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Gangotri-Gaumukh-Tapovan Trek Part-3/5 Rasik Shah Rasik Shah was born in the Indian diaspora in the colonial apartheid type society of Kenya in the early forties. Having grown up in a multi-ligual, multi-racial society, he studied law in the London of the early sixties and went back to Kenya, practising as a criminal lawyer. He migrated with his young family to Canada in 1974 and practised law in Vancouver till 1995. He has been conducting trekking tours to the Garwhal region of India in the last few years and is now retired from law, writing full time. He has published a couple of short stories at the following sites: 1. "The Ngong Hills" at www.dorsai.org/~tjhubsc/ngong.htm 2. "At the Dentist's" at www.es.co.nz/~treeves/rasik.htm He has written a novel set in Kenya and is trying to get it published. The Gangotri trek is one of his favourite treks and he plans to lead a group to Gaumukh again in September, 2000. Please address any queries to him at: rshah132@home.com

Tehri & Uttar Kashi

It is now mid-September. We have had a great, eventful trip to Leh. One could say it was out of this world. I will write about it separately on another occasion.

Now I am back in Mussoorie for the long-planned Gangotri trek. Other members of the trekking party have all duly arrived in Mussoorie. Our party is quite small. There is Judi from Kitsilano; Lucinda and her friend, the Punjabi/Canadian/New York girl named Karen, both from Westside Vancouver, Melinda and myself from the Westend, and Michael Huntley, Melinda's brother, from the Kootenays. The staff has almost as many members as the trekking group. Neelu Badoni is the trek leader and organizer. Our main cook is Surbir, with Prashant as assistant cook. Camp leader and organizer is Pavan. In Gangotri we will pick up porters to carry our things all the way to Tapovan.

Our backpacks, supplies, utensils and camping equipment are soon loaded on the sixteen-seater bus and, by nine, we are off on this bright, crispy morning on the road to Uttarkashi. The drive to Uttarkashi will take about five or six hours. We pass through a forest of silver birch north of Mussoorie and are soon winding along unnerving mountain roads, heading into the dug up dusty dirt roads around the construction in the Tehri dam area

The Tehri dam has been under construction ever since I have been visiting the Garhwal, for some five years now. A man called Sunder Bahuguna has been leading an active campaign against the project. I have heard a lot about Medha Patkar, who has been campaigning against the building of the Narmada dam. Lately, the redoubtable Arundhati Roy has joined the ranks of the activists, much to her credit. One of the things I have been proud of in relation to India is its democratic institutions and open debate about controversial Government policies and megaprojects. Among some circles, development is a dirty word. Later, I will encounter philosophers and activists like Claude Alvares in Goa, carrying on the proud tradition of Mahatma Gandhi in fighting pollution and the environmental destruction that big time industrial "development" is bringing in.

After passing the town of Tehri, we leave behind us the ugly surgical scars on the face of the earth left by massive excavations, diversion roads, corrugated surfaces and mounds of dug up earth. The road now follows the fast-flowing Bhagirathi and we pass some beautiful spots. At the tiny town of Dharasu, we stop by a bridge across the roaring white foam of the Bhagirathi as it descends in a fall from a rock far up above. Lunch will be served in the surprisingly spacious dining area of the rustic café overlooking the waterfall. There are rows of wooden benches lined up against long table boards running the whole length of the roofed space -- with truckloads of passing Gangotri pilgrims in mind, no doubt. Anyway, we give our orders for puri, sabzis and hot chai and after feasting on the hotly served food, settle down on the rocks along the bank facing the roaring torrent of the Bhagirathi, enjoying the sound of water hurtling against rocks and the rainbow colours that have appeared in the misty spray that arises from the bottom of the waterfall. Some are busy taking photographs, others are stretching their legs on the further side of the road. This village's main street is located at the most scenic spot for hundreds of miles, I am sure. Soon we are ensconced in the bus, most of us snoozing away the hour or so it will take to reach Uttarkashi.

Uttarkashi, Kashi of the north, is a sizable town and we drive through the main thoroughfare, passing hardware shops, garages, knick-knack shops of every description before turning right and crossing a bridge over the narrow, deep gorge of the Bhagirathi that saddles the town. We are soon parked inside the compound of the GMVN rest house and find suites or rooms to share in clusters of two or three persons. Before it gets dark, some of us take a stroll in town. Development has definitely reached this far north; there are machine tool shops, hardware shops that carry modern household items, plastic goods, aluminium pots and pans, electrical gadgets like lamps and vacuum cleaners. We have a good night after being served the excellent rotis, sabzi and daal that our cooks turn out from the kitchen they have taken over. Next morning, after the parathas, scrambled eggs and omelettes they serve us for breakfast, we are off to the next camp at Dharali, right on the bank of the Bhagirathi, on relatively level ground where the river flattens out along a sandy bank full of round pebbles in rich colours, the current still quite swift in the central channel of the rushing river.

