Part2 Yamuna
The Mussorie Express dropped us at Haridwar railway station and made her way ahead to Dehradoon which is the last railway station at the foothills in these parts of Himalayas. Our destination for the day was Rishikesh, around 30kms away from Haridwar. At Rishikesh we settled at the GMVNL guest house which is a perfect base in this riverside town. We had the whole day to relax and loiter around Rishikesh. The only task being walking down to the GMVNL office and complete the registration of the trip. Once that was done we moved towards the Ganges. This time our explorations took us to various ghats. After enjoying the various scenes played out and the famous 'Ganga Aarti' in the evening,we were ready to call it a day. We had a early start next day.
The trip started from Rishikesh and after crossing the beautiful forests of Rajaji National Park reached Dehradoon. Here we picked up our guide for the trip. Now we were moving towards Mussorie, that beautiful hill station, home to the delightful Mr. Ruskin Bond. But obviously we weren't going to go calling on him! Busy man that he is! We passed bye Mussorie to reach the Kempty Falls, quite a famous tourist destination in these parts. It didn't impress me. Too artificial. And here after crossing this point the Yamuna came into view. Frankly on first sighting she was quite listless, and looking at her stream I wondered how she reaches Delhi, miles away! Now our route was all along her river bed, which started spreading out. But the stream had the same strength. Right here on the crossroad with one road going towards 'Gangotri', the source of Ganges and the other being our prescribed one taking us to 'Yamonotri', the source of Yamuna is the town of Barkot. We had a simple lunch here at the GMVNL guest house under the trellis beautifully adorned by blooming Bougainvillea.
Pleased, we started for the next part of our journey. Our driver, Chaudharyji informed us of the schedule ahead, first a place called Phoolchhatti, then Hanumanchhatti and then the stopover for the night, Jankichhatti. So many 'chhattis'. I was wondering what they were?
By this time we were in the aura of the Himalayas. The bus was climbing, huffing and puffing at the altitude( or attitude?) of the Himalayas. The green tops were peering down at us- here comes another gang of admirers! Of ho! And me sitting on the cliff side was peering down at the Yamuna flowing along with us. As if assuring us not to worry, she will guide us to our destination. Who needs GPS and Siris here where since time immemorial nature has it's own way of guiding it's own! We crossed a quaint iron bridge, and a tiny hamlet came into view. Hardly a cluster of ten to twelve dwellings and small shops. Phoolchatti it was. We were going to take a long and relaxed tea break here as we were too ahead of schedule. The time was around four in the evening and the sun had already started to send his slanting rays towards us. We all had started glowing in it like the gold in a jeweller's display window. Really, this Mr. Sun is a charmer. As soon as we got down we rushed towards the quaint bridge to click pictures. Of us. Of the gurgling Yamuna. Of the green mountains which turned blue further and further away. Of the cow on her way back to her home and hearth. Of all of us together? Mother nature and her Bacchas! After this photography session we moved around the place. At the start itself was a small tea shop with a tiny, old man sitting beside it, giving us a smile. As we moved towards the GMVNL rest house some colourful scarves displayed outside a convenience store caught Sudha's eye. She wanted one of them, designed with the local patterns. We had encountered many local women on the way with their hair tied up in these scarves. She bought one and immediately transformed herself from a 'plains' girl to a mountain belle. All our fellow travellers had already settled themselves in the GMVNL restaurant. We thought otherwise and traced our steps back to that small tea stall.
"Uncleji, chai milegi?" We chorused.
Before affirming our question he asked us to come and take a seat.
"Andar aa ke baitho to pehle, betaji!" That famous Indian hospitality etiquette.
We took our seats besides his stove, or rather I took my seat and the ever restless Sudha stood beside him busy taking his 'tea- recipe' down. As we started our own ' chai pe charcha' (long before it became an election campaigning methodology!) the regular tidbits came our way. Of how just a couple of days back this route was bustling with pilgrims and we were lucky to enjoy the nature in this quietude. These parts are amongst the most important of the Hindu Pilgrimage sites and see a huge rush of the faithfuls in the month of May and June. We were here in the first week of July precisely for this reason. And also now than later to avoid the heavy rains which would lash the place in a fortnight. We then came to knew about his life story, not much different from the others in these region. He comes from the foothills of the Himalayas and travels here every Pilgrimage season to earn. His family was down there and like every householder in the world who has to move away from his home and hearth to earn a living, he too was missing them badly. Now, after so much of an intimate exchange we thought it fair enough to ask his name.
Here comes the shocker. "My name is what it is.", he replied in jest.
Huh, now I was hooked. Why didn't he just tell his name? What was his name?
" There are millions of names in this world, what is your name?" I prodded him further.
Not one to duck the challenge, he replied " My name is one of Lord Shiva's name. Now you can keep guessing." Well Indian Gods and Goddesses have innumerable names, enough to name the 1.2 billion population of India.
I had met my match! Really he was talking in puzzles! Sudha and I exchanged an amused glance. In what remote corner of India would one encounter an intriguing Indian, is anybody's guess. Ok, now he enquired what was my name.
Here I come!
" My name Uncleji, is one of the many of Goddess Laxmi!"
Aaahh! That look which passed from him to me and back, of one quirky creature to another! Two birds of the same flock.
Bliss! These episodes are the spice of the travels all around. Around such encounters I realised that I'm never an 'independent' traveller but all the brownies I gather on the way are interdependent on every person, stone, cloud, river, tree, mountain,goat I meet on the way. And ofcourse my thoughts about them.
We were ready with our next query, this 'Chatti' business was intriguing us and we asked him.
"Why is every place called Chhatti here? What exactly does it mean?"
