The Valley of Flowers

The following piece describes my trek to the Valley of Flowers. An edited version appeared in the January 2011 edition of Khabar Magazine here


"The Bhyundar Valley was the most beautiful valley that any of us had seen. We camped in it for two days and we remembered it afterwards as the Valley of Flowers” ---- Frank S. Smythe

It is 5.30 am as the train pulls in into Dehradun to heavily overcast skies. A hundred yards from the station, the rain begins in earnest testing my wet weather gear which I unveil in a hurry – so begins a hectic day of mountain travel in shared taxis and buses.

This trip was planned just 10 days ago. I badly needed a break from my desk work and the environment of the mega city and longed for clean air and strenuous physical activity. A trek in the Himalaya’s would be perfect. But it was the third week of July and the monsoon had set in all over India. This was certainly not the right weather for trekking. But there was one place in the high mountains, I remembered, that was best experienced in the monsoon. Known by the name ‘Valley of Flowers’, it was an alpine valley over 11000 ft high tucked away in a remote corner of Uttaranchal near the border with China. July and August were considered the best months to visit this charmed valley, surrounded by snow clad peaks rising 16000-20000 ft and blessed with a climate that supported an astounding variety of flowering plants; this was when the valley flowers were in bloom.

I decided to chance the risk of landslides and blocked roads – a common occurrence in Uttaranchal in the rains - and the discomforts of trekking in wet weather. I planned my route and made reservations online for night halts at the convenient government run Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam (GMVN) guest houses and for the train to Dehradun, a convenient rail head in Uttaranchal. From Dehradun to the nearest road head to the Valley of Flowers, I decided to rely on whatever form of public transport that was availabe. I made a list of articles needed to avoid being miserable in wet weather - waterproof shoes and pants, a rain coat and a waterproof cover for the haversack. All I had left to do now was to break the news to my family who I was leaving behind.

And so here I am sitting sideways with my neck bent at an uncomfortable angle at the rear end of a Mahendra Trax – a vehicle that can seat 6 comfortably but right now has 10 passengers - heading into the hills from Rishikesh. Joshimath is my destination for this evening and the road passes through small towns with lovely names - Devprayag, Srinagar, Rudraprayag, Karnaprayag and Chamoli. I must reach Joshimath by this evening. The reason is simple – there is no public transport on these dangerous hill roads after dark and my room for the night has been paid for in Joshimath – with a no refunds clause attached.

We follow the river all the way; it is the Ganga up to to Devprayag and the Alakananda beyond. At Srinagar, I manage to get the coveted front window seat of the shared taxi and it is a great relief. I look outside and see the signs of development invading the hills – visible are the tunnels and embankments of the Alakananda hydro power project. I get talking to Sundra Singh Rana, the driver, and learn that part of the beautiful Srinagar town is slated for submergence. He asks me how come I am traveling alone. In subsequent days, many others will ask the same question. We exchange our little travel adventures from the past. Rana too is planning to travel – to the plains, he says with a little laugh. He offers to show me around Rudraprayag, his home, and drop me back in Rishikesh on my return journey. We exchange mobile numbers and he helps me board a bus leaving for Chamoli. I have made good time because Rana has been driving up the ghats like a maniac. As we approach Joshimath, the banks of the river again look like a construction site. A board proclaims NTPC’s Tapovan-Vishnugad hydropower project. Twelve hours after leaving Dehradun, I reach the GMVN guest house in Joshimath’s main bazaar and stake my claim for a room.

You can’t sleep after 4 am in Joshimath. That is when the hawkers start peddling the seats on the first buses leaving for Haridwar and there is bedlam in the main market. After the buses depart, the noise is replaced by singing. I am pleasantly surprised to hear the strains of the familiar Suprapadham broadcast, presumably, from the nearby Vasudeva temple. Suprapadham in the morning is a South Indian custom and here I am in the far north of India. I later come to know that historically, South Indian temple customs have had a strong influence on the temples of Badrinath and Joshimath. I am standing at the shared taxi stand by 6 am, but it is some time before the taxi has its full complement of 10 passengers and we start for Govindghat. There is stunning scenery all the way along the narrow and deep Alakananda valley, but all I can see is the haversack that my nose is buried in.

