Day 1 – Want is a need that is often fulfilled in the shortest span of our memory. But a need takes its own time to build, to want & to fulfill as a consequence. The need to be in the outdoors was no less a want until 2020. The smallest window before the year ended was being eyed like that last sip of a drink on a drained-out summer day! We gathered our last breaths at the Dehradun airport on the 28th of December. The last breaths fused into a love for the outdoors.
Headed for Lokhandi, about 4 hours from Dehradun, the first halt that we took was at Kalsi. Lokhandi is about an hour ahead of Chakrata’s main market & this small corner of the Uttarakhand Himalayas takes you to a much quieter part of this region. I was on a hunt for that kind of corner since the pandemic. Corners, made for those who meet at the right angles and we found ours at The Himalayan View Hotel; Lokhandi. The drive was laden with few rough patches of snow & a ball of orange fire chasing us like reignited life.
Ever wondered what a wooden cabin could do to you? Well, it kills you of comfort. This small 2 room flat was sheer luxury, with a window to the mountains & life walking in. We soaked the chills from the window & evaporated ourselves into vapors of laughter. You don’t always get to live what you want all over again, hence it’s called a moment. Not to be recreated, but lived. We gave ourselves the joy of living that moment & recapping the last ones we shared. It’s always a good revision when the thoughts are sprouting from the deep crevasses of our memories. It’s a supreme joy!
Dinner was served in our room and we continued catching up until sleep hung on our lids. Day 1 of this shortest trip to the mountains, ceased in no time. We were counting on the snow & the next 2 days.
Day 2 – Mountains will never let you sleep, they just lull you into a sweet reverie of a wholesome life. One of us woke up wee too early, the other two were yet to wake up from this fixation. One amongst us practiced the ancient meditation of awakening the Chakras, we were allowing its sound to reach us from far. So we rushed out for a patient start to the day – The sunrise. We walked until directions unraveled a smitten sun, gracing the snow in all its beauty. Those who soak up the sun to charge themselves will never have enough of a mountain sunrise and the sun will always return its course towards them at the sunset. Sometimes it serves as a gentle reminder of a sense of permanence given only to those who look up at the same sky at the same time, no matter where they are. The silence of the sunrise was at its best, The Oh Hellos invaded my ears with their song “Like the Dawn” while I watched the sunrise in harmony. I couldn’t help but hum,
“You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen”, and the sun’s enigma still stays with me. It was a warming trance until we heard the bird sing.
It was the call of the Chakra, the third one had completed his morning kriya and the bird within him, probably just took a flight. All walked out with their day packs to head to Budher Caves, a 4 Kms trek from the road head. During summers the road is accessible for a quick drive until the Forest Guesthouse, however, snow, like always is more demanding. It asked us to walk on it for 3 km until the starting point. Dogs ran behind us playfully, like a scene from ‘The Call of The Wild’ and suddenly all the elements fell into place. Here dogs could gallop on the snow & satiate their hunger by the sheer look in their eyes. Wanting what they want. The trail was dotted by paws on the snow & 3 of us treading towards silence.
When you walk on snow silence grows like reeds underwater. Steadily dancing to the watery commands, and maintaining the finer breath of life under the surface. We let the silence hang above us, each walking at their own pace, from the uphill hike into the forest line. The way to Budher cave is more of a challenge because of undulating boulders and the snow-laden trail in winter. Yet you get used to its ways, like water finds its course despite the boulders. The oak trees on the valley side of the trail are allotted to the local families here. The king of Tehri had made a pact during the British reign to allot one tree to each family of this region for their personal use. Moreover, it is only by turn that the local families can fell a tree allotted to them for the construction of their traditional wooden houses. We continued walking, crunching the snow & hearing the trickles of water droplets falling down from the leaflets. If there are any Chakras in the human body they could be activated by the onomatopoeic sounds of nature’s music. And it was all real here.
We kept hiking until the meandering way led to the meadows of snowy delight. I had once seen this region in a green summer faith, but the snow added something to my last memory. It was a blank meadow waiting to be written over, yet again. We walked up to the small temple, known as “Temple of Fairies” adorned with the skeleton of dead animals’ horns & heads. The breeze was chilly up there but the afternoon sunlight just served as a warming respite. We stretched on the meadows of the Western Himalayas drenching our eyes in the snowy landscape. It wasn’t a clear day, but the Bandarpunch peak could be fairly spotted amongst few other snow-laden peaks. We halted here for a quick-packed- lunch break. Snow and sun, light and haze, warmth and chill; are not analogous in their relationship but they are served well by the mountains – like life & death, you have to live with it to appreciate differences. To relish them, like that last sip of water you came in hunt of on a drained out summer day.
The meadow at Budher Cave is at a height of 2590 m, and the caves are a little below the temple top. It is believed that the Pandavas from the Hindu epic Mahabharatha built this cave after their castle, Lakshagraha was burnt to ashes. The cave has an inlet, however, one cannot access this 150 Km cave without proper gears and guide. If you manage to be here during summers one can enter the opening of the cave and experience the sudden change in temperature inside. Since it was the peak of winters, we chose to perch ourselves on the meadows and seep in the views.
