I realised all of a sudden, that the entire group of 30 Men (and women), who had by now crossed over already, were watching her with equal eagerness. For a moment, the sound of the roaring waters ceased to exist as my mind went numb with helplessness!

The lady in question was Sherry, our four legged 9th Member. She had joined the team 2 days back and had walked 25 Kms of fairly difficult terrain to be there that afternoon. This was the first tempestuous river we were crossing, aiding each other. But there was little we could do to help that little black bitch who was watching the turbulent waters, somewhere lost in that deafening roar.

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“Nalgan Pass”- The name stood out while I was carefully marking out the position of “Rupin Pass” on the Google Earth referring to the British Army Map(1937) of Garhwaal Himalayas. The name sounded a bit odd but was clearly mentioned, just a few kilometers east of what is known as the “Rupin Pass”, on the same extended ridge. It definitely looked and sounded interesting, in fact, strangely mystical.

Months later the same name popped up in a thread at Indiamike.com. Some adventurous westerner wished to travel across this “less travelled” pass and was seeking information about some capable guides. The allure to see this mystical valley strengthened ever more.

The twist to the tale was added with another name, “Lamkhaga” –that had been playing upon the mind for quite sometime, ever since someone from GMVN bunglow in Harsil mentioned it several years back. During those long discussions around the campfire with the local staff, I was taught the existence of the Lamkhaga and Chhotkhaga Passes that connect the Bhagirathi Valley and the Kinnaur Valley of Himachal Pradesh. They did narrate this interesting aside, how Lamkhaga is a long but relatively easier route and the Chhotkhaga- the shorter but relatively difficult one.

Having romanced both names for long, it occurred to me at once that both these interesting objectives could be attempted in one go! When I posted the thread for the “Twin Passes-Triple Valley Trek” on the Internet, I had little idea of the ultimate form it was going to take. By the time it ended, I was marvelling yet again at the wondrous ways in which the Grand Mountain enriches the experience of living; the myriad manners He always chose to teach new lessons.

View
View Larger Map

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It was a “first” for me in many respects. It was the first time I was going to walk 150 Kms and the first time I was crossing two passes in a sequence. Never earlier had I led a team of ten and that too with a mix of genders. We were to assist our navigation with GPS(Nalgan Pass has an unfrequented and sparsely documented route) and it was the first time I was ever to trek in the valleys and passes of Himachal Pradesh.

With so many firsts, the natural starting point of preparation was the team itself. The challenge was to create a team that’s closely-knit and strongly aligned to the common purpose, within the constraints of time and resources. The variety in the physical and mental faculties of the members must be the least. We could not afford a failure that would cause an individual to pull down the team performance or compromise the objective.

It took me two rounds of “Thread Launching” in both Indiamike and Orkut community forums to get the team built at all. The team finally came together by March.. and God! What a team! It’s indeed rare to have the opportunity of being in the midst of such an unique group of individuals.

Background, education, location, profession, age and gender- in every possible way the team represented diversity!

Nalgan Pass- A Caravan Through Wilderness

Reaching Netwar almost at midnight, we were feeling lost for the moment when we noticed a vehicle parked in the middle of the now-closed-market. Jaisingh and Bisht-The driver were inside the jeep waiting for us to escort us till the Forest Guest House. The welcome sight of the Forest Guest House finally loomed into view at 2315 hrs. The support team had been waiting for us there the entire evening. Tents had been pitched and the dinner table had been laid in the FRH compound out in the open.

“Campsite pahunch gaye hum! Bahut sundar campsite hai. Seedha aate raho, thoda hi door hai.”

We had covered 13 Kilometers in reasonable time, none of the members were hurt in any way and our spirits were high! All in all a fine performance for the starting day! The rocks in the middle of the riverbed served well as the lounging area.

We all knew, it was a crucial day for us when we shall turn off the beaten track of Rupin Pass and head into the scantly explored trails of Nargani Valley. We had to make crucial choices of routes and bridges so that we would be in a position to attempt the pass two days later.

“How much money was there?” I asked

“About twenty thousand odd” He replied.

I glanced in Vinod’s direction, probably with a look of unspoken request.

“Koi baat nahin Sir, main dekhta hoon abhi. Kitchen set ho jaane dijiye, phir main dekhta hoon. Mil jana chahiye”- He assured me.

First, there was this gushing torrent of a waterfall on the Nargani river that made the river tumble down a hundred meters in easy but sure steps.

A few hundred meters ahead we reached the last major confluence- this time a tributary coming in from the true left. A group of herdsmen were smoking hookah under a Odar known as Dugdi Odar. Dugdi – being a rough translation for the “Junction of Two Rivers”. It was reassuring to reconfirm the route yet again. Here again members tried their skills at smoking the hookah of the shepherds, this time without any accidents. .

I looked below towards where my fellow team members were slowly progressing towards where I stood. Then I spotted Rachit, Hardik and Jaisingh.

“That twisted ankle must be paining awfully” I thought, for where they were, there was no way one could pitch a camp stool, let alone a tent!!

“Yeah, even the grass below has frost on it” replied Pramod. It was our first brush with freezing cold for the season. Having spent the earlier days on the valley floor, we had crossed the limits of high altitude for the first time and it was going to be like that for several more days.

(To be continued in Part 2)

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Some Pictures from my camera:

Click here to view slideshow of pictures

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Selected Videos of the Stage 1

 

[Published under the author’s permission ]     

[ Original publication at www.snowscapes.blogspot.com on August 15, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

The dreamy drive ends abruptly in about an hour. The road comes to an end as it makes a gentle turn to the left.

As the entire Upper Baspa Valley opens up, it presents a grand vista without compare. The tall peaks half asleep in the clouds and the gently dancing waters coursing through the twists and turns of the Baspa fills one’s being with sublime joy.

There had been several discussions in the internet thread, with copious contributions from various members, about the need for a Inner Line Permit in the Lamkhaga Pass route. The opinion varied. While everyone was convinced that a formal permission was necessary when one attempts it from the Harsil side, there was no agreement on the fact that it’s equally necessary from the Chitkul side.

Presently, having obtained no positive confirmation that a message has been formally conveyed from the district administration, we decided to take a chance and proceeded ahead for our intended destination, Ranikanda camp. Just as we apprached the Chitkul school, a prominent feature visible in the Google Earth, we noticed a black dog following us. I had lavished a packet of biscuit on him already, but he would not relent! We did not mind, he was good company!

