer from Bengal, who climbed the world's highest peak, told ‘mountain is his religion.’ He came to Yunam for a casual climb and to relax. So, Yunum is a take a break mountain. A Dhaba owner has a strange scheme. He laughed and said, ‘lot of people come to Yunam. if I get permission will open a Dhaba somewhere near the summit, and name it Yunam Bar.’
I visited Yunam lake to fulfill my desire. Had to wade on a couple of hilly humps and finally arrived at the place, being careful not to crush the alpine plant under my feet. The scree zone was scattered with cloud-capped bush, where rare kinds of flowers bloomed. It was the last phase of the day. Sunlight dimmed its shine. Treading the afterglow of the sun the pool was lying prone with its full glory.
The beauty of the mountain which I was forgetting at camp one, was restored here. In the midst of fresh high-reaching air, the reservoir had not been so polluted by civilization. It was somewhat free from oppressive human perception.
The hill surrounding the lake was quite fashionable having a necklace of ice, kulfi-like trinket hanging on forehead, black pearl on the crown. A nimble little bird Little-Ring-Plover, swooped down from the sky with a pip-pip-pip call, hopping for a while on the rock, then flew away. I blankly stared wide-eyed in joy. Sensed ethereal scent coming out of the crystal-clear turquoise lake.
It was midnight, dark outside. With concerted zeal, the climbing team would follow the well trudged glacial ridge to reach the top. Everyone was within Twenty-five to Thirty. On marching-- the peak looked like a large pizza, having dressed patchy ice tops on brown slatey rocks. Lead-hiker Lakpa Tshering stepped up with five members. A Constellation of seven sisters lighted the lamp and shepherded the way to Jyotirmay, Sunil, Pavitra, Sumanta. In the faint light of the stars, the ghost climbers were breaking the path with sharp eyes and noses in the dark.
There was no slush of ice on the mountain slopes. So instead of ice axe they held walking sticks, felt a little uncomfortable and unused to the cold. Head to the neck was covered with monkey caps, basic sneakers on feet, and bargained for windcheaters to shield the chilly wind. If somehow weather betrayed, they would drown in trouble soup. They had on the same day just climbed up from base camp, tired but in full spirits.
Dawn broke. I awoke to the songbird's melody, ti-ti-ti-tiur-ti. I left the warmth of the sleeping bag and came out of the tent. Yunam's head was covered in frosty mist. I was a little anxious about what was going on up there.
At around nine after daybreak, our vision captured the row of folks descending the unlevel slope one after the other. One guy from the other group lamented with defeated eyes, "I tried, but it didn't work. I am on the wrong side of my age. A little lung and knee training would do."
Back in the camp, they voiced freely their experiences. One said the challenge of climbing mountains is lesser than the challenge of telling the story to others. Not an appropriate peak for ego-climbers. At the Family Trekking Peak, anyone with a bit of stamina can start from and return to the base camp summitting the spire in a day.
One said, 'Elders told, the joy is the climbing, not spending the time on pole. But all are nonsense. I climbed up all night thoroughly getting bored, spent only ten minutes on top looked around turning my head and then down hilled. Chandra Bhaga, Mulkila mountain ranges were hidden behind the clouds. Climbing was an extended monotony. No technical expertise required, and the remote chance of getting into trouble even on mindless moves.’
Another person uttered, '" was more worried about my vomiting partner. He complicated the customary situations. The reason was that before departure for the final push, instant Chinese noodles in insipid soup did not go well with him."
The stockpile of craggy stone on top was blanketed by mist. Visibility became detrimental for getting clear summit photographs. Suddenly gusty wind mercifully removed the cloud for a moment. They barely managed to click few. Documented photographs frozen in the camera frame gave them trumpeted satisfaction.
One who could not narrate about the peak experience said – ‘Breathless and speechless. Pebbles in the shoes caused more suffering than climbing mountains.’
A guy from the tribal belt of Ayodhya hill of Purulia shortly said, "I must have bought my shoes from a drug dealer, had a lot of tripping while ascending."
This was the story of the gimmick-packed climbing of Yunum. The momentary joy and restlessness subsided somewhat once they saw Vinod, who hailed from Patna, as he appeared in the arena. He stayed back for a day at base camp due to altitude sickness. He was another prospect of the summit bandwagon. He didn't expect Yunnan would be climbed in the meantime in his absence.
He thought that according to plan, the Ganga water would be sprayed on top at twelve o'clock at night on the juncture of August 14-15. It was an unled mission, so all were their own bosses. What else? He looked dejected, and his anguish erupted. "Everything has gone in a hurry, A futile exercise for me to come over here.’ He was exploring if there was a possibility of a second push according to the premeditated plan. Support staff was not in the mood to spend more days as their contract was fulfilled. Members looked the other way and were more interested in spending the rest of the days soaking their vagrant souls in the urban milieu at Manali.
Thus, the end of an unplanned, naive mountain expedition. The team left the scene at the bottom of a high-altitude anti-climax.
All activities were completed ahead of schedule. A lazy day spent at base camp. I was sitting in a parachute tent at a roadside Dhaba next to the camp, drinking leisurely tea. A convoy of military vehicles was moving across the road. All the vehicles left but two remained standing. The dhaba owner ran with money and a jerry can. Oil was siphoned from the oil tank into the jerry can. Money changed hands.
At the time of farewell, base camp was furled, tents taken down, junk set on fire. A bus was waiting at the highway to take us back to Manali. The marmot was in covert hiding.
The wildlife was more beautiful than the landscape itself. I found endless joy in the contact of the orphaned mountain mouse; simultaneously I was overwhelmed by the agony of self-loathing. I had annoyed him thinking that he was a household pet. Tried to take forced selfies by luring him with food, and teased him by trying to caress. It didn't occur in my mind that he could be infected by human diseases by proximity, with no scope for treatment. I failed to respect a wildlife loner.
Lakpa rants, ' Every tourist takes their photos and posts them on social media, and it creates more trouble for them.'
I was dying to see him once in bye-bye time. Waited in anticipation. As I approached the pit, I could smell a smell of aggrieve. He peeped out of the cell once, and looked at me from a distance. Resentment, contempt, and suspicion was scattered in his look. He seemed to say, 'Go away'. By writing a letter of complaint on an inert stone, the touchy creature again disappeared into his shelter of misfortune.
'Go away', two small words. I was silent in woe. Pollution and humans are driving wild species to the brink of extermination. I too had contributed to this savage act. I mulled over the end of the story in the gaze of intense regret.
(Pijush Roychowdhury, a globe trotter who frequented 63 countries is a leading travel writer, published extensively and has been an awardee of "Kalom " as the best travel writer of 2020.)
(Boudhayan Mukherjee, a traveler, cum eminent bi-lingual poet , with several books of poetry, travelogue and translations, was awarded Swamagata Literary Prize 2022).