Following the Rivers to Rishikesh, 16 May 2007

The morning was entirely targeted to getting ready as early as possible to attend the prayers at the school. The evening before, as our kids were roaming the extremely safe main road of Loha Jung, they had bumped into Dev (the Danny who drove us from Rishikesh to Loha Jung). They made a deal with him to drive us back and reserve the best seats for us (not that they had to as Lien would never let the best slip away from us!) After a quick breakfast, we set off for the school and stood in line with the children. All I can say is that these children had a touch of the divine Himalayas in them. As they walked in they not only touched their teachers feet but also that of all us adults. The pranams of the first child at my feet, brought in a mixture of feelings—I was touched to tears, awed by the innocent and heartfelt respect they showed, and felt unworthy of it—all at the same time. Our girls stood in line with them with folded hands as we joined them in the prayer and the pledge that we would serve our country. The teachers were equally warm in their interactions with us and one of them gave me a poem in Hindi. As we said goodbye, they invited us to come again in 2010, when the Devi was said to come down to the plains from her mountain abode. We wished we could and hoped inside that we were blessed enough.

Back to the bus—we had indeed got the best seats and our luggage in the back rather than the top to avoid getting our clothes wet again. Priya also made sure that all our walking sticks were safely put in as we intended to carry them back home. I walked to one of the shops to show the girls some pictures of the Roopkund lake and the skeletons that had been found there, had a last look at the mountains and got into the bus. But woe of woe—Lepi was missing. Lepi was a Leopard of the very soft varieties who had seen Meena through the tough times she had during her walk up, her bout with mountain sickness as well as the times she missed her Papa Bear moving us all to tears. Lepi walked with her, slept by her side, hugged her when she threw up and was last seen attending the prayers at the school. Then he just disappeared. Lien and Aparna had looked to no avail. Meena’s lovely grin had disappeared and her face was buried morosely into her backpack. It was a sadness none of us could take so I jumped off to have another look for Lepi. After scouring the path that led up to base camp, I met some of the Goans who shook there head when given Lepi’s vitalstatistics. I asked Appa, who for once stopped singing at the seriousness of the issue—he said he has seen something spotty “over there”. Over there, on a wall was Lepi. I ran back to Meena and reunited the snow monkey with her leopard—the smile, hug and sloppy wet kiss I got was more than enough succor for what I had to experience in the bus journey ahead. Winding roads no matter how picturesque, bus no matter how experienced the driver is, and me no matter what my mental resolve—we do not go together—if we have to, then there have to be plenty of sick bags.

The less said the better—Priya patiently handed me bag after bag, wet tissues, and water with a stoic stare. Her tender looks were reserved for Ayesha who got sick too and must have been silently cursing me as well because she kept asking me continuously if this was hereditary. “Why me?” was what she lamented in between bile breaks. I have no idea how Liz was faring but I could see the lovely Aparna, wilted into a crumpled heap in her seat. The Hargopal sisters continued to maintain their dignity and elegance in the front seat, once in a while standing up to check on the rest of us. Lien had bounced back to her natural self after her descent from the mountains, complete with the choicest expletives for the conductor whenever he forgot to shut the bus door. Narayan, the PT teacher was getting ragged by all in the bus for his archaic attitude to girls—he apparently had asked the girls to go learn cooking rather than attend the PT class. In a busload of girls with only Speedy for a male companion, he was totally defenseless. Priya tried to rescue him several times as it was her fan club who formed the majority but after that we just let him get lynched.

It seems there are seven holy rivers in the Himalayas—Sapta Samudrik Tirtha comprising of the Alakananda (Vishnu Ganga), Dhauli Ganga, Nandakini, Bhagirathi, Pindar Ganga, Mandakini (Pindar), and Nayar are said to have flowed from Lord Siva’s head. The prayags we passed are various spots where the Ganga meets different rivers on her journey to the plains. There are five prayags, which are located between Rishikesh and Badrinath:
Dev Prayag, where the Alaknanda meets Bhagirathi.
Rudra Prayag, where the Mandakini from Kedarnath meets the Alakananda.
Karna Prayag, where the Alakananda meets the Pindar Ganga (from the Pindar Glacier). It’s named after the brave Karna, who prayed to his father, the Sun god here.
Nanda Prayag, where the Nandakini and Alakananda meet. Ravana is said to have done his penance here as well as Krishna’s adopted father King Nanda.
Vishnu Prayag, where the Dauli Ganga meets the Alakananda river (from Badrinath). There is a road here through the Niti Pass that takes you up to Mount Kailash, a place I someday I hope to go.
It’s in Allahabad finally that Ganga meets with the Yamuna and the whimsically mythical Saraswati to form the Triveni Sangam.