Day 7- Nagasthi Camp- Ranikanda Camp

Next morning was the first lazy one I enjoyed in over a week. There was nothing that could be done before 1000 Hrs, when the government offices opened.

Apparently he was here in Chitkul and has not heard the message himself that was relayed to the station!! How can the message be conveyed to anybody but him? It took me the next one hour to massage his ego and pose various logic to prove our case. Several telephone calls later to various offices of ITBP, he finally relented and radioed his personal permission for our passage. I must add here, that was the only sour experience I had with the ITBP. Once past the checkpost, they dazzled us with their magnanimous generosity.

It took an hour for the camp to be on its springing feet, just when the rain clouds started rolling in from the eastern sky.

The weather tested us for the next three hours. The light drizzle soon matured into a downpour. The porters had not prepared well for this. All the loads soon got drenched, including the sleeping bags.

We spent a dark, damp night that felt strangely forbidding. It was as if, the mountains had barred us at the gateway, or at the least were testing our mettle- whether we were fit to enter the inner sanctum.

Day 8- Ranikanda Camp- Dumti Camp

The southerly route leading into Ranikanda takes another sharp turn further east, thus describing a giant S. One is on a east-west traverse again along the Upper Baspa Valley. The mountains around wore a naughty look, as if someone had sprayed a mist of snow over them. Evidently, the rain in the previous evening had converted into gentle snow later.

The rock band was actually a landslide zone which posed great difficulty. Thankfully it was not very long. On the opposite side of the river, a similar area is called “Lal Dhang”- literally “The zone of Red Rocks”.

Ravin, in his typical regalia of “Lawrence of Arabia” tried a bit of adventure here, quite inadvertently.

Day 9- Dumti Camp- Baspa Glacier Camp

It is almost as if it is the beginning of the reign of a new powerful force, much stronger than the terrible cold of the night.

For the little time that was available while we were getting ready for the day’s walk the black dog, who we were now calling Sheru, stole few winks. Curled up in a ball of fur, he was basking in the warmth of the Sun. For the whole of the previous night he had kept his presence felt with the regular and periodic barks, probably a way to work away the cold.

The Camp soon went busy with a group activity aimed at collecting Juniper bushes. The worsening weather did not deter us. We ended up collecting a cart-load of Juniper bushes in light snow conditions. They helped fuel a rather long camp-fire that burnt bright till late into the night.

Day 10- Baspa Glacier – Lamkhaga Pass- Bivouac at Snowfield

We started early for the summit, early by our previous standards. By 0800 Hrs we had begun the trek. The idea was to cross the pass by lunchtime and proceed ahead to the foot of the Lamkhaga Glacier so that the walk for Kyarkoti the next day would be an easier one. That would also help in avoiding an inordinately long trek on the last day.

As one looks in the westerly direction, towards the head of this valley, at 10 O Clock (due South West) is the steep snow-face that leads to the corniced ridge of the Chhotkhaga Pass. If one could attempt that steepness, the journey to Kyarkoti gets shortened by a good 10 kilometers. Next to it, at 12 O clock is a moderate sized icefall behind which is the saddle of a possible pass to the Jalandhari Gaad valley. Next to it is the Peak of Lamkhaga at 1 O Clock and next to it at 2 O Clock is the Lamkhaga Pass.

The pass appeared to be in a touchable distance. The vast morraine bed ahead and the waves of snowfields above appeared quite easy- some magic of optical illusion perhaps.

Thankfully it was packed snow and not the powdery variety that increases the toil several fold. On the down side, the tightly packed snow was slippery quite often, requiring us to take extreme care before treading the next step.

The near-vertical slopes seemed unending. Every now and then one of us would slip into some unseen hole in the snow. Strangely, Sherry rarely suffered from this consternation. The porters decided to take a slightly more precipitous but rocky route.

It is difficult to remember how each one of us fought our way through that slippery snow and a final patch of loose rocks that rose upwards forever. Every few seconds someone would shout out “Rock! Rock! Rock!” to warn the members following below.

Day 11- Lamkhaga Pass- Upper Kyarkoti

A snowfield can be surprisingly warm especially when the Sun overhead is bright and bearing down with full force. All that we had to dry was dried in an hour. Krushi and I watched the going-abouts in the camp silently when we saw our four-legged companion cavorting around. In a moment he stopped- Our Sheru, smelt around a particular patch and bent both her hind legs to take a leak. That’s when it struck me; she was a bitch- not a dog!! Why were we calling her Sheru then?

The descent further down led us through tough boulder zone. After the fun morning with all that glissading on snow, it took us sometime to adjust to the kilometers of rock and boulders.I decided to change over into my trekking shoes rather than troubling my soul trying to hop boulders with my Koflach on. Sherry of course was in the advance party, right at the very front. She was a pro in every department.

Shortly thereafter, as we took the natural easterly bend of the river, the camp site became visible. The porter team had gone ahead and pitched tents already. Sleeping bags and cloths were out for drying. The GPS still indicated Kyarkoti to be 3 Kms away.

Day 12- Upper Kyarkoti- Harsil and beyond

Click here to view these pictures larger

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 [Published under the author’s permission ]     

[ Original publication at www.snowscapes.blogspot.com on August 15, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

Thanks to Google

It is almost ten months since I have returned from the Valley of Flowers. As I go around grinding through my daily life far away in another country, I have a charming place called the Valley of Flowers to think about, and am delighted to have had a chance to be there.

I’ve heard from a few visitors to the Valley that it is not as beautiful as they expected it to be. I beg to differ. Perhaps it is not difficult to please me when it comes to beauty and romance of nature.

To get a better idea of how and where I’ve reached so far, you may wish to read my Introductory Post and subsequent posts on my journey through high-altitude western Himalayan towns of Govindghat and the trek to Ghangaria.

After ascending 14 kms from Govindghat to Ghangaria, it is then mostly an uphill trek of about 4 kms to reach the Valley of Flowers. From the entrance, trekkers can explore another 3-4 km of the marked trail out of the 20 square kms of the Valley. Camping in the Valley is forbidden, so the return journey to Ghangaria, the base camp, must be done the same day.