The trek starts at Govindghat where I cross the Alakananda on a suspension bridge. The path follows the Bhyundar valley and the Laxman Ganga river

in a north easterly direction. It is 13 kms and a 4000 ft climb to the day’s destination, the tourist village of Ghangria that is used by pilgrims to Hemkund Sahib as a night halt. I decide – it turns out, wisely – to take a porter with me to carry my loaded haversack which seems to have got much heavier than it was when I started out. Khet Raj Khemka, my Nepali porter, sets a fast pace and initially, I keep up, too proud to ask him to slow down. He does not look to be more than 20 and has been in India only two months after interrupting his ‘plus two’ studies to earn a living. The walk is scenic but the crowd of pilgrims, and the constant care to be exercised to keep from getting pushed over the edge by ponies carrying people, keeps one preoccupied. All I want is to get quickly to my destination; and so, not unsurprisingly, does my porter.

 The last three kms of the trek coming just after crossing the Laxman Ganga are grueling with a steep ascent. Five hours after leaving Govindghat, I am able to change out of my sweat drenched clothes at the comfortable GMVN guest house at Ghangria. The rest of the day is spent in slow recovery – tea, food, a warm bath, sleep. Towards evening, I decide to try out a masseur who has been persistently doing the rounds of the rest house rendering his “tail maleesh” cry.

Bundelkhand - Raneh Falls, Khajuraho

Ken river, seen from the Chattarpur Panna Highway. This point is upstream of the Bariyarpur Dam which diverts Ken's water into a canal system. The Ken-Betwa Link project proposes to dam Ken's waters upstream of this point and transport it via underground and surface canals to the Betwa river to the west. See a critique of this project here

Downstream of the dam, the water in the Ken is much reduced. This is what it looks like at the Raneh falls ( On September 30th 2009 when the monsoon is all but over)

 Ken flows through the canyon for several kms from this fall. Our guide, Pushpendra Singh Parmar tells us that this is the site of an ancient volcano.

 The rocks come in dramatic colours - brown (quartz), pink (granite), black (dolomite), red (basalt) and white (marble). The picture below shows some of the colours.

Bundelkhand - Chitrakoot, Hindustan ka Dil

Lured by Madhya Pradesh Tourism’s captivating advertisements and online promotion of the destination, we arrive in Chitrakoot with 2 days stay arranged. The manager at the traveler’s bungalow gently persuades us to upgrade to an A/C room costing twice as much as the "aircooled" room we have reserved and helpfully charts out how we can efficiently “cover all the points” in the time at our disposal.

If the name Chitrakoot rings a bell for many of us, it is probably because we have heard stories from the Ramayana at some point in our lives. As the story goes, after leaving Ayodhya, Ram meets the Rishi Bharadwaj near the confluence of the Ganga and the Yamuna (present day Allahabad) and asks him to suggest a place where he can spend his exile away from the gaze of people. The sage suggests the beautiful but secluded hill of Chitrakuta, home to numerous holy men. Ram, Laxman and Sita proceed to Chitrakuta reaching there on the 6th day after leaving Ayodhya; they spend more than 11 years of their 14 year exile there.

Modern day Chitrakoot situated at the border of Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh and about 120 Km. from Allahabad is popularly identified as the location of the Chitrakuta of Ramayana. The area naturally abounds in legend, with every spring, cave, hill and bathing spot connected with some incident from the Ramayana. The religious significance of Chitrakoot aside, MP tourism promises this to be an area of great natural beauty. So here we are, all expectant and ready to explore.

The evening is still young and we amble across to the nearby bridge over the Mandakini and pause to take in the surroundings. It is an unedifying sight. The river downstream of the bridge has been straight jacketed into a canal with incongruous paved ghats on either side, dirty with the grime and the droppings of stray animals. Garish structures adorn these ghats, their purpose obscure. Where the paving ends, the river banks are filthier. The river bed has itself accumulated sludge, in some places even to the extant of forming islands. We walk down, carefully placing each step, cross a drain that is emptying the sewage of the city into the river and reach the central portion of Ram ghat.