We had passed the first four Prayags on our way to Loha Jung and now we would get to see them in the reverse order. We followed the Pindar River as it flowed by with unmatched grace, meeting the Alaknanda over white sandy banks. We saw the tall pines and conifers stand guard, as the hills on both sides made way for the rivers. We saw perfectly polished and shaped pebbles in natural heaps and houses rise like quaint little turrets alongside the banks. We saw a massive Shiva statue looming over his temple, hand positioned in dispensing universal blessing--temples dotted the roads we drove on perhaps a confirmation that this was sacred territory. We saw the distant hills melt into the blue sky, bidding us farewell—all this in between jumping out of our seats not in excitement but because of the extremely temperamental roads and the consequences of it thereafter. I at least at this moment was dying to get back into the plains before I died of the puke plague.

When we reached Rishikesh in the late evening, the holy little town was lit up like birthday candles on a cake. It looked lovely but we were way too tired to do anything else but admire it from a distance. When Danny the driver finally stopped near our bus to Delhi—we were all relieved. The girls, I and Priya were too tired to protest when Preeti oversaw the transfer of luggage and chucked our faithful walking sticks away. The group made its way to the café where dinner was to be served, and we were pointed to a restroom on the road if you could call it a restroom. It was a cylindrical tin outfit with a door and served as a restroom for all the nearby fruit and what not vendors in the vicinity. Amazingly it was spotlessly clean and amazingly it had running water definitely siphoned from the holy Ganga . Maybe the cleansing Ganga had ingrained in her nearby residents clean habits too. As I led her to it, I heard Ash say in a very very resigned way—“Mimi, do we have to go in a telephone booth?” After the rocks, the shrubs, the trees, and mountains—I think we had seen it all. Now it was time to go to Delhi.

Back to Base Camp-Loha Jung, 15 May 2007

We woke up to a quiet day and very tired legs. Walking another 10km did not seem to be an option for us—we were really tired. Giovanni had already opted out of the walk and rented a jeep eliminating any chances of bodies hurtling down the valleys—the misgivings that had led to the discord was the incorrect information, the consequent lack of preparedness, and inadequate responses to medical emergencies—all of which could have been avoided to make our trek much more enjoyable.Hopefully, we have all learned our lessons.

There was good cheer all around as we left Ran Ki Dhar by 8 am and walked down to the hamlet below to catch our ride to Loha Jung. Farewells were made to Narayana and Munni—gifts of raincoats, tracks and sweaters and Liz’s plate—as he called out to Meena to never forget Munni. We piled on to the back of the open jeep (after a small tussle between Ash and Nayanika over who got to sit on Liz’s lap) and set off on a ride that was an experience altogether. The jeep hurtled down the road like a roller coaster set free from its rails. What we went through in the back of the jeep—the less said the better! I think it suffices for you to know that we were hanging on for our dear lives. Impedimenta of course was comfortably seated in the front seat and never saw how our bones were jolted short of being dislocated from their respective sockets. We rattled and rolled along; singing hit songs from the latest Hindi movies till possibly the driver got sick of us and put on some of his local favorites. The sun was shining high and we drank in the view. The beautiful mountains and valleys whizzed past us. We waved at the people and pointed out the little streams that trickled down the mountains to each other. All the while making sure that we were holding on tight.

And then a sight that I am sure we all will remember. I don’t know who saw it first but we all looked up to see, what according to Sharda would most probably be, a Eurasian Griffon, gliding above, its wing outstretched over us as if in blessing. It soared across over our jeep much to our delight and at that moment we were so glad to be in the back of this jalopy. Somehow it seemed to me a sign of approval, a sense of completeness if you will—but however hard I tried, I could not get a picture of it. It’s there though, in the mind’s eye, a Griffon in the Himalayas, with outstretched wings protecting what it flew over. I at least would like to think that this bird of prey was on my side.

Then we arrived at Loha Jung. We tumbled out of the jeep, all of us surprisingly in one piece. One look at the Hargopal sisters’ faces and you could see the torture endured, personified. Liz and I kept quiet because we really had enjoyed the jeep ride. The children ran to the big tree outside the base camp and we found that the entire telephone network was down so we could not get in touch with family. Strange, we had not talked to anyone outside our group since the 10th of May. We decided to do some exploring so there we were marching down the main street of Loha Jung complete with our walking sticks in an unconscious tribute to the Dandi March. We were however not in search of salt.

