Dayara to Dodital - 3

The forest around Morapla

Previous post Dayara to Dodital 2

Lying awake in a tent pitched in the midst of the forest, I am aware of myriad bird sounds – hoots, whistles, calls and chirping – from 4.30 in the morning. Eventually, I bestir myself and walk out into the cold and crisp air. A tribe of Langurs runs down past our camp in the half-light. Climbing to a point where I can look out north, I see the eastern face of Banderpoonch lit up by the sun still below the horizon. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense some movement in the undergrowth. A furry four-legged creature, in grey-brown-black and white, with a long bushy tail, short legs and ears sticking up like a rabbit, stops to stare at us. Sur Veer looks at a photo and says it is a Ban Chaura.

The old logging road from
Sangam Chatti to Satgadi

 Today, we would like to get to the settlement of Manjhi, located a little higher than where we are, but on another hill, separated from us by a deep valley. We must descend to the valley floor, cross a stream - the Dodigad, that carries water from Dodital - and then make the steep ascent on the other side. 

We walk through a beautiful forest of tall trees that block the bright sunlight, accompanied by birdsong and the sound of the yet unseen stream. My guide names the different trees we pass – Kharsu, Malak, Kanjal, Pangar, Morind. After a short descent, we reach an unpaved road that was at one time used for logging. The logging road connects the road head, Sangam Chatti to the forest interiors and eases our progress, but not for long. A massive rock fall has obliterated the road at one point and we need to take a long detour on a pag dandi that takes us close to the stream that we must cross, its blue waters visible through the trees. 

The path leads to a slippery downward sloping rock and vanishes. I look downwards and see that it will be a long fall if one were to slip. I let the guide carry my haversack across and then study the toe and finger holds that I must use to move sideways over the rock face. Then ever so gingerly, I make my moves.

Looking back at the rock face we descended from Dayara

 After this traverse, there are no more terrors on this road. We soon reach the camping site of Satgadi, where there is a bridge made of logs and rough cut stones across the Dodigad. We have reached the lowest point in our trek for today. From here starts a backbreaking climb zigzagging up the hillside. Three hours later, after climbing 600 ms, we reach Manjhi completely exhausted.

Manjhi has a row of huts but these are now empty as the villagers who occupy them are still waiting for the warm weather and availability of fodder for their cattle and goats before moving here. There are two dhabha's in the village; we crash in the first one. We order a luxurious meal of roti, sabji, dal and rice. Too tired to pitch tents, we accept the dhabha owner’s offer of a place to sleep near his fireplace, but then wonder if we have made the right decision. The dhabha certainly has a roof, but the long winter has taken its toll and the owner, it seems, has not had the time to renovate the place. The plastic side covers, in taters, flap noisily in the howling wind. The only redeeming feature is the crackling log fire.

West view on the Manjhi - Dodital route

 Sur Veer has taken off with J uphill to show him Monals that he believes live around here. I am too tired for another climb and prefer to stroll around near the village. I see a Monal in the distance and try my best to get near enough for a photograph, without luck. In a while, J comes back triumphant – he has not only captured Monals, but also a bird known as locally as Koklach (the Koklass Pheasant).

The forest around Manjhi is throbbing with bird life and we spend a few hours the next morning trying our luck with the camera. An easy trek after a late start gets us to the beautiful lake of Dodital, at a height of over 3000 m. Just after we reach, the rain begins, soon turning into hail. A foreign couple – a young Israeli and his Italian girlfriend - arrive soaked and bedraggled. Sur Veer has the stove going already and we offer them tea, which is gratefully accepted. When the rain and hail finally end after noon, it is time to pitch our tents and explore the lake.

Dodital from above

Dodital

Dodital lake is a fair sized natural water body surrounded by thickly forested hills. A paved walkway extends all around its perimeter. The waters are clear and foot long golden hued trout are plainly visible in large numbers. Water flows from the surrounding heights into the lake in several small streams and flows out more substantially at one end. I ask Sur Veer about the name. He says it was originally ‘Dhundi Tal’ and a British corruption of the name made it Dodi Tal. There is a lone dhabha, a little temple, a forest rest house, and two small houses occupied respectively by the forest guard and a holy man known as Maharaj or Burfi Baba  (which would translate as Ice Baba).

We visit the Burfi Baba’s abode. Several people are sitting around a log fire in a dark room, warming their hands. We exchange greetings and the baba, an old man with a flowing white beard, invites me to sit by his side on a mat. I ask the baba how long he has been here. 17-18 years, he replies. He belongs to Uttarkashi. He stays here round the year; even when Dodital becomes completely snowbound and cut off from the villages below in deep winter. At that time, even the forest guard moves to Agoda, leaving the baba alone here. That is, except in the last year or two, when he has been traveling to different places across India at the invitation of his friends. The baba gets up, mounts a raised platform, and starts his evening prayers after lighting a lamp to the gods on a mantle piece. Presently, he starts singing a popular bhajan and the others join in. I sit for some time and then leave.

View from our tent

 The dhabha is the other place where people congregate. The temple priest, the dhabha owner, a bunch of workers engaged in making a new building for the tea stall and the foreign couple who arrived today are all sitting around the fire. The new housing under construction for the dhabha is right across where we sit. The dhabha owner looks no more than a kid and is obviously blind in one eye. He is also the sole worker in the dhabha, washing, cooking, and settling accounts with his patrons. The others kid him by calling him a thekedar – for he is also managing the construction work going on for the new stall. He has obtained the right to operate the stall here for a year by agreeing to pay Rs 100,000/- to the Forest Department. He needs to recover this money from sales before he can make a profit.  

What has motivated us to come here, is it a religious pursuit, the priest asks? I struggle to explain why I like trekking in the Himalayas. The conversation drifts to a comparison of public morality in Delhi and Uttarakhand. I have a separate conversation with the Israeli. He is 28 years of age has completed compulsory military service and now is planning to enroll for graduate studies in astrophysics, his passion. He tells me about the two months he has spent teaching village children in Pondicherry and how he has introduced them to the great Indian astrophysicist, Chandrashekar.

That night, we go to sleep in our tents under a star-studded sky.


Continued.....Dayara to Dodital - 4