Places and people

So what do you do, when the winter arrives, I asked Virender.

We were just about to approach Hemkunt Sahib. Midway during the trek, I had hired a mule. It was a difficult trek and the first of its kind I had done. It takes you up 4000 ft in a span of 6 kms. I was also tired from the last two days trek from Gobindghat to Ghangria and to Valley of Flowers. The path was dotted with pretty flowers only found at such altitudes. We had left the cloud cover far behind us. While admiring the scenery, it occured to me that this would not last very long, for, starting October, there would be heavy snowfall and whole of this region would be under a fat layer of snow. Only towards the end of May the following year, the snow would start to thaw and the first batch of pilgrims would arrive here. So I asked Virendra, the man who owned the mule, about their exodus from the village.

We go to Joshimath, he said.
And you take along all of your horses?
Yes, twenty of them, I own the highest number of horses here. Eighteen mules and two horses.

Apparently, only mules were used for trekking purposes, the males being kept only for breeding. I, for example, was riding Dhanno. The one preceding mine, carrying a cameraman from ZEE Networks, was called Kamla.

And what do you do with them, when not trekking.

Basically nothing, he replied. They are allowed to rest, eat, reproduce and get healthy. Occasionally, they are needed to transport goods from Chamoli when the roads are too bad. I mind my father's shop most of the time.

Why, I said with a sudden spark of entrepreneurial ingenuity, you could give horse riding lessons!

He smiled, said nothing. Perhaps my idea was either too good, or downright silly. Who would come to the freezing cold to learn to ride a horse? Even I had started to have doubts about my plan.

Sahib, its extremely easy to ride a horse. And yes, some people do come here, not to learn horse riding, but people working on the Hydro Project down there in Chamoli come here to rest and some learn horse riding as well.

I was excited. So say, if I come here, sometime in March-April next year, would you train me? What would you charge?

He smiled again. He was a young boy not more than 18, and must have been surprised at a grown up adult having such lofty plans for his future.

I sensed that and decided to be silent for a while, enjoying the scenery. We were at a height of about 14,000 ft. In the distance, I could see the Nishan Sahib atop the Gurudwara.

Ten more minutes, he said, and paused for a small tea break. I got down from my mule, Dhanno, and patted her affectionately. She let out a lemon yellow jet of pee. It was opaque, unlike the clear sunset yellow of humans. Except when they have stones, and a surplus of pus cells makes it appear opaque. That is one vivid memory of my mother's last year.
I could see other pilgrims coming and going. Those who were going up along me, on foot, had the look of an approaching orgasm, a spiritual one. Tired, their breaths audible, drawing on the last stores of energy.
The ones going downhill, were joyous, having paid their respects at the Granth Sahib and taken a dip in the holy waters of the Sarovar. They were chanting hyms and laughing hysterically.

I was unfamiliar to any of these emotions. Till now.

Are you finished, he enquired. I noticed the still unfinished cup of tea in my hand. It was cold now. I gulped it down quickly and paid the bill.

**********

We reached our destination shortly. I gave him 300 rupees as promised and asked his name (I didn't actually know that he was Virender till now).
Don't forget about the horse riding classes! I reminded him cheerfully as I prepared to go ahead. I shall come back, I patted him on his shoulder.
He said nothing. And then, with a grave expression, mujhe bhi apne saath le chalo.
It took me some time to let that sink in.
Take me along, to Delhi, with you.
For what, I wanted to ask before he told me he is Tenth pass.
I hear Delhi is a bigger place, much bigger than Joshimath. Everyone can find a job there. You said you work in Delhi, don't you?
I had not told him that I had quit, just before coming to this trip. That I had been chasing my idea of a different, better life.
Don't hesitate, he was pleading, office boy, peon, clerk, anything. Anything will do.

Shall I take your photograph? was all I could utter.

He was quickly ready with Dhanno and Kamla flanking him on either sides. As I turned my camera on, to my dismay, I discovered that it was low on batteries. I tried clicking, but batteries had to be replaced. Purchasing the batteries was out of question. At this height, a pair of Duracell would cost 150 rupees. I was low on money too, having exhausted it on the mule.
He proposed, Sahib, I can contribute 100 rupees. You purchase the batteries with it, he held a hundred rupee note in his hand.
It was -2 degrees celius. The clouds had descended on the Gurudwara, so that it was barely visible, along with the other heavily clothed people present there. It was only me, and him, and a hundred rupee note. I felt hot, like taking off all my clothes. I cried, NO! you stay here, I shall try borrowing batteries from someone. Stay right here.

Luckily, I could find someone I knew from yesterday's trip to the Valley and borrow a pair of batteries for my camera. I turned my camera on, verified that it was working and went back to the entrance, where the mules were parked.

He wasn't there.

**********


The next day, early in the morning, I checked out from my hotel in Ghangria, having procured the receipt for Hemkunt Sahib prasad that shall actually be presented to me at Gobindghat Gurudwara on the behalf of Hemkunt, and set out for the 13 kms long dowhill trail to Gobindghat. At some point, I met Virender again, this time taking a young Sikh couple up to Ghangria. There were no signs of the last day's lapse on his face. As I took his picture, he was calm and smiling.

Horse riding! I shall wait for you, he turned to go.

*********

On my return journey from Joshimath, I stayed overnight in a small town called Srinagar (This one is in Uttarakhand only). After having my dinner in the GMVN guest house, I went out to explore the town. The main street is lined with guest houses and lodges, no houses. One narrow street led me a central market area, which is exceptionally well planned for such a place. A central round-about flanked by shops on all sides. Four streets, equally spaced, led you into the inners.

I clicked a picture and turned to go. Suddenly I felt a tug at my sleeve. I looked down and saw a begger. I ignored him and went ahead.

Srinagar is a typical kind of town you would across in this region. Townships that seem to have existed for one purpose only: tourism. They act as a base-camp for pilgrims and tourists headed for the higher reaches of the Himalayas. Whatever bit of history they have had, is now lost behind the tourist lodges and rest houses and is available only to the most curious eye. And somewhere in the dark sleepy alleys, there is a always a Virender, tugging at your sleeve, pleading you to take him along. To a better, happier place.