Just before Chirbhasa, we met an ISKCON party going up. One of them, a young Australian, was experiencing symptoms of altitude illness. They had neither mules nor porters. With 10 kms left to Gangotri, we decided to hand over our mules to him, since we felt confident enough to walk. Our porters started complaining – they wanted to walk faster and without the back-up of mules, they were sceptical if we would reach before sunset.
The mule driver was paid but refused to take any tip since he felt responsible for the loss of my camera, even though he had vehemently said at Bhojbhasa, that he had given it to me. The porters also wanted their payment and some extra for carrying the load that the mules had been carrying. We reached an agreement: R takes them down, as fast as possible, and gives the message to my father waiting in the car at Gangotri that we are walking down and likely to be six-seven hours late. Payment to be made after we reach Gangotri.
So the group that was 3 pilgrims, 3 porters, 3 mules, 1 mule driver and 1 guide the day before; ended up at Chirbhasa, the next day, with 3 pilgrims, 2 headlamps, 1 torch, a well-quipped first-aid kit, some biscuit packets and 1 litre of water.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Bhagirathi at Bhojbhasa
Our mule driver found that all his three mules had run off. No surprise, we told ourselves, since he beat and scolded them so much. While he scouted for them, D accompanied us to the adjacent banks of Bhagirathi, where K and I had to end this leg of our pilgrimage.
We offered our pranaams to Gangaji, in our own unceremonious ways. Picked a few stones from her bed, some for my father, some for us. We filled up 2 litres of her water, one for my father and one for us. It was then we found that one of the 2 metal water-bottles we had bought, was missing. Since both were identical, I assumed it was ours that was missing. So we loaned D’s water bottle to carry Gangajal and bought a plastic one for him from a dhabaa on the ridge. The dhabaa also served hot and tasty aloo paranthas and tea, which D and I consumed hungrily. K was not yet into eating or drinking. This time we asked that all of us stay together: we three, the porters, the mules, and R. K would either walk or ride and I would be within whispering distance of him. We left at around 1100 hrs.
As altitude decreased, both K and I felt better. But we still took it easy with frequent rest pauses. D carried water for all three of us, since we two were not yet well enough to carry our own. D soon learnt his first Norwegian words: vann = water, få litt vann ? = can I get a little water? D also carried the group’s first-aid kit on his back. The boulder fields, the log ‘bridges’, the landslide areas, the almost razor thin path edges – we walked all the way. K had not eaten a meal since the dinner at Bhaironghatti on 07.10.06.
We offered our pranaams to Gangaji, in our own unceremonious ways. Picked a few stones from her bed, some for my father, some for us. We filled up 2 litres of her water, one for my father and one for us. It was then we found that one of the 2 metal water-bottles we had bought, was missing. Since both were identical, I assumed it was ours that was missing. So we loaned D’s water bottle to carry Gangajal and bought a plastic one for him from a dhabaa on the ridge. The dhabaa also served hot and tasty aloo paranthas and tea, which D and I consumed hungrily. K was not yet into eating or drinking. This time we asked that all of us stay together: we three, the porters, the mules, and R. K would either walk or ride and I would be within whispering distance of him. We left at around 1100 hrs.
As altitude decreased, both K and I felt better. But we still took it easy with frequent rest pauses. D carried water for all three of us, since we two were not yet well enough to carry our own. D soon learnt his first Norwegian words: vann = water, få litt vann ? = can I get a little water? D also carried the group’s first-aid kit on his back. The boulder fields, the log ‘bridges’, the landslide areas, the almost razor thin path edges – we walked all the way. K had not eaten a meal since the dinner at Bhaironghatti on 07.10.06.
Bhojbhasa in the morning and Gaumukh
09.10.06. The fresh morning and my fresher mind made it possible for me to actually see Bhojbhasa. So austere, so stark, so simple, so hard, so silent, so harsh; yet, so beautiful – almost like a Norwegian winter, in many ways. Morning routines and tea over, D was persuaded by both of us to attempt reaching Gaumukh. He was very worried about us and not willing to leave us ill and alone. K was still not speaking and I had residual symptoms, on and off. I looked around for the bright red case of my digital camera, could not find it and so had to let D go without it.
After he left with the mules, R and the porters came down to our tent. K was better but had very low grade fever and was willing to speak. He asked if I could arrange for a helicopter. The local council, headed by Baba, told us that it would take 3 days for the helicopter to come from the Indian Army Rescue Unit at Dehradun. Paalki would take 3 days too. One day down. Second day up. Third day out. I persuaded K to come out and feel the fresh air. Finally, he did and after half an hour, began to feel better. I packed up and searched for the camera. R and the porters also searched for it, within the tent, outside the tent, around the dhaabaas, in vain.
D came back from Gaumukh and found us willing to descend. He did not tell us much about how it was: Great! – was all we got out from him, since he is not exactly a chatterbox.
