Har ki doon revisited

India Currents has recently published this account of my trek in the Har ki doon valley - a trek I undertook during the summer of 2011. A more refined account (this is what I had intended to be published) appears below.

The Har Ki Doon trek

The bus leaves Purola carrying mostly daily commuters, and makes its way slowly up the valley of the Kamal river. Looking out, I see a remarkably wide and beautiful valley dotted with neat habitations set midst green fields of wheat and jawar. Occasionally, I glimpse the snow capped peak of some distant mountain.

  

Valley of the Kamal

 The bus will take me to the little village of Sankri in the extreme north of Uttarakhand not far from the Tibet border. This is where the trek begins to Har ki doon, a famed high altitude (3200-3400m) valley surrounded by high peaks of the Himalayas. I have been looking forward to this trek for a long time. And here I am, twenty four hours after leaving home, pretty much on schedule to reach Sankri.

My neighbor is a soft spoken pahadi and patiently answers my questions as the bus moves at a measured pace hugging the curving and smooth road. The driver plays a CD with Garhwali music, melodious and with slow beats, and I can picture a rhythmic harvest dance to go with it. We cut through a dense Pine forest, the Pines covering even its steepest slopes. The comfortable ride, expansive scenery and lilting music lift my mood. My phone rings and it is Rana inquiring. I feel welcome in the hills.

Har ki doon Gad

I met Rana at the Dehradun bus stand yesterday after an unsuccessful attempt to board the bus for Purola. It was the last bus for the day and came into the stand already packed. I was desperate to avoid spending the night in Dehradun and so it seems was Rana. He had a plan of action and I decided to tag along.   

We spent many hours standing at bus and shared taxi departure points in Dehradun and neighboring towns without luck. Then towards evening, just as I was beginning to loose hope, Rana recognized and hailed the driver of a bus leaving town. We were in luck. The bus was heading straight for Purola.

It was a wet evening and the large vehicle hurtled along at great speed on the precarious road following the Yamuna upstream. When we stopped for dinner, Rana had to have his glass of the local brew which he managed after a hushed exchange with the waiter. By now, having smoked and dined with me, Rana counted me as a friend.

Back on the bus, Rana called up his friends in Purola to arrange a hotel for me, instructed the driver on where I should be dropped, and paid my bus fare. He was off the bus at the fork leading to his village before I could persuade him to accept money for my fare. Later that night, as I made my way to the hotel, I got a call from him to see if I had any problems finding the place.

That was last night. Rana’s call just now is to check if I have made the Sankri bus!

The bus stops at a small town and I have time for breakfast - a gigantic aloo paratha with dahi and achar. I wouldn’t eat a fried paratha normally – but this one, shallow fried in mustard oil, tastes really good and even feels healthy. A couple of Israeli backpackers climb in when the bus resumes its journey and I get absorbed in conversation.

Saur village off Sankri

Three km before Sankri, the bus grinds to a halt - the road is blocked by a landslide and a huge dumper is attempting to clear it. The dumper moves aside to let the traffic pass, but the bus is unable to clear the broken stretch - its wheels cannot find purchase in the loose mud. The driver makes an instant decision to turn back and unloads us right there. The trek has begun, a little earlier than I anticipated.

I walk to Sankri and after a relaxed lunch in the company of the Israeli’s, set out for Taluka. On the way, I meet the caretakers of the Taluka and Har ki doon government guest houses, where I have reservations, heading in the opposite direction! They assure me that there will be somebody to let me in when I reach their guest house. I cannot but be sympathetic after they explain that they are going to Sankri to collect their salaries which have arrived after a delay of 6 months!

Evening view - Taluka

A fast flowing stream running across the track brings me to a halt. Not wanting to get my shoes soaked, I wade through the waters barefoot, testing each step. The icy water and the sharp stones hurt, but there is little other damage. More such streams to be forded lie ahead. Later in the afternoon, there is a thunderstorm with copious hail. I reach Taluka in the evening soaking wet.

The government run guest house at Taluka is a dilapidated building without electricity or running water. The Thakur dhaba at the end of the village is more welcoming. I sit down for dinner with a couple of Bihari workers who have temporary work in the village. Two women looking to be a mother - daughter pair are doing the cooking and serving. They turn out to be a grand mother - grand daughter pair. The Bihari's joke with the attractive looking younger women about the small helpings she serves. She blushes and gives them extra helpings.

The rain has started picking up and that means it will be snowing at the higher elevation of Har ki doon. My haversack has begun to weigh heavy after today’s walk. Kamal (whose mother cooks at the dhaba) agrees to accompany me and carry my luggage. We arrange to meet early the next day.

That day promises to be a hard trek - a walk 14 km with a height gain of 750 m. We set out along the left bank of the Har ki doon Gad (stream). As we leave Taluka, Kamal points out a micro hydro-power station that supplies power to the village. The guest house remains without power for reasons other than a lack of supply.

On the way, we pass below the village of Dhatmir sitting precariously, high on the hillside. The hill slopes are terraced with fields of wheat and mustard, adding dashes of brilliant yellow and green to the drab brown and grey of the mountainside. Fields extend to impossible slopes and dizzy heights. The trail moves along the stream, climbing up when the gorge becomes narrow and descending down to the level of the water where the geography allows.

A few hours later, turning a blind corner, we spot the village of Osla perched high up on the hillside across the river.

From a distance, the village barely stands out from the grey and brown of the surroundings. Below the village, the hill drops steeply to the river, while above it, it presents a sheer rock face capped with snow. It is hard to figure out how to gain access to the village.

