Travelogue: The Heavenly Road to Doditaal Continues

(Continued from the Heavenly Road to Doditaal)
The illumination was complementing the rhythmical sound of hundreds of rivulets and rainy season streams flowing in the near and distant mountains. It seemed as if this is heaven or at least a utopian world. It was not a dream but a hitherto unseen reality.

The night charmed us and suddenly escaped without answering my very Utopian questions.

The dawn was fascinating again; crystal-like dew drops on a vivid landscape were enticing. I was up early and while sipping tea served in a stained tin cup, met with the unassuming kids and women folk in the village.

The trust building process was quick and the conversation was fluid despite the language barrier.

Around eight in the morning we decided to start for the eighteen kilometre stretch and a 800 metre elevation, through some steep passes to reach our destination, Doditaal.

Our guide, a twenty something young man from the hills, moved swiftly on the slippery roads and made us move as faster.

First two hours seemed easy, it rained and there were plentiful of wild and fresh shrubs that literally paved our path with flowers. At places we came across the majestic white waters of Assi Ganga flowing down the mountains.



This beautiful walk reminded me of the fascinating landscape depicted in the ‘Lord of The Rings’ movies.

The loveliness of the first five kilometres was broken by a series of guerrilla attacks by thousands of impoverished leeches, who had suddenly sprung into life after rains touched the ground.

They were literally piercing into our legs, 10-20 at a moment on each foot.
We had to stretch them and throw every five minutes, or walk for an hour and then pluck them out.

In either case our skin was cut and legs were red with blood.

But locals taught us not to mind the blood and enjoy the nature. This was bad blood that moved out and now the circulation improves with this, they said. We obliged and moved ahead, stopping twice for tea and food.

At few instances the trek path was caved-in or there was no path at all and you could see the gorges down 2,000 feet. We managed with tree branches and ingenious footwork to jump over the space that never existed.

Every time we managed to cross over, it gave us a thrill and we looked back to gauge the width and depth. It was very much like the Indian Jones movie adventures. On the way we encountered no human habitation except a small congregation of makeshift huts where herdsmen from villages at lower elevation had come grazing their cattle the abundant green grass as the monsoon season was on.

Like any hill trek on the Himalayas we come across few aggressive wild Bhotia dogs who often attack you then become your friends after licking your feet and finally follow you for small stretches as long as their territory is marked.



We discovered a small ancient Hindu temple on the path, on the walls of which the name of JJ Irani and his wife were engraved.

We wondered if this is the legendary head of Tata Steel, who steered the company into the new millennium. But obviously, our querry couldn’t have been answered and we left the thought to ourselves.
After seven long hours we finally reached a place where we had to climb down on a moss-laden rickety path and we were told that the lake is almost there.



But we could see nothing for five more minutes. And suddenly there came up a flat piece of land and a small climb. And oh my God what we see! A painting of Monet! Yes it was like that only. A placid, transparent, silent, emerald green lake, the source of Assi Ganga and our ultimate destination was reached.

We were bedazzled and tranquilised and without words. I can't write the experience of that moment but can say my imagination of a heavenly land was similar to Doditaal, thanks to the childhood Chandamama reading. Heaven was like this misty lake, falling clouds and silence....

(The final part will be posted soon)


For the earlier part of the travel visit Travelogue: The Heavenly Road to Doditaal
(Photographs: Sourav Mishra/Arshad Hussain and special thanks to Tanzeem Patankar for the Assi Ganga and Doditaal photographs)
To see more of the travel visit Tanzeem's blog at http://tazzo-dodital.blogspot.com/

Bhuvan Yadav's case against Barkha Rani

Monsoon rain is the key word today. Not only the farmers for whom it is the lifeline, but almost every individual across villages, cities, chawls, skyscrapers, schools and Parliament talk about it, after experiencing the worst monsoon in four decades, last year. They now know it for being responsible for a good harvest, lower price regime, better rural income, faster growing economy and absence of hunger. This understanding has brought it into popular culture within no time. Yesterday I was watching this creative sarcastic drama ‘Bhuvan Yadav’s case against Barkha Rani’.

The case begins with appearance of frail and visibly shaken Bhuvan Yadav, a poor farmer from some arid region in India, whose crops have failed due to the complete absence monsoon or ‘Barkha Rani’ as we call her from now onwards. Bhuvan has filed a case against ‘Barkha Rani’ for being directly responsible for crop washout and driving him and other farmers into utter poverty, indebtedness and to the verge of hunger death. Bhuvan represents the case for half of India’s population.
The judge then calls for ‘Barkha Rani’ who originally lives in the hilly Cherrapunji in the northeastern India and visits other hills, mountains and beaches whenever she feels like. She however is rarely seen in the vast stretches of arid lands passing through the length and breadth of the interiors of the country.

Now ‘Barkha Rani’ comes to the court all dressed in glitzy white saree and holding a large empty bowl. When questioned why Barkha Rani was absent last year and how it has affected not only Bhuvans of Indian villages but also Dr Manmohan of the Delhi.

Barkha Rani says she has not enough water in her bowl to fulfill the needs everywhere. To which Bhuvan’s lawyer says if she has not enough water why she disburses so much water in the Himalayas. Barkha says that’s because that’s from where water flows across the country through her first cousins like the Ganges, but faulty irrigation schemes and absence of river linking wastes all her purpose.

Barkha further said it’s her husband Badal like most extravagant men lives a high carbon footprint creating lifestyle and uses very large fuel-inefficient vehicles like Hummer which wastes a lot of the water in the process of transportation before reaching the desired destinations.

Also her cousins like Laila and Aila waste a lot of water in a pub called Cyclone every year, before Barkha could do her annual tour of the country. “I am left with very little to sprinkle in the fields of people like Bhuvan, though I really want to.” Barkha further blamed every human being for emission driven global warming which is resulting higher-than-normal temperature and parched farmlands, needing more water than ever.

The judge in the case reaslises the situation, human folly involved and feels sorry for Bhuvan and millions other who bear the brunt. He orders for rectification of all the human created errors and assurance of farm water to Bhuvans of India.
(The storyline in the drama is suitably twisted as per the writer’s imagination)
(The painting above is a reproduction of the famous Vincent Van Gogh 1889 oil painting 'Wheat Field in Rain')