After he left with the mules, R and the porters came down to our tent. K was better but had very low grade fever and was willing to speak. He asked if I could arrange for a helicopter. The local council, headed by Baba, told us that it would take 3 days for the helicopter to come from the Indian Army Rescue Unit at Dehradun. Paalki would take 3 days too. One day down. Second day up. Third day out. I persuaded K to come out and feel the fresh air. Finally, he did and after half an hour, began to feel better. I packed up and searched for the camera. R and the porters also searched for it, within the tent, outside the tent, around the dhaabaas, in vain.
D came back from Gaumukh and found us willing to descend. He did not tell us much about how it was: Great! – was all we got out from him, since he is not exactly a chatterbox.
Bhojbhasa at night
After a quarter or so, I felt the need for fresh air and ventured out. K was developing high fever. I was in the throes of the first headache in my life. D told me that this was the only tent available and that he had negotiated it for the three of us, inspite of the 6 cots it contained, since, R and some of our porters would also be sleeping inside. This was part of the well-known Baba’s ashram. He had a kitchen, would serve dinner and breakfast, and warm water as per request and had a toilet with lockable doors! 7-star luxury right on the banks of Bhagirathi at 3500 mts.
K’s fever went on rising and I started giving him paracetamol tablets, with some dry food and water, every 4 hours. By 1900 hrs., I was definitely better, hungry and cold. Some residual symptoms remained, but I could take them in my stride. K could not be persuaded to step out, not even for fresh air.
D and I decided to have dinner: daal, roti, sabji! D had some coffee sachets, so after-dinner coffee was also possible. He set his mobile alarm clock for K’s medicine timings. Since we had planned to stay in tents, I did not carry K’s details required to fill out the C-form (police information of each hotel stay of foreigners in India). Baba accepted my suggestion of me posting the details to him, later on, but before May 2007.
Sometime before midnight, I screamed out loud enough to wake up all of Bhojbhasa (or so I thought) due to sudden and intense cramps on both my legs. K awoke for the first time and helped me get over them, several times. I tried to sleep, but sensed the presence of death hovering around K. There was hardly anything I could do, except pray that if it was to be, it should be painless. After that, there was no question of sleep, though I severely needed it. I needed more, to hear K breathing, each breath. By early morning, I sensed the danger to have passed.
K’s fever went on rising and I started giving him paracetamol tablets, with some dry food and water, every 4 hours. By 1900 hrs., I was definitely better, hungry and cold. Some residual symptoms remained, but I could take them in my stride. K could not be persuaded to step out, not even for fresh air.
D and I decided to have dinner: daal, roti, sabji! D had some coffee sachets, so after-dinner coffee was also possible. He set his mobile alarm clock for K’s medicine timings. Since we had planned to stay in tents, I did not carry K’s details required to fill out the C-form (police information of each hotel stay of foreigners in India). Baba accepted my suggestion of me posting the details to him, later on, but before May 2007.
Sometime before midnight, I screamed out loud enough to wake up all of Bhojbhasa (or so I thought) due to sudden and intense cramps on both my legs. K awoke for the first time and helped me get over them, several times. I tried to sleep, but sensed the presence of death hovering around K. There was hardly anything I could do, except pray that if it was to be, it should be painless. After that, there was no question of sleep, though I severely needed it. I needed more, to hear K breathing, each breath. By early morning, I sensed the danger to have passed.
Altitude illness and sunburn
The number of symptoms I experienced of altitude illness and the intensity of each one of them increased with altitude and time. But I never once thought of turning back or resting for more than 2-3 minutes. The motivation and strength to carry on came from someplace inside me, coordinates unknown. K began to feel the heat of the sun and took off his khadi kurta. He almost held my hand all the way and was a source of great moral support, in his own silent way, during the entire walk. We did not talk, except for: ‘Break. Let’s go. Water. Look.’ and the silence was the best part. My thoughts went back to our wedding pheras. This entire walk-cum-ride, I felt then, was one more phera. I would not have reached Bhojbhasa upright without him.
At Bhojbhasa, we got down from the mules and stopped at the first dhabaa. D was already there. I couldn’t keep my head or anything else up for a moment more, but there were too many people for me to lie down. So I asked K if he could find a place, hidden from public sight, where I could just rest my head on his lap, even if only for a moment. He came back soon after and led me behind the dhabaas – he had also managed to find a throwaway mattress, and two pillows and laid them out for me! Out of the sight of the rest of the world, I crashed. To my utter surprise, K crashed too.
We rested there a few minutes, coming more close together by holding hands, than a newly-wed couple would on a prized honeymoon. When we finally decided to walk back, we found that D had arranged for a tent and had also got our luggage transported into it, helpful soul that he is. We asked no more than a weak ‘where?’. Heading straight for it, both K and I crashed into the beds inside. It was around 4 p.m. K was the only one who had any experience in pitching tents and was expected to do it for all of us - it was when he crashed that i knew value of hiring a tent with cots. K was in no shape to even sit on the cot, let alone pitch tents.