The steps are a convenient place to sit and absorb the activity at the ghat. Just by our side, a woman enters the water in her sari with a younger girl. A man, presumably her husband, is already swimming in the river. The two women dry themselves, change out of their wet saris leaving their upper garments on and wash their used saris. The older woman pleads with her husband to buy a diya that children are selling for Rs. 2 each – a blob of wax on a small paper plate with a few flower petals, protected with aluminum foil. The diya is bought, lit and floated away on the river. The family seems happy.

A young girl, perhaps 6 or 8 years old, selling Diya's now turns her attention to us and we are unable to say no.We have barely managed to float the Diya when another child selling diya’s plucks it out of the water expertly and places it among her fresh wares. It seems that our concerns that the aluminum foils would pollute the river are misplaced! An elderly woman with several young children trailing her washes her face and hands. The children follow and scoop up the water and drink it in a ritual manner while she looks on unconcerned. The ghat is now crowded with pilgrims. We slowly make our way back trailed by a man in a sadhu’s attire and a small child, both asking for alms.

Kamadgiri through the morning haze


The next morning, we decide to do the 5 km parikrama of Kamadgiri, the hill which is specifically identified with the Chitrakuta of the Ramayana. Alexander Cunnigham, the renowned archeologist describes this parikrama in his 'Report of a tour in Bundelkhand and Rewa in 1883-84' as follows:

“A paved foot-path, with a continuous belt of small temples, encircles the foot of the hill, which is crowded with pilgrims at all times of the year. The temples, however, are all modern, and there are no inscriptions. Fragments of sculpture and pieces of carved stone are found lying about the foot of the hill, but there is nothing to show that the place is an old one. Kamad is the name of the village close by the hill, and the hill itself is often called Kamad. The true name is Kamad-giri or the "hill of the giver of plenty," or the "desire-giving hill." The hill itself is still covered with jungle, but there are no Rishis, as the Brahmans of the present day all live in comfortable houses below.”

His description of over 120 years ago still holds true though we do not notice any fragments of sculptures or pieces of carved stone. Also present are hordes of hungry monkeys competing for the peanuts and prasad thrown at them by pilgrims and occasionally snatching them from the unsuspecting. Incidentally, Cunningham provides arguments in this same work for identifying Kamadgiri with the Chitrakuta of the Ramayana.

The rest of the day is spent zipping in an Auto to what are locally referred to as the char dhams – 4 spots associated with the Ramayana that form a neat packaged tour. The countryside is pretty and the drive in the open cab refreshing though it invariably ends in the chaos of parked vehicles and the dust and noise of a narrow road hemmed in by shops and eateries as the 'spot' is approached. At every spot, we (as all pilgrims) are constantly verbally accosted by men in holy garbs sitting besides their shrines for donations. Numerous child peddlers are selling their wares for Rs 2 to 5. At a spot refered to as Sati Anusuya, several kms upstream from the Ram ghat, the Mandakini  flows picture perfect, gently over rocks through still wooded forest. Colorful shops cater to the fancy of the pilgrims who are mostly simple rural folk. The highpoint of the visit to the dhams is the exploration of the Gupt Godavari. The simple women folk throughly enjoy the adventure, as can be seen from their elation as they emerge from the cave around us. They have just waded in up to 3 ft of water inside a dark and twisting cavern and followed the underground stream up towards its source for perhaps a hundred steps.