Here’s my account of my trek to the Valley of Flowers describing how the countless images of the grandeur of the majestic mountains and the Valley of Flowers have left an indelible mark on my mind. I must add this is just an attempt for, as Helen Keller said: The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, described or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.

~~~

It is a cold and cloudy morning in Ghangaria. Packing some nuts and raisins in my daypack, I have a quick breakfast at a tiny restaurant and in reduced visibility through the mist, I set out to the Valley of Flowers. It begins to drizzle lightly and the raincoat I bought in Govindghat becomes useful again.

A few meters away from Ghangaria, the trek path bifurcates: the one on right leads to Hemkund Sahib where most of the people passing through Ghangaria head to, and fortunately for me today, it is the path to the left. At the entrance gate of the Nanda Devi National Park, there are three friendly government officials who appear pleased to see us. I guess after watching most of the visitors to Ghangaria trudging towards Hemkund on the right, they must be glad to find at least a few nature lovers heading towards their route. After a quick registration and payment of nominal fee at the check-post, I begin the ascent to the Valley of Flowers.

Soon, I cross a make shift bridge through a stream and as I continue ascending, at each turning, I see before me magnificent mountains and low clouds hovering around their peaks.

Climb to the Valley of Flowers

In the deep ravine, the roar of the River Pushpavathi can be heard. I glance back and stop to espy the beautiful mountain town of Ghangaria from a height. I know there is no chance for exhaustion on this beautiful route.

Continuing the climb, I get closer to the River Pushpavati flowing. A short descent and I cross a bridge over the gushing waters. Then the steep ascent begins. Before long, I chance upon a remnant of a fascinating Himalayan glacier. It reminds me of a decorated cake with its icing.

Part of the glacier

As I continue ambling, I find myself on a wide shelf littered with boulders. I come across a bunch of creamy yellow fungi. They seem to be reveling in the warmth of a niche in the rocks. Other rare plants flourish on these mountains. There seems to be enough nutrients in the soil of the meadow for their sustenance.

I clamber on and stop to admire a Bhojpatra tree, and think about how its bark was used in ancient times to write on. I can recognize sal and birch, and a variety of magnolia and rhododendrons among the rich vegetation. A bird darts in and out of the trees before I am able to identify it. At one spot, I come across a swarm of butterflies, and stand spellbound watching a kaleidoscope of colour fluttering around.

Very different from the bridle path to reach Ghangaria, the path leading to Valley of Flowers is free from pilgrims, guides, porters, tents, shacks, animals and dung. Unlittered and natural, the path does not show signs of abuse and has a fragrance of freshness.

I come across very few trekkers. There are two couples from Mumbai and a few more in a small group. I can’t quite describe the awesome feeling of having the entire surrounding mountains to self amongst magnificent landscape in the quietude of nature.

At the entrance of the Valley

It drizzles again and then follows the sun peeping through the clouds unexpectedly. Through the rest of the day the pattern continues: following sunlight, intermittent drizzle, mist, and more precipitation. The misty mountains through the sun rays give me glimpses of the enchanting beauty around. The continuous change in the intensity of light at that height is enthralling.

Valley view and cloud covered peaks

At every turning, there is a new surprise. The sight of the snow clad peaks particularly make my heart leap with joy. The cascading waterfalls is a sight to behold. At certain places, the path is narrow, and slippery. I see a few locals working at a spot where there has been a recent landslide because of rains. Nodding heads in acknowledgment, exchanging smiles and accepting a few word of advice from them to be cautious and to ensure an early return, I proceed further.

The treacherous path at a few spots is kinda scary. I think to myself that no one would ever find out if ever I miss my step, and fall in the deep gorge. It would then be a case of “one blunder, and six feet under.” Oh the latter, only if the body can ever be retrieved! Twice, I take help of my hands and walk on fours for a couple of metres, and feel that time like I am doing a Jane Fonda workout for pregnant women!

Part of the trek path

Yet through it all, I enjoy myself. I guess am now so hooked to mountains and trekking that these days when I hear the name “Hillary” I think of Edmund though he is long dead and gone, rather than Mrs. Clinton and white house scandals.

I continue trudging the final ascent to reach the entrance to the Valley. A variety of flowers, dominated by pink and purple Balsam fill to the brim on either side of the narrow trek path. I reach the entrance and look up, and stop abruptly, speechless at the breathtaking sight! I hear my fellow trekker gasp and whisper, “It’s heavenly!”

Rataban peak

Picturesque mountain landscape of rich vegetation with the ephemeral clouds wrapping the mountain tops is an amazing sight. The mountains are of different shades of green, some bare and the peaks of ones at a distance, snow-clad. Within the Valley itself there are different smaller valleys. Streams of water flow right down into the River below. There are areas of treeless green meadows which are as charming as the wooded areas.

Treeless meadows

Hundreds of species of wild flowers are everywhere and these fields in the misty mountains has a mesmerizing effect on me. No matter how carefully I walk along the narrow path, a few sadly get crushed under my feet. Wild buttercups, Himalayan Knotweeds, Gentians, Rhodiolas, wild daisies, and from what I recognize, varieties of Campanula, lilies (also cobra lilies), milk parsleys, primulas, potentillas and balsam are found aplenty. I recall reading the Blue Himalayan Poppy and Brahm Kamal are rare species found only at these great heights.

Himalayan Blue Poppy (Meconopsis species)
(this picture shot on the way to Hemkund next day)

I feel sheer joy amidst the variety of flowers in the enchanting Valley. Time flies in the resplendent fields of wildflowers. I watch the snow clad Rataban peak and the gleaming Nilgiri Parbat posing majestically in the distance.

Wildflowers

As I head towards the grave of Margaret Legge, the botanist who fell to her death in the Valley while collecting plant specimens, I glance back and see the trekkers from Mumbai returning to Ghangaria right from the entrance of the Valley.

Grave of Joan Margaret Legge

Nearing the grave, before crossing a stream of clear gushing waters, I sit down on a small stone at first and then I get an urge to lie down on a small patch of grass. Initially I stretch, face upwards, and watch the sky scattered with indolent clouds. Cool breeze blows. When the sunlight gets into my eyes, I turn my face sideways and see a field of flowers: Primula, Potentillas, Geraniums, Campions, Bellflowers, Rhubarbs, Whorlflowers, Balsam, and a variety of other flowers, some quivering and others gracefully swaying in the cool breeze.

Wildflowers swaying in the Valley

The picture of the Valley with its scenery of the mist on the trail, the sea of flowers, melting glaciers, streams with gushing waters, green meadows, snow-clad mountains and their peaks looming against the horizon is aesthetically stimulating. It permanently etches a deep impression on my mind. The beauty and serenity of the place captures me in a spell. I am completely connected with the surroundings. I feel then every bit of effort that I took to get to the top is well worth the endeavour and the weary feet.

The Valley and the flowers

It is now time to get back, and I remember Ruskin Bond’s words:

…the infinity of mountains, the feeling of
space – limitless space – can only be
experienced by living in the mountains…

Though I feel like staying there forever I have to return now for I am hungry. As camping in the Valley of Flowers is prohibited I have to reach the base camp before sunset. I make my return journey, stopping often on my tracks, gazing at the magnificent mountains, absorbing in its beauty and finally descend from over 12,000 feet above sea level to Ghangaria.