Our first stop was at Chaudhry’s jewelry store—and the company of ladies bombarded questions at “Chaudhry” sitting there till he desperately confessed that he was Sanjay and that he would get Chaudhry for us right away. The real Chaudhry was obviously not very business savvy because he was away playing a game called Guchchi—every one threw their coins into the square marked out on the ground and whoever hit their coin with a marble, won all the coins. All the men in the vicinity seemed to indulge in this particular past-time. That is one thing we noticed—all the men seemed to have a lot of time to relax, sit, gamble at Guchchi, while all the women were working either carrying baskets loads, gathering firewood or grazing the domestic animals. Anyway, we definitely put Chaudhry back to work and back in business. He had to open every box, cupboard, and other hiding places were he had stashed his ware—poor Sanjay even had to take out the rings he wore. Despite the tyranny inflicted on him he offered us tea and in the process won our empathy as well as our money. We left him smiling as his fellow villagers took turns to thump congratulations on his back. I suppose he must have gone back to playing “Guchchi” and still be at it today! We picked up the bells, the sound of which had racked our brains out on several nights, but we had a need to cling to some mementos of this place. “Do you have donkeys around where you stay?”, asked a shop owner. Yeah, sure—lots of them—just can’t put bells around them to warn the others, I thought.

It was lunchtime and hunger pangs set in—Lien had explored the eating joints but it was Preeti who zeroed in on Kundan Singh’s café. “Look at those shining steel and copper glasses—a sign of a meticulous cleanliness,” she emphasized. The menu was announced: Maggi in any way you liked it, eggs in any way you liked it and Dal and Bhaath the only way he had made it. Several packets of Maggi were emptied out with a touch of Kundan Singh’s tomatoes (mine cooked differently—simmered delicately into a soup;-)), several eggs were scrambled, omlette-ed and the dal bhaath was passed around. Kundan Singh had to call in an assistant who was called, surprise,surprise: Kundan Singh! Both Kundan Singhs fussed over us, serving us as well as they could and the result—Truly Scrumptious! The girls were in heaven to the extent that we even heard, “Oh Maggi, how we missed you; how good you taste”! If only I heard that for all my efforts in the kitchen. Truly sated, we sauntered back to Base Camp to see where we would stay the night—wonder of wonders—we got rooms with attached bathrooms!

I hadn’t seen much of the base camp last time and I went around with my cameras till Preeti alerted me to the school nearby. It was a sight that gladdened our hearts. Little boys and girls dressed in white, lined up for their evening assembly. Preeti pointed out that even the girls wore trousers—a smart thing considering the climbing they probably have to do to get to their schools. It was small school, with a few classrooms set up with little plastic chairs. There was a quaintly written leave letter hung there, probably used as a template by the children. The teachers came across to us as sincere and committed as opposed to the ones one read about in the papers who just came in to collect their salary. The blackboard sported details about Uttaranchal and the teacher in Preeti was totally engrossed with the whole experience of the school. We chatted with the teachers for a while and impressed them enough to have them invite our girls for their morning prayers.

Meanwhile, our girls were far from the tired little things we had assumed they would be after a 45+km walk—they were, as Priya informed us, playing on the roofs of some houses, looking like country bumpkins with dirt on their face and their clothes hanging out. Like responsible mothers—we just let them be. Aparna was fatigued enough to not know what was going on, Preeti was busy trying to secure as many chairs as we could for our “personal balcony” which was more like just a stretch of a verandah and I had been plonked in one chair to kind of save it from other aspirants to its cushioned seat.

In walked Goa—the ever-happy ones—once again they had set a record for finishing the trek down really early. They sauntered in as if they came from a walk in the park, with Appa singing to provide the background score. Speedy never sang for us but then maybe it was good he didn’t—he might have been a Cacafonix to his Impedipenta. The last reports we had got was that after biding farewell to Impedimenta and packing us adults into the back of the jeep, he happily rode the pony enroute to base camp—how manly of him when the kids were walking! Then I saw our macho man from Goa and he had his vest back on—and he was dragging along a suitcase of clothes. “Hey Goa,” I called out, “what do you need a suitcase for when all you need is a vest?” “Hey Hyderabad”, he replied, “I got clothes to wear incase it got cold, but it’s really not cold enough!” Oh well—at least it is cold enough to wear a vest.