We unpack and settle down in the standup-size, permanent deluxe tents with proper beds and lots of heavy blankets for the chilly night ahead. Outside there are rows of clean cubicles for bathrooms and a mix of western and eastern style toilets. This camp is rightly described as deluxe, in my view. After putting down our baggage we scramble off to the riverbank, exploring the area. There are lots of plants bearing the ubiquitous pink thunder lilies that dot the compound of the camp -- a delicate hardy flower that seems to flourish in the wind-swept sandy soil. I end up walking with Judi slowly along the sandy bank, along bits of sandy promontories and islands, jumping across or wallowing along shallow pools, examining the pebbles on the ground, picking up the odd one in pastel colour or with smooth texture, inviting a caressing rub between the palm. It is about four in the afternoon, and we still have the benefit of the warmth of the sun for a while yet. We go along to an area that has a grove of trees and settle down on a rock ledge for a few minutes, allowing Judi to light up a cigarette. We sit silently for a minute or two, admiring the distant opening in the direction of the source of the river. Suddenly, looming large over that gap in the sky at the end of the valley we see the three Bhagirathi peaks, called the Bhagirathi Sisters and are spell-bound by their grandeur. In a day or two, we will witness an even more phenomenal peak, the tall, sharp and erect Shivlingji as we start trekking towards Gaumukh, the source of the Ganges, the spot where the snout of the Gangotri Glacier rests.

Judi and I walk upriver for a mile or so, scanning the ground for precious pebbles, savouring the fresh air and warm sun. We come across a lonely figure in an army uniform approaching us from the direction of our camp. It turns out to be a young man who greets us, and with impeccable public school manners, introduces himself as Major Jai Parkash. He tells us that his unit is camped just a bit further up from our camp and that they are on army exercises. We introduce ourselves as trekkers from Canada. The major is very friendly and we get an invitation to his camp for a drink that evening. I decide that it would be better for us to invite him at our camp to meet all of our group in the evening. We make some more small talk and end up by him agreeing to come over that evening for a drink. The major dropped a hint that he would make arrangements to bring something to drink from his camp, to share with us and could even arrange to have some food brought over. We left it all open and agreed to expect him at about eight.

We have a campfire going on the beach by about seven-thirty. It is dark, but a full moon has arisen. Specks of silver dance merrily on the moving water surface, the river, ever implacable, on its destiny to meet the ocean thousands of miles away. Surbir, our wizard of a cook, sets up a table by the log and the rocks at the edge of the beach where we are seated and sets up glasses, a couple of bottles of mineral water and ice in a bucket. Neelu magically produces a bottle of Indian rum and pours a round of drinks for everyone. Surbir manages to serve hot vegetable pakoras on a tray before the major arrives with an attendant in tow. I make the introductions and we settle down to relaxed conversation about who we are and where we intend to go. We find out that the major's unit is on exercises in the area and they will be going up to Kedar Tal and higher regions in Nandaban. We have already heard about the tragic bus accident that occurred about four days before we got to Dharali at a bridge crossing further down the river. The bus lost control while approaching the shallow wooden bridge and had plunged down fifty meters into the deep gorge of the river. The major informs us that he lost five of his "boys" in that accident -- members of his unit who were on their way to join the unit to participate in the mountain exercise. We all express sorrow at this sad news. I think about the words of T.S Eliot, something about the river being a strong brown god, forever, unpropitiated, unplacated, indifferent to the commerce that flows on its surface. The major maintains his composure and shows remarkable control for a man so young, I thought. We hear stories about how the local police are not to be trusted dealing with the injured and the dead and how the army had ensured that the rescue operation was controlled by army personnel, to ensure prevention of theft of personal belongings of the dead and the injured.

We have soon exhausted our supply of the refreshing tonic we have been imbibing and are glad to hear the major instruct his orderly to fetch a bottle of Scotch from his quarters. The major also tells us his orderly will bring in the chicken dish that the mess had prepared for their evening meal.

Our group is now relaxed enough for someone to suggest a recital of poetry. Michael is soon prevailed upon to recite a shorter ballad of Robert Service. After a very pleasing recital of The Shooting of Dan McGrew we prevail upon Neelu to sing a Garhwali song. We know he does this very well and some of us are joining him in the refrain by the time the major's orderly arrives with a bundle of good things. We warm up to the crackle of the bonfire and have one last round of drinks before ascending the steps of the camp site to the dining room beside the kitchen. Surbir has the food ready at the table and we share everything that is going, including the army kitchen's spicey vindaloo.

The stay at this camp has been so delightful that before retiring for the night we agree to extend our stay here by another day; Neelu making the very practical point that we would be better off doing some more walking in the hills in this area, already 8,000 feet high, to acclimatize for the hike up the Gangotri Glacier to Tapovan, and possibly a separate outing to Kedar Tal, which was not to be underestimated.

"Rasik Shah is leading a trek to the source of the Ganges and Tapovan this year in September. The two week journey will start from Delhi on 15th September, 2000. There will be other journeys such as an overland jeep safari of Ladakh in the summer of 2001. See future issues of Sawf Magazine for Rasik Shah's articles on Ladakh and other treks and tours.

For further details or inquiries please e-mail him at: rshah132@home.com "

Credits

• Editing : Reeta Sinha
• Photographs : Judi Hopkins