~~~

At twilight that evening over cups of tea with another trekker in a tiny roadside restaurant in Ghangaria, there was more silence, than talk.

“I’ve never felt anything have such a powerful impression on my psyche,” I said.

“Mine too,” was the solemn response.

~~~

Previous Related Posts:

• Valley of Flowers: Introduction
• Valley of Flowers: Reaching Govindghat
• Valley of Flowers: The Approach

If you like this post, and wish to check out more photographs of the trek to the Valley of Flowers, click here.

[ Published under the author’s permission ]  

[ Original publication at http://indicaspecies.blogspot.com/ on June 05, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

Govindghat to Ghangaria:

One kilometer away from Govindghat’s main road, the zigzag mule track begins at Pulna and I notice it has a mark of being 13 kms away from Ghangaria. Journeying from Govindghat Ghangaria would mean an ascent of 1,220 metres (over 4,000 feet).

It is past 11:30 am. Filled with enthusiasm, I am so enamored with the beauty of the place that, save for a brief stop by at a roadside kiosk to buy a plastic raincoat, I begin the trek right away. The raincoat came of use as it kept drizzling on and off during the rest of the journey. Though it is cool, the looming noon sun beats down on me mercilessly, and makes me wish I had begun the trek early that morning. But then I take solace in the fact that I had a glorious time during my overnight stay at Auli.

I trek relatively easy carrying my backpack for the first two hours during which I ascend about 400 metres or so. At one point, during a steep climb, I suddenly realize that I’ve got to ascend more than 800 metres for the day and then begin to acutely feel the strain of the weight of my backpack. Then I recalled Murphy’s law that backpack strap width decreases with distance hiked. To compound that, I feel its weight miraculously kept increasing. Not just that, as if it is meant to ease my woes, its weight load kept migrating up and down my back as I continue walking. I felt at that time that 80% of its contents could have been left behind at home, but then who knows, the 20% left behind might be just what I need.

Mountain Village

Jokes aside, my backpack weighed about 7 kilograms and on hindsight, had I known that it was nothing but an upward incline all the way, even for that little weight, I’d have taken the help of one of the porters right from Govindghat itself. After trekking for 3-4 kms, I cross the beautiful Bhuyundar village, a cluster of modest houses with the backdrop of misty mountains. I chance upon a porter – who was to charge me only Rs 200 or so to carry it up to Ghangaria – and toss my backpack at him with relief. Thereafter my ascent gets easier and I am comparatively more relaxed to enjoy the rest of the journey.

Pilgrims on animals

For those who are not in the mood for trekking, there’s a choice of hiring an animal. For that matter, there are crudely assembled palanquins available for the benefit of the faint hearted (pilgrims mostly, as I believe hikers are tough); and to carry children, also pittoos. Pittoos, porters of mostly Nepali origin, carry kids of the pilgrims in cane-woven baskets on their backs.

A pilgrim being carried on a palanquin

Whether a mule is hired, or a palanquin or a pittoo, one ought to be ready to balance well, because those paths can be treacherous at times. I’d strongly suggest to trek, and enjoy the opportunity to stop at free will to absorb in the splendor and beauty of bountiful nature. It is definitely worthwhile trekking at one’s own pace to soak in the beautiful Himalayan experience.

I come across many pilgrims on their way to or returning from Hemkund Sahib. When compared, trekkers going to or returning from the Valley of Flowers are far and few. The path is, at places, strewn with mule dung. I often hear the pilgrims chanting ‘Waahe Guru’ when able to spare a breath; some of them filling palms of climbers with glucose, toffees, and to those who need it, words of encouragement to egg on. Little do they know that I am one of the few on my way to the Valley of Flowers, not Hemkund, where most seem to be obviously heading. I am quite surprised to see some of these pilgrims undertaking the arduous journey barefeet! But then I often feel the power and strength of religious sentiments is beyond my comprehension.

Brahma Kamal, a rare Himalayan plant
(it was misty when I shot this picture)

I stop often to admire the exotic flora and the many spots of cascading waterfalls from the great heights into the valley before joining the roaring waters of the flowing Lakshman Ganga. The river flows almost parallel to the trek path and gives me company most of the way. The long journey is a bit tiring but beautiful all the way.

River Lakshman Ganga flows

Twice, I take tea-breaks at shacks during the 7 hours trek. I watch pilgrims looking dreamy through the mist plodding along the steep trek path, wearing colorful raincoats. Both times, I choose a spot that has the River Lakshman Ganga running close to the shacks. The effect of the gurgling river has a soothing effect. The marvelous feeling of sipping tea in such surroundings is something that I can’t experience even in 5-star surroundings.

I continue trudging along. Tired towards the end, the journey of the last 2-3 kms only gets more steep but there is no time to rest my weary feet as I am intent on reaching Ghangaria before sunset. Then I come across a helipad area, and a cluster of tents. I know from what I had read online that this is an indication that I have almost reached.

Approaching Ghangaria

Finally after 6 pm, I am glad to reach Ghangaria. Being a base for hikers and pilgrims going to either Valley of Flowers or Hemkund, I find the place is crowded for mountain dwelling standards. I intend to stay at the GMVN accommodation, though fully aware of an unsuccessful attempt at making an advance reservation with them. Their website stating booking can be made only 3 days in advance was also of little help as I had left on my journey by then. As I head towards the GMVN quarters, I notice a major part of their building gutted by fire. Upon inquiries, I learn that their remaining wing is fully booked as their dormitory was destroyed by fire. I sincerely hope it is not a case of arson at this great height in the Himalayas!

The sun having set now, I scout around and fortunately find a damp-walled but tidy lodge with clean attached bathroom and promptly check into it. It is getting dark, and the mist enveloping the area gives me little idea initially of how actually the place looks like.

In the twilight, at one point, I watch the fog clearing up and voila..I see before me just a few feet away from the lodge a huge mountain side, like a tall wall looming right in front of me. I feel it real close like a spectacular wallpaper on my PC monitor but this is real and beautiful nature! It is an exhilarating experience spending time in the midst of these towering peaks some of which are at a height of more than 20,000 feet above sea level.

Ghangaria from a height

I cover up well to protect from the freezing weather to go out for some early dinner in anticipation of having an early night in Ghangaria. I am just one night away from the day that was to dawn when I would be in the Valley of Flowers finally. With pleasant thoughts of anticipation of that day, I fall asleep.