On our second evening in Chitrakoot and we decide to take a boat ride on the Mandakini. We go upstream from the Ram ghat, leaving the main part of 

the town behind. Our boatman is young - in his late teens or early twenties – muscular from holding the oars but thin. He tells us that he had to give up his studies after the 8th class to pursue this ancestral occupation. His father and elder brother rowed this same boat until they died; now it is his. He lives on the boat and sleeps on it after anchoring it midstream – the breeze, he says, blows away the mosquitoes and makes for a pleasant night. He explains that there has been a drought in the area since 2003 – that is the reason that there is so much sludge piled on the sides of the river and in its bed. It takes a good flood to clean the river and its banks – natures way. The administration, it seems, is planning steps to stop the flow of town sewage into the waters. Meanwhile, this year, they have stopped the immersion of Durga idols and this has caused a major dent in the earnings of the boatmen. The river has become narrow by now and we must turn back, just short of Janaki Kund. The boatman splashes his face with water and has a deep drink from the river. He agrees that the water is polluted but he has great faith in the waters of the Mandakini – he explains that flowing through the forests with their jadi bootiya, the waters
gather the power to counter the effects of pollution from the city.

As we return, in the fading light, the Mandakini and its banks begin to look pretty. The shops behind the ghats are lit up brightly and the light plays on the gentle waves in the river. We cross over briefly into Uttar Pradesh leaving Madhya Pradesh behind - the boundary between the two states cuts right through Chitrakoot and, we are told, is also partly the cause for its neglect.

The high point of the evening is the arati at the ghat. Crowds gather on the steps in anticipation. Exactly on schedule at 7 pm, the priest recites the prayers, the lamps are lit by ‘dignitaries’ (some district bureaucrats), people surge forward to receive blessings from the priest and in minutes, the crowd melts away.

Before we leave Chitrakoot, we are in for a little discovery. Habituated to city ways, we have not bothered to carry sufficient cash. This evening, we need to find an ATM to settle our bill as credit cards are not accepted by MP Tourism here. We are not unduly bothered as both of us have noticed large advertisements of the 24 hr ATM operated by Union Bank at its Janaki Kund branch. We reach the branch after a 2 km walk and are happy to see some signs of activity. Happiness is soon turned into disappointment. A bank employee informs us with a smile – ATM abhi to ban raha hai (the ATM is yet to be setup in town). We are also informed that the nearest ATM is in the next town – Karvi. We reach Karvi after dark. There is no electricity and the town is in darkness except for small lights in some shops. After some enquiries, we reach the SBI branch in front of the Kotwali. The guard, a pleasant smiling polite chap lets us in and gently braks the bad news. The ATM, he says is out of order – it is refusing to disburse cash. How about the ATM of any other bank or branch? This is the only ATM in the entire district of Chitrakoot, he tells us.

We are in real trouble it seems. This is when my companion – C - provides a glimmer of hope. She remembers that she hid some money in her used clothes a day earlier after there was a mention of dacoits in the area during an earlier conversation. What she can’t remember is if she has already retrieved that money and spent it. As we head back to our room in Chitrakoot, I am visualizing various scenarios and mentally preparing to face the hotel manager.

It turns out that C had really forgotten about the money she hid – so all ends well. We are back in Karvi later that night to catch our train.

Bundelkhand - Sunset near Khajuraho

A September sunset near Khajuraho

"The Valley of Flowers" - Frank Symthe

'The Valley of Flowers' is Frank Symthe's account of "four happy months spent amidst some of the noblest and most beautiful mountains of the world". The book is a must read if you are planning a visit to the Bhyundar valley.

A walk to Vasudhara

Last evening, clouds had obscured the view. This morning, the snow clad silver of Neelkanth peak stands out against a blue sky framed by lower hills towering a full 3 kms above Badrinath. I am standing in front of the Garhwal Mandal’s ‘Dev Lok’ guest house, ready for the trek to Vasudhara falls in the upper Alaknanda Valley.

I hire a taxi to drop me at the Bhutia village of Mana, 3 kms from Badrinath and the last village before the Chinese Tibetan border. My driver, a resident of Mana, tells me that earlier villagers here traded with Tibet. That was until the 1962 war after which the army closed the borders and permission is required to travel the roads north of Mana.

As I start walking through Mana, I see few people - it is 7 am, still early in the morning.

What's in a railway station name?

On the Chennai - Tirupati highway