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Vasudhara Falls |
For the last leg of the journey, I trekked back down from Ghangria to Govindghat and took a bus to Badrinath. Again the way was blocked by landslides near the village of Ram Bagri. In these areas, the roads are maintained by the Border Roads division of the Indian Army. It was amazing to see the conditions under which these brave army jawans of India worked to keep these routes clear, a crucial task in such a remote region. I saw army workers operating bulldozers under the ever-present threat of being buried by further landslides. On the return journey from Badrinath, I was amazed to see that the road, although not completely repaired, was fully passable.
All along the trip to Badrinath, the Alakananda River flowing below in a deep gorge kept me company. It was one of the most scenic stretches of our trip, and we regretted taking the bus, which left me with little time to appreciate nature's bounties. Finally we reached Badrinath, which as the starting point of many Hindu pilgrimages is a very modern town. With its bustling shops and restaurants, Badrinath was a bit of a shock compared to the previous few days.
In Badrinath, I was disappointed to see that Neelkantha, the 6,600-meter peak behind Badrinath, was invisible underneath a heavy cloud layer. The local people told us that it would probably be visible at dawn the next morning.
Nothing could have prepared me for the spectacle I was to witness that day. I got out of bed at around four in the morning. It was a full moon night and, apart from the soft light of moonlight peeking from behind the still rather heavy cloud cover, everything was dark. Neelkantha was still invisible. My companions and I were all sipping hot mugs of tea and trying to protect ourselves from the cold mountain air when suddenly the clouds parted and out peeked the visage of Neelkantha gleaming like silver in the light of the moon. About 25 minutes later, the clouds came back to hide Neelkantha again. We were quite ready to go back inside when suddenly Neelkantha came back into view, except this time it was completely glimmering in gold. The sun had come up at that altitude, though the valley was still shrouded in darkness.
Finally after a light breakfast I headed for Mana, the last Indian village before the mountains that form the natural border between India and China. My plan was to keep following the Alakananda, which by now had become a fraction of what it was at Devaprayag, to the Vasudhara Falls. This trek beyond Mana is not very popular, yet it is exquisite. You must cross glacial moraines and even a couple of glaciers before you can even see the 145-meter Vasudhara Falls. I was lucky to have a bright sunny day, and you could see whole ranges of snow-clad peaks in their pristine glory. This region is very prominent in Hindu mythology as the road the Pandavas, whose story is recounted in the sacred Bhagavad-Gita, were supposed to have taken on their way to heaven.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it seemed, my trek was finally over. The day after I returned to the Dehra Dun in the foothills, torrential rains started in the mountains. These led to landslides, which came to be known as the Great Himalayan Landslide of 1998. Over 80 people were killed in Rudraprayag and another 200 in Malpa Village en route to Kailash. The Himalayas are, like many great gods of old, as merciless as they are majestic.
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