Previous Related Posts:

• Valley of Flowers: Introduction
• Valley of Flowers: Reaching Govindghat

[ Published under the author’s permission ]   

[ Original publication at http://indicaspecies.blogspot.com/ on May 03, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

Map borrowed and modified

The next day, in a ‘sharing taxi’ the rest of the journey from Rudraprayag through scenic Himalayan landscape keeps me spellbound through Karnaprayag and Nandprayag – at the confluences of the beautiful mountain rivers. The tributaries of the Ganges River gives company most of the journey. Reaching Chamoli, and overcoming the landslide episode, I reach Joshimath and have the choice to continue up to Govindghat. But something within me opts to stopover at Auli.

Locals chatting up – a long range shot from moving cable car

Auli at 5:35 am

Reaching Govindghat

I reach Govindghat and sit down to have some maggi noodles and tea as I am soon to commence the first leg of my journey to the Valley of Flowers by foot. From the window of the tiny roadside restaurant I can see the mesmerizing views of the majestic mountain and it is surprising to see quite a few people in this small mountain town.

Govindghat

View of Govindghat from a height

The rest of my plan for the day is to ascend a distance of 14 kms from Govindghat to Ghangaria to reach before sunset, and after a night’s rest to trek further right into the Valley of Flowers early next morning.

How to Reach Govindghat:

[ Published under the author’s permission ]  

[ Original publication at http://indicaspecies.blogspot.com/ on April 27, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

1937.
Overwhelmed by what he had seen six years back, Frank Smythe returns to the Valley and explores it extensively together with R. L. Holdsworth, another botanist.

1938.
Smythe writes a book and titles it “Valley of Flowers”. The Valley gets christened with the name. The book is published and the world comes to know of this natural wonder of about 90 sq km situated at a height of 3,342 m – 3,658 m (10 to 12,000 feet), with one of its peaks towering up to 6,675 m (21,899 feet) above main sea level.

1982.
The Valley of Flowers is declared a national park. Many restrictions are clamped on tourists. Camping is not allowed in the Valley. Collecting plants from the Valley is banned. Grazing of animals in the Valley is banned to protect some of the rare species of plants. (That there is a controversy on the latter decision is another matter.)

1988.
The Valley of Flowers is inscribed to be on the list of World Heritage Site.

2005.
The Valley of Flowers, one of the seven natural sites, is added to the list of the UNESCO’s World Heritage Site.
I read on BBC‘s In Pictures website about the Valley of Flowers getting the status of world heritage site. The more I read about the Valley of Flowers, the more fascinated I get. That day, I decide to visit the Valley someday for an up close and personal experience of the natural wonder.

2008.
Online, I outline plans with fellow travelers to meet up in Delhi and spend two weeks in Garhwal, trekking right up to the Valley of Flowers. The time that I choose is July end as July-August is supposedly the best time when the Valley blooms in full abundance while through most of the year it sleeps in a thick blanket of snow.

  On way to Chuikhim

I started from New Jalpaigury railway station and took a sharp left turn from national highway no. 31 at Bagrakote and entered into Bagrakote tea garden. Soon I crossed  the railway line that goes to Alipurduar from Siliguri. On both side of the asphalt road lay undulating fields of tea-plantation interspersed with shed trees. We drove past the dolls-house like wooden quarters of the staffs, a bustling bazaar and roadside tap-water points where women are busy filling up their buckets – quintessential scenes of a town.

The road goes straight to the bank of Lees River but I did not go that far and again took a right turn from Chunabhati and entered the chel forest.

From this point, the stone- paved track became rough. This is not a smooth motor able road. Only tough jeeps can weather its bumpy on it. The next 12 kms till Chuikhim (3500feet), our destination, passes through the forest. As we gradually gain height, we can see, on our right, the serpentine lees river bed lying far below. Here, the call of crickets is all pervasive here even drowning the strong purr of the ascending jeep engine. During September-October this cricket-call changed to sounds like the temple-bell. Then the whole jungle becomes a temple with numerous temple bells ringing together. On both side of the paved road we see lots of blossoming Tagar trees with milk-white flower; nature herself has offered the flowers to the goddess of nature. 

 Abruptly, the jeep stops below a hamlet. I have reached Chuikhim, a small quaint little mountain village of 250 families where SHARE (Support Himalayan Agro Rural Enterprise) led by Prasant Mullik, an unassuming youth in his thirties, has initiated a unique experiment in the form of community based tourism.

Lees River

In Chuikhim tourists are being put up in the home of the villagers. The villagers, with the help of SHARE, are building latrines, meeting the minimum medical need through health care facilities and getting education. The most remarkable achievement is the successful stoppage on alcohol consumption. It is really a near impossible achievement in a mountain-village to not only successfully ban drinking but to sustain that ban. Lots need to be done still; the villagers have miles to go and many more dreams to fulfill but a beginning has been made.

I am a guest of Pabitra Bhuzal, an unmarried girl in her late twenties living with her brother.

Home-Stay Cottage

The guest-house has two rooms, one big and one rather small with windows that look down on the valley below where the lees river flows. I just could mange a glimpse of the river bed from the window. The adjacent Indian and western style bathrooms are clean with plenty of water. This house can accommodate five-six guests. A similar house, about a half kilometer up on the southern slope can accommodate another four-five guests. 

The house I stay-in is on the eastern end of the village on a hillock with a cluster of pine trees as the backdrop. Surrounded by the mountain, one can see the whole village lying below in different slopes of the green valley with terraced cultivation. The valley slopes down west to meet the lees river-bed.In the afternoon, after a hearty meal of rice, dal, vegetables, chicken curry and a good nap, I sat on the lawn and listen to the birds. The sun sets behind the mountain lighting up the western sky in crimson red. Darkness crawled in. Silence became deafening. I sat there like a zombie, mesmerized, meditating.

 Chuikhim is so quiet & calm that at first one is quite uncomfortable; then it started to sink-in and an overwhelming sense of peace & calmness take over ones whole body. You feel so restful.  Here silence reigns and sweet fragrant gentle breeze blows. The silence that engulfs Chuikhim is broken only by bird-call.

 Fact File :

