Homeward Bound

  Taklakot, China
Thursday, September 7, 2006

Expending countless breaths, we have reached thus far in pursuance of His commands. We have accomplished our mission successfully and there is joy every where amongst all of us. I have enjoyed every moment of it. They are part of memory now.... consigned to the repository of past. Tomorrow this will also fadeout. The past is now like a happy dream. I am vaguely calm, enjoying the fragrance of memories that wafts through my being. No one can hold it back as it knows neither time nor space.

All that has been experienced and accomplished -- the thrill, the ecstasy, the excitement and anticipation of the unknown -- is set to rest for awhile. Presently there is nothing more to look forward to. I am vaguely ill at ease... a little sad too as I turn homewards after the end of nearly a month of happy time. The leaves, sepals and petals of flowers in bloom displayed their tenderness, beauty, aura and art under the sun. It was a joy to witness their smiles as we passed by. They laughed and danced in the wind not so very long ago. They are all silent for now ... only their sweet aroma lingers on. A pretty moth which so very softly kissed me has lived its moment of glory and now gone to oblivion...leaving behind sweet memory of its tender touch. See, the leaves have faded and now turned yellow, they are about to leave the branch and return to mother earth who nursed it. In spring soft new leaves will dress the tree again. The beautiful flowers are gone but the branches are loaded with fruits delicately swinging on tender stem. That's change, continuity, evolution. The flow continues but only in ever changing new form. We are only a part of this eternal flow.

I am sad to be leaving the Land of Gods. But I carry with me the aroma that has deeply influenced my being. The shrines, the abode of gods, the holy places where humans expect to meet his creator and commune with Him, remain where they were when first discovered and recognized ages ago. They have inspired humanity at large and will continue to do so. Generations will follow the footprints of those who have gone before them, seeking spiritual evolution, peace and happiness, as we have. Do not believe if you so like that the shrine is the abode of God, but forget not that you have been in the realm where worldly concerns are far removed and where peace and serenity seep in and flow into you. And you commune with the power you never comprehended before. It is, indeed, a voyage of self discovery. I now believe my ancestors, the Aryans, who spoke highly and established the tradition of yatra in this land of Mt. Kailash and Lake Mansarovar.

Jack rabbit

Om Parvat

We make our return journey from Taklakot to Kalapani in one day. It is a sentimental home-coming when we touch Indian soil at Lepulekh pass.The evening comes quickly and soon it is pitch dark. It was all quite except for the murmur of the stream nearby. The valley reveals itself gradually as the silvery disc of the full-moon shows itself from behind the black mountain. It is indeed a fantastic sight.
Under the silvery glow of the cool moonlit night we all gather in the small hall of the Kali temple for a prayer meeting. With the rhythmic beat of the dholak, we pray in unison, singing loud and clear, our voices reverberating in the valley far and wide and the gods of the wild know how happy we are to be back within the precincts of this temple. Crammed to capacity, vermillion smeared on our foreheads, a bundle of incense burning in the corner, its aroma wafting everywhere, we are deeply absorbed in singing and swaying as if possessed by the rhythmic recitation of the bhajan; our spirits soar high. We seem to be hurled in the space of timelessness. The atmosphere becomes surcharged with weird forces. It was as if we were completely unaware of our physical presence or the presence of surrounding hills or valleys. There is only a brilliant light that illuminates everything everywhere....And the god and goddess watch us and our deliberations lovingly from their inner sanctum of the little shrine. It is a perfect evening, a heart-warming welcome and a memorable celebration of homecoming with a grand finale of the feast, 'Bara-Khana', given by the commandant of ITBP in the cool breeze of the moonlit night.