Apart from not having talked to our families since the 10th of May, we had also not had a bath. Thank god for deodorants, scented wet tissues, lotions and talc—we were still sweet smelling, even if I say so myself—but what we would not do for a hot bath? Preeti was ready to tug-of-war a bucket from Appa successfully and bond with kitchen personnel over Rajma and Jalebis to get them to fill the bucket with hot water several times so that most of us could value what the Bedouins must consider a luxury—a bath. We even roped in our dirty-looking kids to help them shell peas. From the peas though emerged yet another family member—Fern, a caterpillar whom Ayesha loved from the moment it crawled out of the pod into her hand. She was ecstatic about how soft Fern was and how she would be coming home with us. That it was a ‘She’ was an assumption, I pointed out and as for traveling with us—it was not possible. Priya took over to explain that Fern would be happier in the pure clean air of the Himalayas etc., while I timidly looked at a corner where lay the gooey remains of an unrelated caterpillar that I had squashed entirely by mistake and hoped that Fern’s future was better. Thankfully, Fern dropped off an inconsolable Ayesha somewhere and hopefully has evolved into a winged creature of some sort. We have of course a photo of her crawling on Ash’s finger that will be added to the family album.

Dinner was a sumptuous spread, what with an entirely Jain group joining us. The cook, thanks to the PR efforts of Preeti, specially brought in hot jalebis for us. The Goans sang around the bonfire late into the night but we packed in for the night—homeward bound, that’s what we were right now. Homeward bound.

PS: Thanks Sharda, for the correct information on the bird. I really cannot explain to you how beautiful it looked and how wonderful it felt to see it gliding over us. Stay in touch!

Downhill to Camp IV-Ran Ki Dhar, 14 May 2007

It was a bright day that heralded our descent to the mortal plains. Trishul shone and sparkled as the sun dappled its snow-clad peaks. The mountains around us really looked amazingly ethereal—white and blue against the green of the meadows. There we were in this camp, with nothing but mountains all around us but in the starkness lay its beauty. The day began with us being on time but being delayed by Speedy. Manish held back our group and let the Goa group go ahead of us to the Snow Point, which they did singing and hugging as usual with Appa cheerleading raucously. As we waited for our send off down to Ran Ki Dhar, we chatted with Manish—it was a moment to thank him for being there for us. Then we found one child was totally indisposed. An amazing Neha took charge and we did what we could to get him ready. The fact that he could not walk called for a sacrifice from Impedipenta who forlornly gave up the pony—what an amazing discovery—she had feet! After a hurriedly taken group photo we exchanged goodbyes with Manish and he stood on top of the hill with the sun behind him etching a dramatic silhouette into the sky—kind of made me think along the lines in Walt Whitman’s poem, “O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done…” But then he was indeed a friend during some fearful moments and we had the Himalayas to thank for that.

From 10,000ft to 6,000ft—it was downhill all the way. The entire trek was along the ridge of the mountains. But it was the most enchanting walk, despite being rigorous. We had to walk down stretches of the tree-draped slopes that we had seen from above. The forest was green, cool, and we were enveloped in an eerie sense of freshness that can’t be replicated anywhere in the world. Going down is hard and you have to make an effort to not put pressure on your toes—so we walked with concentrated steps but fully aware of the Rhododendrons in full bloom. Liz was totally herself and we all could echo her feeling when she shouted out to the forest, “I love this!” The track we took was strewn with leaves and while I wasn’t witness to this I believe Speedy decided to ski down the leaves complete with a Rhododendron topped stick, like some Lochinvar aspiring for the Winter Olympics. Impedimenta meanwhile had got back on a horse but again, not ours—when her roving eyes had spied the mount-less Munni, Preeti spurred into action, which meant barking an order out to Aparna who in one reflex action jumped on to Munni. Narayana’s long-desired wish that Meena ki Mummy would sit on his Munni finally came true. But before that it was a battle of lungs as the pony Impedimenta sat on reared back as she let out a war cry matched by Aparna’s much more polite reaction to Munni going downhill—and you thought riding a pony in the Himalayas was easy? Take my advice—walk.

As usual, while Ayesha and I had set off ahead of our group, we lagged behind the people ahead of us, got separated from them and were a bit lost. As usual, I turned to kid (haven’t you read that line “Child is the Father of Man?). She climbed up for a view and saw a little shack and we headed down. We got to a clearing and found that the shack was very ambitiously declared as "NEXT-Hotel and Shop" by a sign tacked to the tree underwhich the first of the Kundan Singhs we met was busy dispensing tea and biscuits. Raja-G (a spin-off on Parle-G) glucose biscuits could not have been a better treat. We were pointed out in the right direction and finally spotted Narayan (the PT teacher) and Binita. We caught up with them and walked down the amazingly narrow track down to a stream. While Narayan was the perfect guide—he had enough of us slow coaches—he asked us to continue down the tracks and loped down the rocks like a superhero minus a cape and reached the stream way ahead of us for a stream bath.