Access: Nearest railway station/ airport are NJP and Bagdogra. There is no regular transport available from NJP/ Bagdogra/Bagrakote (40kms from NJP) to Chuikhim (14kms). Hire personal transport (Jeep). Fare from NJP: Rs1500/ one way.

Stay& Food: In home-stay cottages. Rs 500/head/day; book in advance as there are only few cottages available.

Best Season: October-November and February-April.

Activities: Visitors can trek around the village trail and in the forest. There are excellent opportunities for bird-watching. Lolegaon (23 kms) and Samtahar (25kms) are nearby tourist spots.

Septerber 27 is observed as the Tourism Day in Chuikhim with the final match of the yearlong inter village football tournament along with folk-dance competition and cultural show.

For reservation and enquiry: Contact Prasanta 9433003080/ Pranjal: 9830060598/ Avra: 9433017643. Email: chuikhim@rediffmail.com/ nest.kolkata@gmail.com/

[ Published under the author’s permission ] 

[ Original publication at www.charanik.wordpress.com on a titled page–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]

Rupa the little girl

Jayprakash Tiwari lives in Anusua with his family –wife and two cute baby girls. He runs the only Chati (road side very modest hotel) in Anusua – a two storied brick and mud house with spartan facilities. They toil hard to eke out a living. Uma, the wife who can beat any woman in a beauty contest, begins her day at the crack of the dawn and it ends at midnight. But despite the hard life they laugh a lot, play around their baby girls and seem quite content. They are always ready to serve the guests with a smile; must be the heady influence of the valley.

Anusua – a small settlement of few Garhwali families and priests of Anusua temple lies in a small valley in the deep of Garhwal Himalaya at 7200fts, reachable only after a steep trek of 5 kms and is surrounded by soaring green mountains and canopied by dense forest. The surrounding forest teems with wild animals —deer, boar, Himalayan bear and leopard. Birds and butterflies are the valleys permanent residents.

We were in Anusua to complete a somewhat tough trek that starts at a place called Mandal, went up to Rudranath, one of the famous Panch (five) Kedar then takes a lonely, treacherous and steep route over mountain ridges to Kalpeswar — the fifth Kedar.

 Anusuas’ claim to fame is its temple of Mata Anusua who is said to be the greatest Sati (loosely translated, faithful wife) of all time. Her faithfulness was tested, again and again, by the Gods themselves (it is said, their wives forced them to do it. It’s reassuring to know, even gods have to dance to the dictate of their wives — like us the mortals!). And in the process her husband – the equally famous Atri Muni who usually spent most of his time in meditation in a nearby cave, turned those gods into toddlers. The conspiring Goddesses were forced into submission to save their husbands and the greatness of the Mata was established.

 Trekking 5kms from Mandal (5400 fts) – the road-head, through a meandering and steep trail on the bank of Atri Dhara (rivulet), I was tired. The climb of nearly 2000 fts in 5 kms that too in the first day of the trek was tiring. Most of the track goes through dense forest and sensing our apprehension of wild animals, our guide cum porter assuredly said, “Saab, Bhalu ke bagar kuch dar nehi” (Sir, fear the bear only)!

 Seeing me on his door, Joyprakash quickly spread a blanket on the floor of the wide balcony in the first floor. One can see the whole valley stretching leisurely from this balcony. Rupa, the youngest girl (just all of four years), seeing her old acquaintance, came running in. It felt like home. I just sat there till late into the night soaking in the ambience – the silence, the light fresh air, the occasional chirping of the birds and the display of the butterflies and in the late night – twinkling of glow worms.

 Next day, we set out for the cave where, legend says sage Atri lived and meditated. The 1.5 kms trek through dense forest; balancing precariously on a single log bridge over the fiercely flowing Atri Dhara was thrilling (I never realized before — I can perform as a gymnast !). More thrill to come when I had to climb a 15fts rock wall desperately clinging on an iron chain that dangles from the rock wall and swings violently (surprise ! I can be a chimpanzee too). And then crawl on all fours like a snake through a one-foot wide slit of a giant boulder. Any wrong move, I will find myself at the bottom of a sheer drop of 300 fts.

 But the cave is worthy of all these life-defying acts of “who dares win”! It is an exact replica of that great ‘Skull Cave’ of ‘Phantom’ (remember Ghost who walks?). The cave is hidden behind a huge fall from which great volume of water torrentially cascades. The fall generates a drone that reverberates like the sound of an express train on full run. One had to shout to be heard.

 But neither Anusua nor Atri cave was our destination. We want to go to Kalpeswar via Rudranath through a route that is seldom trekked. Anusua was just a halt in between, mainly, for acclimatization. The next part of the track— a steep continuous ascent of 13kms to Naola pass (12700fts) and a gentle descent of 4kms—through the most dense forest and green Bugiyals was waiting to test our strength and patience. They say, “Rudranath ka chadai, German ka ladai” (the ascent of Rudranath is akin to a battle with the Germans).

Entering the jungle of Rudranath

 

Starting at 5-00 A.M., we reached Rudranath (11670fts) at 4-00 P.M –totally exhausted, on the brink of collapse. Barring a lunch break and few short recesses, it was a continuous trek for almost eleven hours through one of the most difficult and most beautiful terrain where the correct trail is impossible to locate without the help of a guide. The damp, dark, moss laden slippery-forested track was tedious to trek. The tall trees, covered with moss, had such an ancient look that one is bound to feel veneration toward them. Green Bugiyals dotted with alpine flowers and rhododendron, flittingly sunny and forever misty gave us some relief.

 

 The other story is not associated with Pandavs. On hearing Shiva being condemned by her father – Daksha, Shiva’s consort Parvati committed suicide. When news of Parvati’s death reached Shiva, he transformed himself into an image of pure rage (Rudra) in Rudranath.

 Actually, Rudra is a Vedic god. In Rg Veda god of fire has been called Rudra who has two manifestations – destroyer (Rudra) and preserver (Shiva). Later, Rudra was totally merged into Shiva.

 Some time I wonder! Whether the Himalaya is made of rock & ice or of legends, mysticism and our beliefs? This heady mixture where the borderline between reality and romanticism is some what mixed up and at best is very thin lures us to this unknown. This and the enticement to win over the toughest adversaries must have launched the explorations & the expeditions.

Evening came sliding down the slopes of the mountain and the sun sets the peaks around Rudranath — Nandaghunti, Bughyalkoti, Nilkantha on fire. Birds flocked back to their nests in the Rhododendron bushes. Lights began to fade. Soon the snow crested peaks turned deathly pale. Resplendent in colours moments back, Rudranath valley turned in to a place where legends are born.