This he didn't return back with a puzzle but shared the story with us. He said," Just as you have come here, on this pilgrimage, you would be staying up at different GMVNL rest houses here and there. Similarly these parts are so pious that even the God's from heaven come down for pilgrimage here. Now when Hanumanji comes, he stays at 'Hanuman chhatti'. When Janaki mayya comes she takes up lodging and boarding at 'Janaki chhatti'."
" But this place is called 'Phoolchhatti' ", why?I queried.
" Where do flowers come from? Don't they too come from heaven? This place is the abode of flowers!". Thus spoke the wise old man.
Indeed aren't flowers with their beauty, giving pleasure to themselves and everyone coming in contact with them just heavenly? So true. I opened my eyes to this abode of flowers afresh and the place looked something else this time.
Finishing our tea and talks we started to join the gang. Here they had discovered that behind the guest house runs a path taking us down to Yamuna. Sudha and I shrieked! What are we waiting for? Thus started the walk to Yamuna. On a really narrow path. Hopping on boulders abruptly strewn in the path( this surely must be Yamuna's doing!), we reached a picture postcard. In front of us were strewn boulders and pebbles, big and small, of all colours and hues and then as if to soften this sight behind them was flowing the gushing beauty, Yamuna. She was wrapped in the golden silk, such was the shimmer on her water. All doing of that charmer, Mr. Sun. And to provide an appropriate background to her was the green mountain on the other bank. I was rooted to the spot where I experienced this scene. In a while everyone's shrieks of pleasure brought me back to my senses and I too ran towards the Yamuna.
Leaving behind the shoes, I proceeded towards her, hopping again on these beautiful stones, everyone different than the other. In looks, in feel. Did they have such distinct stories too? Maybe they shared those between each other to pass the time. The infinite time they must have been here and the infinite time they will be here. Oh! There were millions of stones, they would definitely leave the Arabian Nights behind. I left them to their occupation and slowly as I reached the bank dipped my toe in the water.
Urrrrghhh....have I ever felt something so ice cold? It was freeeeeezing! Right here with it's surface shining in the sun, it was literally freezing. Ok Vivi(that's what I call myself when feeling very French) be brave. And here I went into her. The icy cold didn't feel too bad after a while, infact it felt refreshing. Rejuvenating. I sat down on one of the protruding boulders in the middle of the surging waters. It would be an understatement to say I experienced 'Yamuna' then. This is how I will remember her and this is how I will recall her. Whenever I overhear her name in any random conversation, I hope I will be transferred in spirit to this boulder. In the middle of Yamuna. Where I see her and where I feel her.
It was time to move on. Like always. Did I find everyone in a somber mood or was I imagining it. Maybe imagining. Because as we reached Janki chhatti, the decibels of the group were back to normal. The temperature had started dipping and we all settled with a hot cuppa of tea and gossip. At the time of sunset we were treated with beautiful views of snow capped peaks, pink in the fading light. As the sun left for the day, we too moved indoors and got everything ready for next day's trek to the source of Yamuna. After the intro between her and me, I was quite looking forward to it.
As always trekking in the Himalayas starts at the crack of the dawn. We covered a distance of few kms by the vehicle. It is a pleasant day trek, around twelve kms in all with maximum height reached around 3292meters. The trek started through the clusters of shops and rest houses mushroomed at the foothill. After about half a km the way is cleared up with both sides lined up with deciduous trees. At this point is the GMVNL rest house where we were supposed to come back for lunch. I peeked inside to see a manicured garden and beautiful poppy fields behind, stretching almost till the continuous rocky mountain range behind. But since everyone had started going ahead of me I brought my attention back to the trek and started walking. One step ahead of other. My most favourite way of relaxation. My way of meditation. The rhythm, the surroundings, the silence. The path ahead doesn't just take you up to a higher altitude but somewhere deeper inside. We start noticing the things along the path, the ferns propping on the rocky outcrops, the wildflowers peeping from behind the intermingling vines, the patterns on the rocks making up your way. And then on the thoughts running across your mind, that strong resolve propping in the mind, some faraway belief peeping from behind the doubts. And the moment that 'doubt' comes into my mind I notice the belief. No, not inside. Outside. Ringing of bells and chanting the Goddess's name all around. At the next turn colours come into vision. A procession of a palanquin carrying an image of a Goddess and her faithfuls passed bye. Here people don't just come for a pilgrimage with tiffins and water bottles, suitcase full of clothes and beddings, parents and children. They bring along their Gods and Goddesses too. And what was I thinking about? Doubt?
The summit had been reached. Both sides were lined with shops selling the staple of Himalayan Trekkers- tea and Maggi. I was not interested. I had to go and meet Yamuna. As I proceeded towards the source the shops selling snacks gave way to one's displaying all kind of religious fanfare. Bling. Red. Golden. The road ends at a temple dedicated to 'goddess' Yamuna. Yes. Goddess. I find it intriguing,this compulsion of Hinduism to deitfy every natural resource and then in turn humanise every deity! Queer, touching and intimate. There was the usual rush of the faithfuls and the priests, all busy in the elaborate rituals to please the Goddess. I bowed and offered my respects and made way to a path leading to Yamuna. Here she was gushing ahead at such force, it was awe inspiring. And if possible the water was more icy cold than yesterday.
I performed my rituals for her here to show my belief,in the absence of a priest chanting mantras. To feel her, to touch her, to get lost in her sounds. And thus I bow to my own Goddess. Yamuna.
Myth: Yamuna is considered to be the daughter of the Sun god. And Yam, the God of moral law and death is her brother. Hence this pilgrimage here blesses the faithful with long life.
