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.