On the third day, we were off to Dumak (8200 fts) – a wealthy village with school and solar power. The stunningly picturesque trail was quite difficult. It took us 11 hours (in such un-surveyed routes, distance is measured in hours not in kilometers) to reach. On way, Toli – a green saucer shaped valley dotted with red, blue and yellow alpine flowers and surrounded by tall deodars with a small Tal (lake) bang in the middle, left us speechless.

On the final day, we reached Kalpeswar where Lord Shiva left his matted locks. The trail is stone paved and passes through stunning sceneries. In a tiny cave (6fts X 8fts X 5fts) just in front of the cave temple, lives ‘Bangali Baba’ – an ascetic. In the last 40 years he has gone out of his cave only twice—for a cataract operation and for a visit to Kumbha Mela. Sitting in front of an ever-flaming smoky Chula (oven), he’d offer every visitor a cup of hot tea with a dollop of ghee. If one lingers, he will go on offering the same concoction again and again. We had a warm chat, recalled our earlier meeting. I took a few shots of him.

As I was leaving, Baba called me back. With a child like smile he said, “Send me copies”. I was momentarily speechless. An ascetic who renounced everything, in whose cave I have not even seen a mirror, wants to keep his own image ! Unfathomable human mind! Strange. Mystic. Just like my Himalaya !!

The priest of the Rudranath temple enlightened us with two legends associated with Rudranath. One is the well-known Pancha Pandav story ; to wash their sin after the battle of Kuruskhetra, Pancha Pandav came to the Himalaya to have a Darshan (sighting) of Shiva. But Shiva was reluctant to show himself and fled in the guise of a bull. Bhim followed Shiva and seized a part of the bull’s body forcing him to abandon that part in that place. Shiva left his face in Rudranath.

 

 

When the train dropped us in Haridwar, the last dawn of May wiped her half-shut eyes in deep surmise to greet us—stunned she was, perhaps, for all so humble punctuality of Doon Express. We too were. Before she could spread her wings to fly for the day, we were curled up under loads of sacks and rolled along to Bhalla Bus stand. The morning bus for Uttarkashi was snoring out its first breath of toxic fume, and we had nearly two hours time before it would run. We threw our luggage into its rear cabin and tossed ourselves off to Bilwakeswar temple.

The morning glow of sunshine had, in the meanwhile, flourished all over to let us dream of its devious face waiting to tear off mask of gentility—the summer day was about to step in. We were already floated in to soar up in the sky—in reality and in dream too—for to meander in the alleyways of painted nature.

The noon was horrid in Uttarkashi. We waited till the evening descends with darkness buried under her cloak. We carried a major share of packed items from Kolkata, but the regular items were to be procured. When we had almost completed our packing, the cell phone cried in its monotonous vibrating noise. It was Umed (the guide of our Nandikund trek) on the other side. He along with senior Umed (the other member of our team) had already reached Chamba from Ransi village and would be reaching Uttarkashi by the noon next day. We were happy to hear of them. It was time to sleep, wide and long, after fifty hours of gallop.

The morning was clear and shining. We set off for Gangotri as soon as Umed-duo had joined us. Kishen Singh of Uttarkashi also joined us. We actually planned to reach there a day after and had a booking in Birla guest house, but for all nice gesture of 9-up Doon, we had advanced more proudly than the Allied force on German-occupied French capital of Paris. We didn’t know before that the next day was Ganga Dashera. The small village of sacred shrine was stacked up in swelling pilgrims. We could manage a six-bedded room for 1200 bucks. It was already dusk when we could settle down in comfort.

I was a bit anxious about my counterpart’s injuries. She met with a car accident in December last year. We had other plans, but had to opt for a popular trek considering damages done to her left foot. Kedartal was not an easy choice on grade, but had advantages on its shorter length and frequency of flow of trekkers.  She prepared herself so passionately—taking up short treks in between to test strength and strain. It was all for piety inherent to the self—an unwavering candle of religiosity—she had always had blessings of the world around and above. Still I was worried as love had no ease in breathing out concern.

The next day, we teamed up by six in the morning to begin the dream journey. A few turns of steep climb tossed us up in moments to a lofty height. The trail was through deep forest on the western bank of Kedarganga. The gushing stream was slowly transformed into a silver ribbon sweetly fastened on a green package of surprises. The pathway ran narrow and narrower as it proceeded. Although the ascent was through out steep with average gradient of 60 to 70 degrees, and we knew it would be tougher to negotiate loose soil when descending, but the abundance of beauty if offered was more than what so forthcoming of nature in the wilderness. In the midway, we paused for a short break to prepare our breakfast. We saw another team of three—all of Delhi—assisted by two porters approaching. We chatted for a while before they moved on. It was already nine by the time we finished our recess. Soon we could glimpse partly hidden face of mighty Thalaysagar. It was of enough inspiration to run and haste, but we had enough time, in hand, for to reach the day’s destination, Bhujkharak. 

After a couple of hours’ gentle walk, we finally arrived those two stretches of difficult tracks—one of scaling a near-flat wall of around 15 mts of length and another, not so long, sliding zone. We were sure that Bhujkharak had almost been reached and soon the day’s trek ended. It was noon—warm and soothing—with perfectly blue sky hanging down a few bundles of white clouds, here and there. The tents were set up. The Delhi trekkers had already settled down beside sizzling pot of coffee. It was long togetherness amongst unknowns.

The twilight rays sprayed its great streaks of colours upon the vast canvass of sky when we all packed up and was ready for another day’s trek. The fellow trekkers had planned to reach Kedartal. We would be trekking just up to Kedarkharak. It would be comfortably shorter. The gradient was also not so inconvenient. Only annoying part was a long stretch of sliding zone with frequent rock-falling risk. That track was nearly half a mile long with insignificant spaces in between to judge and run while crossing. The weather was absolutely bright and pleasurable—a bit warmer in comparison to our expectations. By the time we had reached the tricky chapter of the day’s trek, we found ourselves in all amazement and joy for having perfectly tranquil face of the sliding zone. No evidence of disturbance by wind or animals could be observed. The scene was only horrifying with steep incline of loose soil with hanging giant rocks all above and a straight wall-like descent of nearly 200 mts would carry fluently to plunge into the roaring beauty, Kedarganga. But, for its unusual calmness, the entire patch of sliding zone was nicely covered by the team without much anxiety.