Like all the mountain streams we passed, this too was heaven sent—literally—it probably was one of the many descendants of the Pindar glacier. We threw our rucksacks, flung off the shoes and socks and soaked our feet. The water here was truly divine like all else in the Himalayas—in anxious moments in life I know I shall look back at those calm moments near the stream, where the water flowed over ageless rocks, and ran on witnessing everything but never judgmental. It was cold but I could feel the tiredness wash away. So unimaginably refreshing! Narayan and Sunil (who was with Priya, Liz and others at the very end, had dashed down like Zeus’s lighting bolt) looked reborn what with their shaven faces and scrubbed looks. We could have sat here forever, but there was more walking to be done.

From the stream, it was once again an upward haul. And haul ourselves we did, over fallen logs, loose rocks and stones, past slopes of forests and mountains—with a stop for a bite of chocolate and a swig of water. Now that we were closer to the plains, we passed houses, and colorfully dressed women walking their buffaloes. We saw a tree that looked like a Satyr and solar panels fixed on some houses. Nanu and Ayesha decided to walk ahead with the guide who told us that camp Ran Ki Dhar was, “Bas thoda aage (just a little ahead)”. I walked with Aparna, Lien and Meena and we later found out that the guide had merrily walked off leaving the girls to find their own way, which they did with a little help from Vishal—one of our young trekkers.

Camp Ran Ki Dhar was more of a house than a camp. The camp supervisor looked more like a little guerilla in combat apparel, complete with his headgear—an olive-green beret. Giovanni looked sicker than rested, complete with his headgear—a monkey cap. We were shown into a room where once again Lien had grabbed the best places. I sat on the steps watching our group walk in one by one and admired the resilience of our kids who began playing in the lawns right after lunch. To our surprise, the singing and ever happy Goa walked in—and this time the wife-beater vest guy was without a vest altogether at 6000ft! “Like I do not have abs like that or what”, muttered a Giovanni who definitely would not have had but was still in the dream state that he did—mountain sickness can do strange things to people. Macho guy sans vest did a martial arts demo perhaps in defiance till I alerted him to the fact that I would personally beat him up if his acrobatics knocked off any one of my kids who were playing in the vicinity. And after a lull, there was heave-ho, to-do and it wasn’t the Goa macho—it was Giovanni pitted against Speedy! All the pent-up emotions were out and at each other’s neck- just short of a village fight in Gaul! Our green-bereted guerilla came into use and as the storm was quelled—I missed out on all of the colorful dialogues peppered with references to daughters of thieves,and sons of pigs (far cry from C S Lewis's daughters of Eve and sons of Adam)- all this in Telugu a language known to be as sweet as honey!

The mountains stood in serene silence, oblivious to all the pride and frailties on earth. The sun would go down on them as benevolently as yesterday and rise in hope again tomorrow. The forests that were green today would age gracefully into white with the passing seasons and then be reborn again with time. It made no difference to them who climbed them or who trekked through them. We would begin our journey back to base camp tomorrow and it made no difference to them—but it had made a world of a difference to us.

Meanwhile, one group of our trekkers had managed to get lost. They set off from Bedani Kund, climbed over a couple of hills and got back to Bedani Kund again. They trekked down once more and sat in the clearing near the shop, till the Goa gang passed through. By the time they walked into Camp IV, it was almost time for dinner. After dinner, we packed ourselves into the room like sardines into a tin and lay asleep as the waiting passengers do on railway platforms. We had neither the time nor the inclination to assess how we slept—there were no complaints or discussions regarding the comfort level. The Himalayas had taught us that to be alive is a privilege—the rest are all perks.

Bedani Kund, Snow Point and Goa, 13 May 2007

The next day did indeed bring in a brighter day. It brought in the sunshine, better health, happier kids and the view of the majestic Trishul right outside the tent—erasing the nightmare personified by the several puke-filled packets lined up. All through the trip, we had a several groups within our larger group, probably borne from the varying degrees of prior proximity and the ensuing closeness that comes from being misinformed as a group about the trek itself. Giovanni’s group was fuming. As he explained: that while he had learned that he could wash his hair with a mere tea-cup full of water, his heart was pained by the whole experience of not being actually prepared for the hardships that this trek had put us through. He was fed up. He had had enough. He was not staying one more day in Bedani Kund. He wanted to move down to Camp IV and that was that.

The temptation was to do the same, after what we had been through the day before. However, as Preeti said—there was the snow that we had promised the children. Could we live with the fact that we came up all the way to 12,000ft to just turn our back on all the experiences that it holds? And that too with Giovanni for company? This was the best final word she had and we stayed on banishing any chance of having regrets later. As the dissenting group walked away, Manish promised us the tour of Bedani Kund, and the snow so after breakfast we began our walk to Bedani Kund, where they say the all-powerful Devi used to descend to bless her people.

