Monday, Feb 21, 2000
Gangotri-Gaumukh-Tapovan Trek Part-5/5
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
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Gaumukh
 The next day we begin our trek proper, passing the temple to the goddess Ganga and the narrow alley beyond it till we reach the series of steps that have been carved at the beginning of the pilgrim route to Gaumukh. I do not like the steps; it is tough going, this beginning of the trek. We are carrying only light daypacks, with water bottle, energy bars, a sweater or two and camera. All other gear is carried by porters who have been hired in Gangotri.
There is some relief once we are past the steps, on softer earth surface. The trail now winds up fairly steep through the rainforest in the lower reaches for about four kilometers until we reach some dhabas at Raj Ghat, where a tributary flows into the valley. The first part of any trek is difficult, until the body gets used to the new pace and harder breathing. I am sweating a lot and need to clear my steamed glasses all the time. I also have too many layers of clothes on this warm, sunny day. We stop for chai at the dhaba run by a young lad and I am determined to organize myself better. First I take off my gortex jacket, roll it into a ball and place it at the bottom of my pack. I dig out the roll of tissue paper and tear off a large chunk, fold it in a convenient size square shape and place it in the outer pocket of my pack, handy for blowing my nose or wipe the steam of my glasses. I also tuck a white hand towel under my belt at waist level for easy access for frequent use to wipe off the ever- present sweat on my brow when I walk uphill. I also dig out a roll of Halls lozenges from my pack and keep it handy on the side pocket of my fleece jacket. I take a deep swig of water from my water bottle and place it upright inside the daypack. We rest for about ten minutes at the dhaba, sipping the hot chai that the young fellow has prepared right in front of us, over a charcoal stove. We start again, the porters and the staff heaving off heavy loads on their backs and preceding us.
 We are soon on more level, easier terrain, past the heavy forest. The trail now goes gently up and down. We cross several streams over shallow wooden logs placed across the gurgling water at the bottom of every valley, balancing our steps carefully to avoid falling into the swift current and jutting rocks. Another hour of this and our party has spread out into groups of twos and threes. Up ahead, on a grassy knoll beside a stream the porters and the cooks have settled down at a spot for the lunch break. Once we crash down to resting positions everyone receives a carton of mango juice, very sweet and syrupy. Soon we pull out the lunch boxes that were handed to each one in the morning before we started. I am glad to discover we have puris and potato shabzi packed in the cardboard boxes and I attack the food with vigour, welcoming the handout of raw onion strips and green chilli achaar from Surbir. We are told the Chirbasa camping site is only about an hour away. As we approach Chirbasa, the trees are thinning out, only scattered silver birches line the side of the valley. Suddenly, as we take a turn to the right, the magnificent sight of the Bhagirathi peaks cover the triangular space that opens up at the top of the valley. We are buoyed up by this and increase our pace, almost going downhill now, towards the camp site at Chirbasa, right by the broader, swift moving Bhagirathi at this point. Our tents are soon put up by the staff and finding our sleeping bags we get into our tents for resting tired limbs, getting warm snuggling into the sleeping bags. The afternoon chill begins soon after four, the sun already too weak to give much heat.
I have been wearing my runners all this time without any problems. If the weather held, I could probably continue wearing them right up to Gaumukh; the leather boots would become necessary past Gaumukh, when tackling the moraine of the Gangotri glacier; I would have to retrieve the boots from my main pack from the assorted luggage carried by the amazingly agile and sturdy Nepali porters. They are young lads wearing nothing more than cheap plastic chappals without any socks. Once again, in the evening, we are served a delicious meal of soup and spaghetti by the resourceful Surbir. The next morning, as I am puttering about outside the tent, trying to brush my teeth with the help of water poured from my water bottle, I notice a line of men and boys all seated on their haunches in a row facing us, enjoying the spectacle of watching us, strange creatures from another planet, performing strange morning rituals. Privacy has never been easy to find in India. Even at this altitude, close to 12,000 feet, village life and human curiosity interferes with our desire to be left alone. We are the unfortunate entertainment for the male villagers, white females being particularly fascinating. It is their home, of course, and we are the invaders, it could well be argued.
 We are glad to be off by about nine, for what will turn out quite a short hike, to Bhojbasa. We will get there in about three hours. The gradient is gentle and reaching Bhojbasa pauses very few problems. We have plenty of time to observe the great Bhagirathi peaks looming ahead in the sky in front of us; it is a bright sunny day, the strong blue of the sky unbroken by a single cloud. Shivlingji now appears on the right of the valley - lonely, majestic, towering, spendid, snow-covered glory. There is a GMVN resthouse at Bhojbasa, but we spend time around our tents close by the river, enjoying magnificent views of the theatre of several peaks that is assembling around us as we go higher.