( The reverse trek experience was exactly opposite. We were scared to see giant rocks of tons rolling down wildly through long patches of sliding zone. They took everything on its way down to river and beyond leaving only gray smoke of soil floating unknowingly towards infinity. We had to wait and watch for an hour to cross, phase by phase, batch by batch, with all anxieties. It took us more than an hour to cross it while we took just a quarter of it while going up ).

The river had now fallen bare with numerous streams flowing down through diverse vales and channels to mingle into oneness. It was so full of passion for them to act and for us to admire. We slowly treaded onto Kedarkharak.

It was a vast field—as flat and wide as possible in nearly 4km height. We chanced upon a flock of blue sheep; they ran, and played and fought before it was almost evening. The colours of another dusk was unfurling its soft shades, one after another, to paint benign faces of great range of peak Manda, Bhrigupanth, Thalaysagar and Jogins. As soon the days had wiped all its colours, the blue drew her veil adorn with tiny winking stars and silvery radiance of solitary moon of the twelfth night. It was an unforgettable moment of our life when our dreams fell to outshine events of reality.

Lopa whispered, “Do you believe they are real?”

I paused for a moment and uttered, “Unsure, I am. Perhaps, they are unseen characters of another stage of illusions. The real is more elusive than its virtual presence. Who knows where the wand HE keeps and when it swings in pleasure to transform the whole treasure of creation into unmatchable beauty!”

No more words were spoken. It was another delicate night when dreams evenly played with all its emotions and pleasure.

The next morning was as striking as the night before. The azure steppe of vast sky was perfect hung above with shaft of morning rays stretched so widely.

It was time for another short but strenuous trek to commence. Before we had smacked our lips to wipe last sweet taste of black coffee, the gentle tunes of our footsteps were already heard. Within a few minutes the team had to cross a wild stream—we were sure that it would be tougher to cross it during daytime. It was followed by a long narrow ridge walk through moraine zone. We could see the main source of Kedarganga flowing long down while another stream from Jogins accompanied us till it was time for us to attempt a steep ascent along boulder zone of nearly 50 mts height. Although the trek was completely running through glacial zone with crevasses staring agape everywhere, yet we found it comfortable as it was well contoured and abundantly painted with beauty all around. All the way of uphill walk and cautious negotiating of moraine texture, we looked up to get blessed by showering smiles of all majestic peaks. It was almost noon when we stood in front of a sharp blade of loose boulders.

It was around 50 mts of height with no curvilinear pathway. Only ease was to see its short height unlike what once would face in the last lap of Tapovan trek.

Slowly we all climbed atop to find a long last leg of trail finely crafted through a vast ocean of crevasses wide open with green snaring souls of glacial pools to swallow. We ended in a point where another steep descent on the other side was waiting for us.

But, our minds murmured in amazement, “What a translucent bead of emerald!”

It was spectacular presence of Kedartal—wide and long lake surrounded by a narrow strip of glacial moraine all around followed by lofty rise of the finest series of majestic Himalayan mountains. It had longer mouth towards its northern corner. Garlanded by white snowy beautiful Thalaysagar, Bhrigupanth, Jogin, Hanuman Tekri and Manda, it was smoothly asleep on that midsummer noon. A northern cold wave was streaming in through the passageway of crevasse zone. It was bitter cold wave and I checked the temperature already sub-zero during daytime. On its bank had only limited space for setting up of tents.

One should not settle too close to the lake as water level would rise in late night. We set it all just a few meters away on its northern mouth. It was full of beauty and pleasure that we would dream of heaven’s treasure. After lunch, we moved on to explore towards base of Thalaysagar and ABC of Jogin. It was pleasant walk through glacial moraine of raised platform along north-east face of Kedartal. It was full of delight and divinity so superbly showered all around.

We had settled down back to our tents when with strokes of invisible brush sacred faces of the Himalayan beauty had painted themselves in countless variety of twilight colours. Gentle reflections of silvery images fell immaculately upon the rippled mirror of Kedartal. The images danced upon those small waves of joy. Closer to the bank the water had already begun to freeze. The moon elegantly showed her face over the colossal wall of Bhrigupanth. The bliss of solitude impregnated the souls of a few wanderers still sitting by the poolside. 

The crest of royal Thalaysagar was enjoying its last tryst with the fading rays of the satiated soul of the sun. We sat motionless, speechless as if hypnotized beneath a vast world of fantasy. When the silence was broken, it was long into the night. The lake shone in dazzling silvery moonshine and the atmosphere offered us another different night for our life to keep in treasure for ever. Before we enter into tents, I checked again the temperature. It was minus eight. It was another elegant night where dreams, imaginations, expressions and truth had its subtle integration for to offer faith in further pursuit of life.

We were awake before it was time to shine. Together we remained seated within, holding hands, with none saying. The first sound of another day came of sweet tweets of a pair of wild Moyna.

I unzipped the tent-door facing Kedartal. An emerald, still shining half in darkness, was laid before us. Holding within its serene self was a flawless impression of sacredness—an image of Thalaysagar. Together we looked up and it was glowing at the top with a tender touch of morning rays.

She again asked me, “Do you believe it is real, or even its image upon this mirroring pool?”

I paused for a while and uttered, “Sure, I am. They are all real to us—in our dreams, in our consciousness, in our expectations, in our fallibility, in our appreciation and in our pursuit of life. They are real for to nourish the seeds of faith—in our failings, successes, knowledge, ignorance, and in our being in this fascinating journey of life. Sure, I am. They are real for to sow seeds of faith in our consciousness, for to nourish tender saplings of dreams and for to offer peace of mind in finality.”

No more words were uttered till the dawn had its graceful descent to paint us with all shines from above and within.

The interested readers may turn pages of my partner’s photo album to enjoy rest of the images at

http://flickr.com/photos/lopamudrabarman/

[ Published under the author’s permission ]

[ Original publication at www.saibarman.wordpress.com on July 07, 2009–the readers are requested to express their comments on the original Blog as mentioned above ]
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