On the second day of our return journey we reach Gunji. We meet River Kuthi and Tinker again on third day of our return. Kuthi is flooded and muddy with huge load of silt. Tinker is still in spate, foaming and frothing as it meets the youthful River Kali noisily cascading down. Amid the lush green hills with trees and bushes, we enjoy the cool crisp air of clear September sky and the smell of green grass which has now grown in age and height. The sunshine is clean as though it had been thoroughly washed by monsoon rains. We pick sea-buckthorn berries on the way and enjoy eating them. Climbing up, we meet the people of Garbyang and pass through Chhialekh - the valley of flowers. It is fascinating a place as ever. I linger on here for quite some time. The atmosphere is peaceful and liberating. The mystic mist continues to entwine trees, shrubs, houses and hills. The flowering season is almost over though the last of the few flowers are still in bloom. I thank the almighty for the entire flower show He arranged for us. The withered flowers indicate that the dark winter is not far off. The nomadic graziers have returned from their three month sojourn in pastures of Adi-Kailash and are in Chhialekh now.

I see a shepherd sitting nearby atop a bald grey rock here. He is an old man, in twilight zone of his life, sitting as if in contemplation, slowly rocking his legs against the rock, with his flock far removed. Reckoning his age is not easy. He gives me a cute baby smile, showing red gums but no teeth. His face is wrinkled, sun-burned and leathery, his hair grey and sparse. He wears an off-white home spun woollen coat, and his trousers are patched up with patches of black woollens cloth. He has a stout stick in his hand which from time to time he hits against the rock. He whistles sharply and forcefully at times, perhaps for the ears of the sheep flock which he is looking after. At times he utters some indistinguishable words of caution to them. Occasionally he scratches his partly bald head and passes down the thoughts to his small thin beard. A fleeting smile appears in his eyes making his lips to quiver for a while, as if some pleasant memories of youth have crossed his mind. His eyes are hazy but he seems to be alert, content with the business of minding his sheep. He has probably spent all the summers of his life with his flock in green meadows under the blue sky and blazing fierce glare of sun, the cool breezes of the snows very often caressing him. Below, at the bottom of the rock rests a black Bhotia dog, ferocious in looks with mass of fluffy fur, fully stretched and dozing in peace. The faithful dog is a guide and companion to the old man in his task of looking after the sheep. The man is no ordinary soul. He does not belong to a particular place. He is a nomad, always on the move.

I remember how tough it was --- The climb of Chhialekh, on our onward journey...then I prayed and prayed aloud... "O Lord I beg of Thee, have mercy". And I had moved on in a trance like state, unable to even stand erect.. And here I am today on my journey back to roll down these slopes of the grim rugged hill. It is no less painful... a great strain to the lower limbs, the toes and calves. I nurse them at Budhi where we halt for the night.

Inflorescence of Saccaramunja

On the fourth day trekking mostly through half cut rocky tunnel pathways in the narrow valley where Kali flows down we reach Garbadhar, a wider section of the valley where we meet the abandoned motor road to Gala. Here, near Mangti, feathery shining inflorescence of Munj-grass (Saccaramunja) frantically waves us welcome from every nook and corner. This is the end of the trek and finally a bus ride takes us to Dharchula in the afternoon. It has been a long day.

On fifth day we visit Patal-Bhubneshwar cave near Gangolihat nestled under the beautiful old deodar trees, and then reach Jageshwar late in the night.

Jageshwar Temple

On the sixth day we are on our way to Delhi. A rapturous crowd awaited us at Garhmukteswar where the still swollen River Ganga calmly flows on in the Gangetic plains. We are received with wild accolades and a grand feast on the bank of the River arranged by one of our fellow-yatris, Vishnu Kumar from Gaziabad.

We Four

Finally we are back to where we began, this time to disperse with sweet memories of a deep bond and camaraderie. We have all cared for each other and shared each others joys and sorrows and an understanding had blossomed when we were together. I sweetly remember our close group of four: J.S.Mehta; my great young friend Dwipin Kumar Sharma, Bhagwan Satrap Katiyar and I. We were great asset to each other, helping each other to tide over physical strain. Dwipin, a young man with a large heart, was ever there by my side to help me through out the journey. Dr. D.S Burfwal Liaison officer was a great asset in helping us in every way the situation demanded.