Soon it was 1.00 pm by the clock and we decided to begin the downhill walk. Bless be that crowd which did not venture out that day, for we had our time to appreciate the silence and the life of the wilderness. We walked together and soon apart, each onto their own pace of life – may be at a better place in time, reminiscing about the other times. The speculative walks of silence are always heavy and cathartic, we took a final pit stop watching the sun from in between the trees. Nature is full of mercy if you look at it right, it finally ointed us with good times. We picked ourselves from this relief and reached our hotel by 4 pm. Drenched shoes carrying loads of snowy tears and a considerable hunger for Maggi, made us sit on a milestone by the road. Watching the sun hit the local faces, was growing heavy on me, watching those who were waiting for a carrier to take them home. But, wasn’t this home? Where there is sun and familiarity in the faces, waiting to be looked at in assurance that they exist. Home is what you take them to be. Maybe home could be the road.
Chills from the snowy landscape were slapping our wits out. Well, it did for about 15 minutes of a poor decision to climb on the roof of our Bolero & play some tunes for the setting sun. Wits were washed out with the tunes and we rushed back to the room, laughing at our untimely calls. Now that I had labored for the day, and my feet wanted some warmth, I chose to jump into my sleeping bag and make a whole life in that very corner where I could last for eternity. Sitting by a window that could take you to another home, the depths of the mountains and its mysteries unraveled right there. We stood still having taken our share of something from the outdoors today and smeared ourselves with some music & spirits before we called it a night.
But how do you call it a night in the mountains? You have to sleep hoping for another day…more of such days. Days that have the colors from your favorite painting day still stuck on your fingernails, but you won’t take them off for fear of forgetting the shades. Days in the mountains are always like the countdown, running out of permanence. And you have to come to terms with the reality because the “world will always be too much with us…and we have to be artful enough to seem unaffected.”
Day 3
Today we were to check out from Lokhandi and head to another destination, a little closer to Chakrata township. Taking the last melting views of the landscape we were now destined to a village called Makhati. The drive went well along with convulsive talks on spirituality & oneself. If I were to call man, an image of God, I could hence call them so. It’s almost disheartening how one tends to forget that everything exists within us, the humanness & the godliness. It’s all within, and that’s how I found my chakra.
But now was no time to be philosophical, we were in between a rugged valley & green patches of hope. The next check-in was at Divyansh Resort, where the roads are aligned in symmetry with nature. The valley-facing room opened to a vista of mountains. We checked out the vicinity by climbing up the stairs to get a good view of the place. Walking back to the restaurant we had a quick lunch & began our walk towards Makhati village. Taking cues for the shortest route to the village, the way unraveled a small settlement, busy in their daily chores. Women were at the courtyard, men at work, children lazing on the roof with coy goats and snuggly pups. There are a handful of traditional houses in this village, as though everyone is coping with the way of city life here. But we managed to take a peek into one old wooden structure, with the lady striking the right pose.
Village walks are fun until you stop by an old lady’s courtyard trying to avoid any eye contact so as to keep watching her perform her daily chores. I think being in the mountains could be more enjoyable had we the liberty to just stare at folks, without making ourselves uncomfortable in return. Well, a quick small talk with her made me want to escape into the thin air. Women in the mountains are always so intimidating and like always, they make me chicken out. We walked out of the village in the wink of an eye. On our way back to the resort, we took a longer route on the paved road, finding ourselves a perfect public bench outside a tea shop. We were yet to take the last bit of this trip and the bench was just too comfortable to leave. Had it not been for the fact that we were to depart for Doon the following day, I could have stayed perched on the bench for a while longer.
We hustled back to the resort watching the last rays of the sun and the windy evening change the colors of Chakrata. We stayed in the room for a while only to head downstairs for Dinner. Timing is always right when you want it to be, we haunted ourselves with this last bit of Chakrata by catching up at the restaurant. The wind outside was whistling by the door and the host interrupted us with “Would you like to join us for a bonfire before we serve dinner?” The wind still hit my ears from the windowpane, but who could deny a night around the fire. We walked out trying to merge our voice and instruments with the wind, but to no avail. The sound of air was much more pressing by the fire. The timer for this 3-day countdown was close to zero that night. Staring at the last embers of the bonfire, we walked back to have dinner.
Nothing beats a good trip than the last knock at the door. Our host knocked us out of sleep, to hand over a pillow of comfort and a receipt since we were to check out way too early the next morning. But like De Quincey said in ‘On the Knocking at the Gate in Macbeth’, “the knocking always had a pronounced effect: “it reflected back upon the murderer a peculiar awfulness and a depth of solemnity….” The knock to me was symbolic, it had murdered the sleep, it reflected on the murderer of our wants & gave him a sense of solemnity. The trip ended for me that night, and like always the last night in the mountain is always about wanting a little more. And this one was like no other, for it was the end of the need of The Year, 2020. The want and need dichotomy I still carry with me in 2021, but “Sometimes a start is all we ever get”. And the rest? Rest is just life in a waiting room, waiting for the wants to end.
