Chopta is about five hours from Sayalsor, situated on the banks of Mandakini River, where we had spent the night en route from Haridwar. The next morning we ascended towards Ukhimath and then onwards to Chopta, into Shiva’s own territory, as the Mandakini flowed down from Kedarnath on our left. Thick oak forests covered the steep mountain banks as the river rolled stones into smooth pebble beaches.
Ukhimath to Chopta
It’s a long drive of 40 km on curvy roads amidst dense oak forests from Ukhimath, the winter home of the deity at Kedarnath, to Chopta. En route we passed the village of Sari where Appropriate Technology of India had taught villagers of the area to make tasser from silkworms fed on oak leaves. The steep climb meandered its way through thick forests filled with deciduous trees, ferns, lichens and moss. A couple of roadside dhabas told us we were at Duggalbita. A wonderful white house built by the British and now transformed into a PWD guest house was where Indira Gandhi had stayed one time, our driver enlightened us. Today, the chowkidar of the place informed us that Uma Bharti, on her way to Kedarnath, was planning to stop there and therefore there was no place for us. "Come back in a couple of days and I will have a room for you," he added as consolation.
As we climbed up from Dugalbitta, glimpses of the mountains from the clearing in the forest told us that we were in the Land of the Panch Kedars. According to legend, the Pandavas having won the battle of Kurukshetra and feeling guilty for killing their cousins, the Kauravas, sought Shiva’s blessing for redemption. Shiva, upset at their un-brotherly conduct, assumed the form of a bull and eluded them by taking refuge in Kedarnath. On being continuously followed, he dived into the ground, leaving just the hump protruding from the surface, which today is recognised as his prime abode. The remaining parts of his body appeared at four other places. His arms at Tungnath, his face at Rudranath, his stomach at Madmaheswar and his head, complete with the famous locks, in Kalpeshwar.
Finally, as the mist in front of our Ambassador lifted, we got a glimpse of Chopta and above it the summit of Chandrashila. The GMVN property situated on a cliff overlooking the valley that we had just come up from was closed due to some litigation about environmental encroachment. As we approached Chopta, we saw that an enterprising businessperson had built a tent city below the GVMN property, and at Rs 100 per night it was too tempting to pass up; so, we made it our base camp.
The peaks of Kedarnath and Chaukhamba revealed themselves in the early morning light. For breakfast, we walked towards the centre of Chopta, to its bus stand. As we sat down to get a glimpse of Kedarnath, buses and jeeps from the plains bleached black smoke into open-air dhabas (roadside restaurants), garnishing our pakoras with diesel fumes.
Green chillies and Mrs Singh
In this place, grey from the fumes and dust, lit up bright red and blue with plastic containers of the cola kings, Mrs Singh, in a bright green sari, wrapped as a Christmas present with her red Delhi Haat-pashmina shawl and lipstick cut green chillies. Her husband, in a suede jacket, acting as her servant boy, asked around for masalas. Old Nerolac paint tins converted into masala dabbas were handed to him and as the bus from Ukhimath to Gopeshwar announced itself, spewing black fumes into Mrs Singh’s face, she started stuffing the chillies with masala from old paint cans. I watched her fill each chilly with TLC and once they were all filled, she requested the owner for the use of his open-air kitchen. As she stood over the kadai, instructing the owner boy on how to make these fried green chillies, she was silent to the world around her and to her children who watched patiently.
Whether her beautiful red paisley pashmina shawl smelt of fried green chillies or of diesel smoke was immaterial. That morning her family wanted fried green chillies with their alu parathas (potato-stuffed Indian bread) and she was determined to make them in the open roadside kitchen she had converted into her own, overlooking the great Kedarnath, the first of the Panch Kedars.
|
Mrs Singh's fried green chillies |
| Green chillies – count at least 3 or 4 per person |
Haldi (turmeric powder) – 1 teaspoon |
| Amchur (dry mango powder) – 2 teaspoons |
Besan (gram flour) – 1 tablespoon |
| Salt to taste |
Vegetable oil for frying |
Wash and slit the chillies vertically as you would if you were making stuffed bhindi. Mix besan flour, amchur, salt and haldi. Stuff the green chillies with this mixture. Heat oil in a kadai. When hot, fry green chillies until they puff up and become light green in colour. Eat immediately with stuffed parathas, dal rice or dahi rice.