Why are the villages in this area located so high up on fairly inaccessible slopes rather than near the river bank, I ask Kamal. His intriguing answer is that in earlier times, this helped the villagers to secure themselves against raids by local kings.

Reaching Seema, I find that the dhaba across from the government guest house has the more convivial atmosphere. I settle down to spend a long afternoon and evening in the amiable company of Jainder Singh who runs the dhaba, taking turns with others for space near his chullah.

Jainder is one of 6 brothers and 2 sisters. He tells me that his family has lived in Osla for many generations. One sister is married and lives in the neighboring village. A brother works in Delhi. The other 5 siblings are younger and go to school. Jainder has studied till the 9th (the nearest high school is at Sankri, two treks away) and now splits his time between running the canteen and farming the tiny plot of land his family possesses.

The evening passes pleasantly enough in the company of simple people. The dinner tastes delicious after I have been witness to the effort that has gone into its preparation.

Sunset view - Seema

 It is crisp and cloudless as we set out from Seema the next day. The path we take leads over a bridge across the Har ki doon Gad and gains height rapidly. We walk past women working in fields being readied for the next crop of phafra, a local grain whose flour is used to make roti.

As the path levels out of a steep climb, the majestic snow clad 6000 m + peaks of the Banderpoonch range including the black hooded Kala Nag become visible. We stop to eat our packed lunch by a pretty waterfall and replenish our water supplies. Clouds are starting to gather and we need to hurry.

Looking back at the valley from the trail beyond Seema

 In a while we enter a valley dominated by twin peaks rising straight up, its floor covered with snow. I spot the colorful forest rest house complex of Har ki doon sticking out of the snow next to a gigantic boulder with a steep snow covered mountain face forming the backdrop. It has a fairy tail look about it. The government guest house is further ahead and the snow must be negotiated carefully, for a loose step can take us sliding into the Har ki doon Gad.  We reach the guest house exhausted after plodding through snow for an hour or so. 

Pavani, the canteen contractor at Har ki doon has reached only a few minutes before us and is trying to get a fire going. Outside, it starts snowing and turns bitterly cold. For the rest of the evening, I am obsessed with trying to keep warm.

By the next morning, there is an amazing turnaround. I look out to see a clear blue sky and the sharp outline of Swargarohini peak (6250 m) stretching nearly 3 kms above us. Legend has it that Yudhishtar, the eldest of the Pandavas, climbs this peak to ascend to heaven; hence the name Swarg-arohini.

I hear some raucous crows around and ask Pavani about birds here. He answers that but for the abnormal wintry conditions, it would have been impossible to sleep here this late in the morning because of the chatter of birds with as he puts it, their "108 boli" (108 tongues). 

Swargarohini

The clear weather allows me to soak in the beauty of Har ki doon. A stream meanders down gently and on either side is bordered by Pine. The grassy slopes on closer look reveal the brown giving way to green. Numerous flowers in yellow – Dandelion and Marsh Marigold among others - and in blue – Gentian for one – have sprung up in anticipation of spring. There are places to explore nearby, the Marinda Tal and the Jaundhar glacier. But all that must wait for another trip in a better season. Right now, my priority is to reach the shelter of Osla village before the weather breaks.

Children of Osla

Good weather and a descending trail make the return walk a relaxed affair. Nearing Osla, we are happy to see women in colorful dresses out hoeing their fields.

It starts drizzling just as we reach Osla. At the satellite phone center, our first halt, curious village children gather around us. The village looks empty except for the little children and a few women who are working indoors. The older children and adults have gone to graze their cattle or work their farms. There is no shop in the entire village and nowhere to get even some tea.

We stop at the village temple dedicated to Duryodhana. The walls of the temple are made of alternate layers of stone and wood - a design that allows the structure to withstand earthquakes – and the roofs are of slate. The wood of the pillars and the front door are beautifully carved.

 The temple surprisingly has no idol. I learn that a single idol is shared by many temples in this region and taken ceremoniously from temple to temple according to a customary schedule. Osla’s turn will come in time. 

The village hugs the steep hill slope and has streets at several levels. All the houses are multi-storied. The lowest floors are used for keeping the cattle and sheep. The floor with an overhanging balcony is the family residence. Above it, are the lofts used for storing wood. Families have their own separately housed silos where they stock grain and other rations to last through the harsh winter. I stop to admire a graceful old structure overlooking the river with intricately carved woodwork on the balcony.

Our guest house in Seema is just across the river from here. I spend the rest of the day in the hospitable company of the group gathered around Jainder’s chulah that includes, at some point, a group of young Polish women who are on their way up to Har ki doon.

The return walk from Seema to Taluka turns out to be the best I have had in this trip. It is a beautiful day and I am in no hurry to get back. The walk takes me along the left bank of the Har ki doon Gad past the beautiful fields of green and yellow. It is early in the morning and the ideal time to see birds.

I get beautiful shots of several Drongo's sitting totally absorbed in their own company. Juvenile Dippers squat on the rocks in the middle of the stream; every now and then, they take a dip and return with their catch. Redstarts throng the banks. An elegant White Capped Redstart performs acrobatics, showing off his brilliant colors. A clear mountain stream invites me to brush my teeth - something I avoided after looking at the water in the guest house.  A majestic Lammergeir flies low over the river, leaving me mesmerized. Blue sky, warm sun, the beautiful river and birds of different hues to be discovered at each step - it turns out a perfect day.

Reaching Taluka, I am suddenly in a great hurry to get back. Even if it means that I must share the back seat of the jeep for Sankri with a goat, a man and 4 women. Next morning I am back in the familiar environs of the teeming metro that is home to me.