The next morning it takes only about two hours to reach the snout of Gaumukh. We pass signs that mark the holiness of the spot, saffron robes flying on one or two tree wedges, a sadhu or two seated in meditation pose in rock caverns, trishur stuck into the ground. Members of our party get excited as we approach the cavity of water flowing from underneath rock and ice. The bank itself, around the river just as it emerges from the cave of the snout, is soft, strewn with pebbles and rock, and the more pious 'Hindus' among us utter shrill cries of Jai Shiva and fall down at the edge of the bank, dunking their heads into the freezing water. Lucinda is the first one to do so, followed by Karen.  I decide to rename Lucinda Laxmi in my mind, in honour of her Hindu sensibility. Laxmi has narrow slits for eyes and often looks Tibetan, but she prefers Hindu ways of seeing the world and its rich mythology to abstract Buddhist philosophy. Karen is a mystery figure, I feel, insecurely bred in provincial British Columbia, unable to speak a word of any Indian language, yet managing to look handsomely Indian. How different would life have been if she bore the name Kulwinder or Kamaljit Kaur? I decide to leave further speculation well enough alone.
Almost all of the porters and other staff members perform pujas and say prayers at this spot. We decide to have lunch among the rocks above the river and then prepare for the tough three hour climb up the moraine of the glacier up above the source of the river. I change into my leather boots after lunch and practice walking among the rocks. By one-thirty the train of our porters is off. We follow the delicate trail in rock and loose sand above the cave that surrounds Gaumukh, uncertain in our footing on ice, rocks and fissures in the soft ground. I watch the Nepali porters carrying heavy loads on their backs, hopping from rock to rock up the steep glacier moraine. The young Nepali lad in front of me is balancing a metal trunk precariously on his back and, stepping on a wet rock surface in his plastic chappals, slips, staggers and loses balance. He is quick to shake off the band of rope that has been securing the trunk to the top his head and thereby prevents his fall to the bottom of the rocky mound together with the metal trunk. The trunk hurtles down several metres into the hollow of the hill and the porters will waste some time retrieving the lost trunk. Neelu is annoyed at this mishap and the young Nepali gets a little rap on the wrist.
We move on up the difficult terrain, Karen needing help up some vertical rock faces as her friend Lucinda gives an upward nudge to her haunches. We keep struggling up the impossible scree surface. My lungs are bursting and I take a break by lumping down on an inviting square rock, making room for the passing Judi to sit beside me. I do not want to encourage Judi to smoke in these conditions, but am glad when she unrolls her gloves and pulls out a cigarette from her pack. This means perhaps a five minute break for me. I am amazed at Judi's fitness. In spite of her smoking habit, she has been clambering up the hills with the strength of a mountain goat and the grace of a deer.
 We are probably at 13,000 feet now. The air is getting thin and is distinctly chilly. I stand up with Judi pulling me up with one hand and for the next hour I go up in spurts of five or six steps up at a time, lungs bursting with heavy breathing, taking a minute to regain breath, then heaving up again. I look up above at the edge of the rim of this mountain of boulders, stone and debris that the glacier has deposited for a thousand years. The edge of the ridge at the rim looms on top, Shivlingji merrily winking up above it and I see the light blue jacket of Neelu perched right on the ridge. He waves, and I am encouraged to continue. Judi leads the way and I struggle on behind her. Karen and Lucinda are behind me, and are not gaining on me. The heavy-framed Karen is having a harder time than even me, I note with a little relief. Should I ever to do this again? No, I tell myself, I will not put myself into this state ever again. I have been on mountains before, and know the rewards outweigh the difficulties in the end. Judi is watching me from about twenty metres up above and then she sits down. She has made it to the rim and is looking out at the meadow in front of her. I am almost there. She waves, beckoning me, and I know it is not far to go now. I heave myself up and count one, two, three for every impossible step I take. Ten more and I will be there. Five more. I reach Judi and, supporting my hand on her shoulder, collapse down to the ground. I lie down with my back against my daypack and stretch my feet in the direction of the great expanse of the Tapovan meadow. Peaceful stretches of grass fade into the distance, the snow covered great peaks form a backdrop above the bowl of Tapovan. We move into the dry grass up above a little bit, by some rocks in a sunny spot. It is actually quite pleasant here as the wind has died down and the sun warms our faces.
Himalayan crows and drongos gather around the spot at the first sign of food, energy bars that we take out, sipping the heavenly nectar of tutti fruiti mango juice out of cartons. The birds are soon feeding off crumbs that Judi holds in her hand, palm outstretched. We see the line of porters down below in the meadow, reaching the spot where they are going to pitch tents. I am now in complete harmony, ready to stretch out for half an hour. We will not move until we see the tents up, only to scramble into warm sleeping bags when we get there. I note the time is reaching four o' clock. The chill is already descending.. We will have just enough time to hit the camp site before it gets very cold.
"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
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