After a lunch of dal, saag and roti, leaving behind Mrs Singh and her green chillies which were now being devoured by her family, we headed through the brick gateway up the steps that took us to Tungnath. Chopta, while it offers some of the best views of the Garhwal Himalayas, is only a truck stop to Tungnath. If you are not up to a trek, hire a pony, but we wanted to trek this short route, or so we thought!
From Chopta to Tungnath
The trek from Chopta at 12,000 ft to Tungnath at 13,072 ft is a distance of just 4 km but with a gradient of 40 to 60 degrees, in the short distance one ascends several hundred feet. The path is well constructed, probably many, many years old with shale rock planted sideways to give good footing. Even though fit, the steep climb forced us to take several deep breaths and bring out the bag of chocolates that Mukul had bought for an army, in the hope that we would get some of the lost energy back.
Neither Tungnath nor Chandrashila were yet visible. But we feasted our eyes on wild flowers, left-over rhododendrons, all kinds of ferns and lichens, while continuously trying to side-step horse droppings; and becoming increasingly angry at the number of empty bags of Lays potato chips and Lehar Kurkure strewn around amongst the ferns.
Having decided to come in October, we had been warned about possible showers but had not realised that the monsoon had not yet left Chopta. It started raining as we were midway on our climb and had to seek shelter in the small tea huts scattered en route. All through the walk to Tungnath, I saw only the local men and wondered where the women were. These men come up from nearby villages situated at lower altitudes to set up chai and Haldirams or Lehar namkeeen shops for travellers like us or others on real pilgrimages. Some are more enterprising and offer alu parathas and two-minute Maggi noodles. They come up to Chopta and Tungnath in the middle of April and leave after Dusshera in October. As we walked higher into the clouds, covering ourselves with the thin plastic sheets that dear hubby bought, I hoped we wouldn’t run into a hailstorm for it would make these thin sheets pointless.
Walking up to Tungnath was beautiful and a feeling of sheer fulfilment enveloped us as we gazed over the ranges and valleys. Time tends to freeze here, as we had also started to do. Once in a while, the clouds parted as if the weather goddess had lifted up grey skirts and allowed us a glimpse of her bright blue petticoat, the colour of sky only seen in magazine pictures. I bent to pick some wild rosemary, my favourite herb, and made way for some Gujju behns (don’t bother looking this up in any dictionary) from Baroda and Surat making it to Tungnath on horseback.
The hailstorm did come as we walked passed the shortcut to the Himalayan Institute of High Altitude Ecology farm, where I was told one could see some of the rarest flowers in the area. The hailstones pierced the thin plastic sheets and we began to get wet and freeze even more. Walking was difficult, as the rain and hail mixed with horse shit to make the walkway slippery.
Instead of three hours, this short trek took us more than five with all our chai stops and shelter breaks from the rain and hail. On reaching Tungnath, I had the same feeling I have every time I complete an uphill trek -- satisfaction and completion, deserving of chocolate.
High at Tungnath
A number of houses built out of local slate dot the tiny plateau on which the Tungnath temple is situated. In the inner Himalayan range, the temple is one of the highest in the region. Though comparatively small -- 50 ft -- it leaves an indelible mark because of its high altitude setting and the solid granite slabs from which it is built. In the sanctum the dark left-tilting foot-high lingam is the centre of attraction. Locals described it as the arm of Shiva, that part of his body, which makes this the second of the Panch Kedars.
There are no dharamshalas to stay at Tungnath. Realising hospitality opportunities, therefore, the locals, who live here for six months of the year, have built pucca rooms furnished with beds and mattresses, with heavy quilts for the night. We decided to stay at Ganesh Hotel run by Mr Alam Singh Bhandari, an ex-army man. The room had five beds and we opted to rent the entire room instead of just two beds; at Rs 100 it seemed reasonable. A small window overlooked a meadow at the back and at a distance in the hazy afternoon mist I could make out the peaks of Kedarnath, Chaukhamba and other mountains whose names I was still to learn.