Manish asked the girls to lead and told them about how timeless and holy the Himalayas are. “If you ask for something with a true heart, you will be blessed with it”. We walked into the walled area and prayed at the temple of Parvati. One of the locals handed me some yellow flowers to put at the feet of the tiny statuette of the Goddess. A little ahead was a temple dedicated to Shiva. Usually this entire area is full of snow. It is only in these couple of months that you can actually visit. There were patches of snow all around the wall, and the girls jumped into them and threw snowballs at us. The sheer joy on their faces made me thank Preeti and thank god for giving me Preeti as a friend. They loved it! There was no trace of last night’s pain as Meena whooped and hurled the biggest snowball she could make.

These were ancient grounds and we knew as we walked along the ledges dotted with little purple, blue and yellow flowers that we were blessed to be here and that we might not ever come here again. The views were those that cannot be captured by any cameras. To stand at the edge, look at the lofty mountains and their frozen rivers draped across like sashes, to feel the cold breeze and breathe in the freshest air ever, to see the star-spangled night sky—these are not things a photograph can record. We took pictures nevertheless and began our walk down back to the camp.

That’s when we bumped into Goa. A very very sunny group of people, who came down the same track that we heavily trudged from Tol Pani to Bedani Kund, with light feet and a song in their hearts. Liz and Lien who were watching both Hyderabad (us) and Goa (them) walk down the same slopes could clearly make the difference. They said that the only one who looked energetic among us was Preeti using two walking sticks and a yellow raincoat around her waist—“like Superman on Skis,” they guffawed. Goa swung in with Appa, their over-enthusiastic group leader, who promptly had a bath in full view (vitals protected) of all around at 12,000ft. We checked later that the water had been heated—duh. The Goans were complete with arms around their partner of choice, their T-shirts (in one case a chap with a wife-beater vest on), and cowboy hats over monkey caps. We stood gaping at them like bag ladies till hunger made us join them for a Cholay-Bhature lunch.

Then came the matches. The men from Hyderabad and Goa were pitched against each other in a Volleyball match and the girls in a Throw ball match—complete with cheerleading. While Goa won the men’s round, the Hyderabad girls gave it back big time to win the Throw ball match. And we can proudly say that Lien was one of the winners—so much for being sick! She jumped in and smacked the ball down hard, with our girls and us rooting from the sides.

The view, the togetherness, the fun, the learning—all at 12,000ft—priceless. The pain, the fatigue, the discomfort—everything else can be forgotten. The girls were having a whale of a time and that mattered. That evening, dinner was a relaxed affair (with paper plates, even Aparna relented as they were bio-degradable). For lunch time, I had rolled out a couple of very much done-up stories on the Roopkund lake, complete with hidden treasure and facts about carbon dating to unsuspecting kids. At night, Ayesha narrated some much better stories with the skill of a Scherazade and then after a moments of privacy under the star-stricken sky (only ones looking down at us were Orion, The Great bear and others starry friends) we all gathered to watch what to us was entertainment, considering the absence of multimedia etc—Preeti getting into her sleeping bag. It was hilarious—somehow she never could slip in with the smooth elegance that she always displayed in life. We used to wear all that we could that included multiple pairs of socks, gloves, shirts, sweaters and even jackets as it was cold and then slip in but Preeti stood vanquished before the sleeping bag. She would struggle and wriggle and look awkward enough to thoroughly entertain us and then glance down enviously at her little Nayanika, who would have neatly slipped in and looked so comfy in there. While the daughter made sleeping in a sleeping bag an art, for the mom, it was rocket science! Bah—to be defeated by a sleeping bag!

Even though we might not have slept as soundly as we wanted to, we were rested. We were rested in the knowledge that people who mattered to us had got back their strength, that we had been tough enough to get this far and that we were tough enough to tackle anything that came our way. C'mon life--bring it on!

Camp III Bedani Kund, 12 May 2007

I was actually afraid that our noses would drop off with the cold—and we were to stay in Camp Bedani Kund for two days. Meena did not have any warm clothing on when she reached here and had been deposited in the kitchen tent (which was off-limit for us campers) by Manish. Lien who had got here before us, had swung into action, grabbed the best tent and then lain back to struggle with complications that high altitude brings on. Meanwhile, Priyanka of the girl gang was shivering and her lips looked blue. Manish told us to get the really cold ones into the sleeping bags for which I had to tussle with the camp attendant as they usually never gave then until after tea. Priyanka settled in and as Aparna reached she immediately tended to Lien and got Meena into something warm. Almost simultaneously, I received a desolate Nayanika who had been thrown off Munni and been kicked in the ankle that she had sprained. As Aparna got a bucket of warm water for compresses, the little walkie-talkie that Preeti had brought along crackled up with her voice. It was an SOS call to get help to Liz and Priya.