At Bhojbhasa, we got down from the mules and stopped at the first dhabaa. D was already there. I couldn’t keep my head or anything else up for a moment more, but there were too many people for me to lie down. So I asked K if he could find a place, hidden from public sight, where I could just rest my head on his lap, even if only for a moment. He came back soon after and led me behind the dhabaas – he had also managed to find a throwaway mattress, and two pillows and laid them out for me! Out of the sight of the rest of the world, I crashed. To my utter surprise, K crashed too.
We rested there a few minutes, coming more close together by holding hands, than a newly-wed couple would on a prized honeymoon. When we finally decided to walk back, we found that D had arranged for a tent and had also got our luggage transported into it, helpful soul that he is. We asked no more than a weak ‘where?’. Heading straight for it, both K and I crashed into the beds inside. It was around 4 p.m. K was the only one who had any experience in pitching tents and was expected to do it for all of us - it was when he crashed that i knew value of hiring a tent with cots. K was in no shape to even sit on the cot, let alone pitch tents.
Bhagirathi
On the other side of the gorge, it was possible very often, to see stretches of the old pilgrim path, plenty of landslides: old and new, small and huge, some deer, shepherd huts; rarely, waterfalls and all the time: dazzling mountains vying with each other to touch the skies with their sheer, harsh beauty. The size and shape of the rocks in the Bhagirathi instill immediate respect for the forces of nature: water, which can cut across such sizes and stone, which resists such water.
The different moods of the Bhagirathi on this walk must be experienced, not described. Would you like it if I described a love story when you have the opportunity to be a part of it? Mountains and rivers, the Himalayas and the different Gangas – each have their own little love stories. Sometimes they are fighting each other, sometimes only quarrelling loudly, sometimes just indulging in mock-fights for the sheer fun of it; sometimes one wins and at other times, the other; sometimes they pamper each other or are just cuddling each other; at most times they are like father and daughter: the proud, tall, mighty, stern and grave, sometimes sullen father wrenched into smiles and laughter by his little, lisping, prancing princess……..
The different moods of the Bhagirathi on this walk must be experienced, not described. Would you like it if I described a love story when you have the opportunity to be a part of it? Mountains and rivers, the Himalayas and the different Gangas – each have their own little love stories. Sometimes they are fighting each other, sometimes only quarrelling loudly, sometimes just indulging in mock-fights for the sheer fun of it; sometimes one wins and at other times, the other; sometimes they pamper each other or are just cuddling each other; at most times they are like father and daughter: the proud, tall, mighty, stern and grave, sometimes sullen father wrenched into smiles and laughter by his little, lisping, prancing princess……..
Dangers around the bends
Here, on these walks, the import of being alone, yet with companions in ear-shot, comes home as nothing else. On these walks, the need to be alone, the desire to walk alone, the urge to think alone; as one of a group, made each one of us keep a different pace, but within reach of each other. As time went by, D literally flew ahead, without mules or porters or a guide. We did not see him for hours.
We saw an unknown man being carried on the back of a porter – the man being carried was unconscious and his entire body had swollen up. Would he last until he reached a hospital? Very difficult to say and even more unpleasant to think about. At a particular bend, a heavy stench hit the nose, before the wind carried it into another direction. I asked R what it was. A mule had stumbled, fallen down and died, he said.
Both, K and I became increasingly anxious about D and finally shared our worries with each other: he could have taken someone with him, not fly alone – how would we know if he needed help of any sort……..? Somewhere near Bhojbhasa, we saw him as a distant blue speck and waved for him to wait. He did.
My husband and I had been slowed down due to my problems with altitude. And apart from that, we both wanted to savour each moment of the journey. So as not to exhaust ourselves, we took turns with walking and riding mules. We took frequent rest breaks, as and when we felt like our bodies needed it or a particular sight had to be transported into the soul’s memory forever.
I took as many photographs as possible, carefully composing them for my sister, to urge her to come while she could and for some others, who, most probably would not make it in this lifetime. I wanted to bring a bit of the Himalayas to them, for each one of them, personally.
We saw an unknown man being carried on the back of a porter – the man being carried was unconscious and his entire body had swollen up. Would he last until he reached a hospital? Very difficult to say and even more unpleasant to think about. At a particular bend, a heavy stench hit the nose, before the wind carried it into another direction. I asked R what it was. A mule had stumbled, fallen down and died, he said.
Both, K and I became increasingly anxious about D and finally shared our worries with each other: he could have taken someone with him, not fly alone – how would we know if he needed help of any sort……..? Somewhere near Bhojbhasa, we saw him as a distant blue speck and waved for him to wait. He did.
My husband and I had been slowed down due to my problems with altitude. And apart from that, we both wanted to savour each moment of the journey. So as not to exhaust ourselves, we took turns with walking and riding mules. We took frequent rest breaks, as and when we felt like our bodies needed it or a particular sight had to be transported into the soul’s memory forever.
I took as many photographs as possible, carefully composing them for my sister, to urge her to come while she could and for some others, who, most probably would not make it in this lifetime. I wanted to bring a bit of the Himalayas to them, for each one of them, personally.
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