After changing out of our wet clothes and requesting Mr Bhandari to dry them by his fire that seemed perpetually on, we went for a walk at the back of the village. About a year ago, the government had installed a wind turbine wiring the entire village with streetlights. Today, it lies there broken, rusted like an old cannon gun of a bygone era and all that remains of the streetlights are poles set at regular intervals in the village. I asked Mr Bhandari why the villagers did not organise themselves to fix the turbine. He said, ‘Sarkari log ek din aye aur project set up karke chale gaye. Hum logon se na baat ki, nah kuch bataye. Che mahina tak light rahi, phir hawa se chale gai. Hum jaise the, vaise hi reh gaye. Kuch pharak nahin pada.’ (The government people came, set up the project without talking to us and left. There was light for six months, then the wind blew it out. We were left the way we had been. It made no difference.)
The sun began to set in Tungnath and the temperature dropped. It was cold. Mr Bhandari recommended that we have some of his Maggi noodle soup for dinner and I gave him directions to cook the tins of baked beans we had brought all this way.
Masala Baked Beans
I learnt to cook this on my DEAS treks in the Sahyadris many years ago. I still make it at home, when there’s nothing in the fridge or when one wants a lazy Sunday brunch – serve this with eggs and toast and good Coorg coffee.
| Baked beans – 1 can |
2 green chillies |
| 2 small onions |
A couple of cloves of garlic |
| 1 tablespoon of oil |
Coriander leaves chopped finely |
| Some salt and Tabasco sauce for taste |
|
Chop the green chillies, onions and green coriander leaves finely and mash the garlic. Heat oil in a saucepan or kadai. Fry the garlic, green chillies and onions. When browned, empty baked beans into the saucepan. Mix well and let it cook for some time. Add coriander. Remove from heat and serve with toast and scrambled eggs, if desired.
Finally Chandrashila, stairway to heaven
The hailstorm and cold weather had spoilt our plans to tent under the stars in Tungnath and cook our own food over a bonfire. Dinner was at seven and we were asleep at eight, huddled with all the clothes we could find in our rucksack and under three quilts and a sleeping bag! It was a full-moon night. The sky cleared allowing me to see the peaks in their night dress all silver and blue in the moonlight. Soon the village was silent. Not even the sound of high alpine crickets was heard. Early the next morning, before the sun poked its head out, we headed onto Chandrashila also known as Mountain of the Moon. The trek to Chandrashila is a steep upward climb to where Rama meditated for forgiveness after killing Ravana, a Brahmin.
The summit of Chandrashila, at 14,000 ft, was sheer magic -- we felt that we could reach out and touch the sky. The blue of the sky began to brighten as the sun rose, allowing us to see the famous diamond ring so talked about. A small temple guarded the entrance to the summit, which was dotted with miniature stone temples built over the centuries by travellers, in prayer or thanksgiving for glorious places such as Chandrashila.
We stayed in Chandrashila for a couple of hours, lost in its sheer mysticism and trying to identify the peaks we had only heard of. Chaukhambha (25,000 ft) looked as if it was an arm’s distance away, and there were Bandarpoonch, Neelkanth, the famous Nandadevi and further on, the peaks of Nepal and Tibet that Mr Bhandari had told us to look out for. As the sun rose we watched the mountains change colour and the clouds rise up from the plains like smoke pulled into chimneys. Mukul built a temple and offered his thanks. An eagle flew overhead as if to say, ‘I have heard your prayers and am watching over you’. We were at a place of harmony, reminding us that this could be the stairway to heaven and that there is a place where gods and mountains co-exist.
Reluctantly we made the descent to Ganesh Hotel for a hot breakfast of halwa and puri. The sun came out and played hide and seek as I tried to dry the clothes from the previous evening. When we left Tungnath later in the day, Mr Bhandari had already found himself his next client -- a man from Kolkata and his four nephews all prepared for the freezing cold night with their monkey caps and warm gloves.
Around Chopta
As we waddled down short-cuts, we decided to stop at Devarshini, situated mid-route, at what we thought was one of the most beautiful places around Chopta. Green meadows (called bhujgali, or kark in local Garhwali) with oak and deodar trees splattered for effect made a beautiful painting as we set up our tent. Others before us had also felt it was a place to rest a while, as we found campfire remains, Wrigley’s chewing-gun wrappers and, of course, those winged monthly female accessories that find their way to the weirdest destinations -- touristy or not!
The scent of the white flowers of wild rosemary that dotted the green meadow made us heady as we slept under the sky till Mr Pawar who had a small chai shop close by brought us tent service of hot alu parathas, pudina chutney with a difference and tea. As we ate, he shared his life story with us and told us about his family far away from this, his six-month home.