High altitude combined with the cold and the fatigue had got to Liz. Priya, who had defied the diagnosis of a slipped disc and braved the mountains was trying to keep Liz awake and had yelled across the mountains to Preeti who not only heard her words but even the emotion in her voice. It goes without saying that the Hargopal sisters were made of rare stuff and thank god (and their parents) for that. Preeti, who was nearer the camp than Liz and Priya had radioed Aparna right away. Mules were sent out but what reached them first were two porters to whom Priya reacted famously with something on the lines of I-do-not-need-men-I need-mules. (I do not have access to the exact quotes).

Meanwhile at camp, in all the rush I had forgotten that I had left Ayesha in her yellow raincoat, outside the tent with her backpack on. She had stood there patiently as I had run back and forth with sleeping bags, this time for Liz and Priya. Close to tears by now, I got some lunch for the kids and sat with Ayesha till Preeti came in and we waited for Liz and Priya with bated breath. Contrary to the dramatic images we had of them being carried in stretchers, we saw Liz riding in like Queen Elizabeth the First, ready to boost the morale of her soldiers before demolishing the Spanish Armada. She looked as pale and white as good queen Bess, except that she had this fuzzy woolen cap on. Priya, so much for the men and the mules, walked in with hands in her pockets to be swamped by her fans of various sizes. Once again, we were just glad to be together.

At this juncture, I need to side step from the trek and focus on a shining star: Aparna. If there ever was a healing presence among us, it was Aparna the Lovely. Tirelessly, without complaint, she had cared for everyone from the very beginning—from one sick child in the train to tents full of sick people. She would pull out her medical kit, hand out the doses, and use all possible endearments to make you feel good. The fever would drop with her hug, the breathing would get easier with her words, the stomach would settle down with her smile and all this without a trace of expectation. She stayed awake with each sick one all-night and rose in the morning even lovelier. Except that she had a head full of uncombed hair, a toilet roll shoved into one side of her jacket, a sanitizer in another pocket, medicines in yet another and god knows what else.

And it wasn’t just her—after so many days without a bath, we all had earned the bag lady status (except that Priya said I was a London maid with my headscarf and my need to organize everything ten times and still not find the one thing I wanted). Preeti was perfect too with her mismatched gloves. Completing our look was the bucket that Aparna acquired which we used to American-wash the plates and mugs, and er…a whole lot things, which I cannot recollect. Apart from being lovely, Aparna was extremely environmentally conscious. So were we, till washing up plates in cold cold Bedani Kund. I forced Narayana, the PT teacher to part with some paper plates that I carried triumphantly into our tent for dinner and stashed the plates, which were a story altogether. Meena’s plate had a cute mouse, Ayesha and Nayanika had a Pooh-looking bear parachuting down from nowhere, I and Aparna had elephants (god only knows why), Preeti had the Tasmanian Devil baring is fangs (we know why) and as for Liz she had a plate that was more like a Frisbee and Priya had a cross between a soup-bowl and a plate with a Barbie on it. We called it the begging bowl. “You have no idea what I used it for,” said Preeti in an aside. It wasn’t Spots the Dalmation’s water bowl was it? No—it was the fish-marinating bowl. Thankfully by the time the trek was over, some one-stepped on it and the Frizbee flew into Munni’s keeper’s keep—the rest of us are proud keepers of our famous trek plates, which one day will be put on display for the public.

Now to the evening of 12 May 2007. It was a pathetic cold night. Lien, Liz and Priya had a rough night but what was heart-wrenching was Meena’s ordeal throwing up her little guts out. Aparna stayed awake and barely slept a wink. Actually, except for Ayesha and Nayanika, we all lay there in our sleeping bags, hoping and praying that tomorrow would bring in a better day.

Climb to Bedani Kund, 12 May 2007

We got up in the morning to bed tea served at our tents, a clear sky, a much more happier looking Lien…but did we sleep at all in the first place? Preeti heard me all right last night but did not want to encourage a conversation and hear all the voices of dissent. She said she had other things to worry about, like for example that I was sleeping on the edge of the tent and she was afraid that the grazing mules might get a taste of my already very short hair. “ I was worried about what you would be left with after they chomped your hair off!” Aparna responded with a mule snort that would have put any of the grazing wonders to shame. One of the girls in our gang who had to be moved out to another tent to make more room for us, reported that the tent where she had to sleep, Impedimenta’s worse half made enough noise snoring to keep all the mules in the world awake. To add to the spice of it all, we had heard voices of the PT teachers trying to find a boy in the middle of the night and our wild imaginations had envisioned the worst—which was that a kid was running away because he could not take it anymore. The reality was no less imaginative—the teen unabashedly admitted that he was known to sleep walk and had sleep walked into the forests.

The sun was out and snow glistened on the mountain peaks and Lien was better. After breakfast we started off on our trail to Camp Bedani Kund at 12,000ft. We had climbed to 10,000ft—how difficult could it be to climb 2000ft more? Manish Jha warned, “If yesterday was what you considered tough, then today’s would be a challenge.” We were told that it was uphill over the hills near camp and then we would reach the vast meadows of Bedani Bugyal. From there it would be a trek along a mountain path to camp. Seemed straight forward—till I saw Narayan tie both Nayanika and Meena when they sat on Munni. Why do they have to be tied up? When I climbed up with Ash and the others, I realized why. If climbing up a mountain is hard—try doing it by pony. Hats off to Impedimenta and the girls for doing it in style—I still preferred my sore feet!

Manish Jha, decided to walk with us to Bedani Kund and we all welcomed it—the other kids who had been disciplined enough said, “Do we have to deal with the climb as well as Hitler?” But our girls at least heard stories of the mountains that kept spurred their curiosity and their energy. We climbed leaf-strewn tracks, with Ash tapping out the loose stones and rocks, we heard birds’ call so sweetly clear and we saw a amazing variety of butterflies flitting along with us. We stopped to sit on fallen logs. Ayesha wrote names on what she called a ‘Family Rock’ so that the mountains would bear at least the names of the people she loved but who couldn’t come with her on this trek. Then our energy began to sag and we longed for those promised meadows. We stopped to see the hills we had passed by that somewhere hid Base Camp and realized that we really had come a long way. Then we walked again till we reached the bugyal or the meadow. The sight was something one can only be privileged to see.

Over the gur and channa that Manish Jha handed out, we sat back to drink in the view. The regal mountain peaks looked down at us, perhaps to remind us that we were but specks that would pass with time and they would go on forever. Our children looked so vulnerable and yet so strong against this backdrop—a combination that probably emerged from their pure hearts and sincere efforts that got them to this high point. I could have sat their forever, looking at these silent, snow-covered ranges and hoping that the wisdom they passed on to the Rishis of yore would rub off on me. But it was time to walk on.

We could see the rain clouds begin their trek towards us. Raincoats were pulled out and actually seemed to make a bit of a fashion statement up here—the girl gang gathered for a picture with Ash. Nothing however could keep the cold away. We passed the sign that warned us that now we were entering restricted areas. Meena was way ahead with Manish and her snow-monkey warm coat was with Aparna—we could not even see her. Preeti, Liz and Priya were way behind and we could not see them either. The climb became more difficult. We could see the narrow path cut into the mountains and they seemed to run endlessly to nowhere. We walked passed a little temple and the hail began. Lien looked not so good—brave Nayanika got off the pony for her and walked with Aparna. Lien went ahead. The hail stormed on. Ayesha stuck out her tongue to catch a few drops. We trudged on with a little march of our own…Take ten steps 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9, 10. Now rest for a count of ten. Take ten steps more and rest for ten…We dared not stop in case we could not get up anymore. I could see Ayesha’s little nose freeze up. Suddenly I realized we had been separated from the group. The last person I knew who passed me by was Narayan and Munni returning to pick up Nayanika after dropping Lien. I could not see Studmuffin’s gang, I could not see Impedimenta, what was worse--I could not see Aparna and Nanu. So I went on with Ayesha, Jyotsna and Priyanka. These girls were freezing, but we kept each other walking on. We met a local porter who said the mandatory, “Bas thoda aage hai”.

It was damp, cold and we began feeling snow on us. Despite being dead tired, Ayesha was thrilled to stick out her tongue and this time catch snow. While the rocky face of the mountains loomed high on one side, there was the sheer drop into the valley on the other side. We kept one hand on the side of the mountain and stayed away from the ledge. Our map had said that it was an 8km walk from Tol Pani to Bedani Kund—but this felt much more than that. We got to the end of the narrow mountain track and stepped into soft rolling hills. It was a meadow but we did not see camp anywhere. I did not know which way to go. There was no welcome banner like in the other camps. Before panic set in, a very calm Ayesha said, “Let’s follow these mule tracks and fresh mule poop—it’s bound to take us to people.” We whooped and hugged her and let her lead as she had done for the past two days. We walked and walked till we caught sight of one of the most wondrous sights ever—the toilet tents of Camp Bedani Kund and we walked on to a camp that seemed to be in a swirl of bad-tempered clouds.

We had reached Camp Bedani Kund all right but life was just about to get really heated up in these cold mountains.