The night prior to my early morning departure for Srinagar Syed Shah Geelani passed away, thankfully in his bed. In Delhi that evening scrolling through Inshorts it registered vaguely, my mind more on organizing my gear and the 6 am drive to the airport. I was praying it wouldn’t rain (it did!) like it did in the day, when Delhi took a dunking in record rainfall. To top it I was going alone, trekking with a company found on the internet, with companions I had no idea about. And yeah, 2 phone numbers to tie it all together. How desperate could I be to do this trek?
Roller-coaster Ride
So we cross the Pir Panjals and cruise low enough to make out houses, fields and streams in a wide valley cupped by snow capped mountains. We land and as we are heading out I hear snatches of conversations – No network, Covid retest. An earbud-like treatment is the least of my issues. The Valley’s communication lines have been shut down. No phones, except for BSNL postpaid (which I do not have) and no internet! A long dawdling wait at the airport ensues where strangers generously lend me their phones to make frantic calls, offer to drop me to Pahalgam… the Dal Lake! One driver asks me who I am trekking with and when I say Fayaz bhai he tells me with absolute conviction to wait. Someone will come he says. And so I do, till I find my trekking companions and the missing driver. Relief! Then it’s a drive through shuttered towns with lots of detours and at Anantnag, an unyielding cop makes us think this is the end of the road. I am with a group of Bengalis and if anyone can take on authority resolutely yet sweetly, it is a Bengali woman. He finally relents and we are soon crossing the flowering gardens of Pahalgam by the blue Lidder and galloping towards Aru like horses nearing their stable.
A river runs through- Batalik – A Tribute to the Human Spirit
Meet the People at Aru
Fayaz bhai is our trek leader and cook. A typical tall Kashmiri with a hooked nose, he is reticent with a watchful smile. We stay at his house the local way- in one big carpeted room, bedding in a line on the floor. Not what I am expecting but then that seems to be the theme of this trip. Dinner is in a similar room downstairs and the Haaq is fresh and delicious. His mother lets me warm my hands on her kangri, although the conversation is limited with lots of smiles to fill the gaps. His young niece, Shagufta is like a curious pretty butterfly, and takes a shine on some of us and an instant dislike to one. The entire household sees us off the next morning.
Discover deserted mansions in – Bikaner’s Merchants and Their Mansions
Sound of Music
Shahnawaz, our guide, is a young lad studying in grade 12th with dreams to be a doctor. He is like a herder with infinite patience and a gentle mien. On the intermittent open slopes enroute to Lidderwat we come across kothas, the flat roofed mud and wood dwellings of the Gujjars. As we take a breather near one the kids come scrambling, then bashfully ask for chocolates. We cross families of Bakarwals striding down, their colourful horses at times carrying sacks of wool.
The last meadow before the wooden bridge to Lidderwat is like a movie, Sound of Music perhaps. Little white flowers dot the greenscape. A horse munches on the grass sprouting on the roof of a kotha made next to a massive boulder. The silence is broken by the baaing of a herd of sheep that sweep across the meadow.
I found wishes were not horses but camels – At the Darwaza of a Road Less Travelled
Lidderwat lies at the confluence of the Lidder River which originates from the Kolahoi glacier and a stream fed by the runoffs of Tarsar and Sundarsar. The place is overrun with sheep, ponies and kids looking for a sugar rush and at night, a bear or so I am told. Alone in my tent at night I wake up startled when something large bumps into my tent but the ferocious barking that ensues is like lullaby to my ears.
Shekhwas‘s Stellar Surprise
We are taught traffic rules of narrow mountain paths on the move early enough the next morning. ‘Side, side,’ shouts Shahnawaz from the back as the horses carrying the camping gear catch up with us. We move hither- thither. He says, ‘mountainside!’ The ponies always walk on the edge we learn.
Shekwas has no trees, no lake, just endless slopes of green converging into a stream in the middle. The evening is spent in solitude on the slope above the camp watching the horses and sheep without any minders. But the night! Oh my god the night! I could have slept, I should have..(Would have been a frozen ball in the morning though.)… under the Milky way! We step out from the dinner tent and I gasp and stop dead. The galaxy is a creamy luminescent cloud in a sky already crowded with stars, shooting stars, satellites. An astronomy enthusiast points out Saturn and Jupiter. The sky seems to say this stellar show is only for those who tread this path, when I fail abysmally to photograph even a twinkle…. I reluctantly agree.
Read about another out of this world experience in- Mystic Maheshwar : At the Center of the Universe
The Garden Path to Tarsar
In the morning a sharp whistle has me rushing out of the tent thinking its an exotic bird only to see a sweeping mass of white dots moving near the kothas across a stream from us. The herder and his flock have set out for the day. The walk up to Tarsar is a ramble on a mountainside park strewn with boulders, Pipits and Accentors hopping on them and flowers growing in between.
Explore – The Gardens of Delhi – A walk not only on the green side but through history itself
Tarsar in a kidney bowl is a mere reflection of the game of chase being played out above, faithfully changing colour. Sunlight like dappled diamonds plays on its surface. The wind makes it move restlessly against the rocks in the afternoon. A peachy grey dusk brings the curtains down on an evening of songs with warming cuppas as Mercury shines brightly above silhouetted craggy peaks.
A Study
The next morning as all the trekking groups crest the pass together, the heights are a study in human behavior. The adrenaline junkies are on a high(t) and on all the edges, the selfie fiends hog the best spot, the solitude seekers tune out of the circus. All paying homage to the placid lake below. The trail spreads out again as we head down towards the meandering stream in the distance. Its boggy surroundings houses marmots we discover.
We camp next to Sundarsar and after lunch follow the goats across a pass for a bird’s eye view of the twin Marsar. Across the pass 2 dogs charge at us but are firmly brought to heel. The older one is unfriendly but the younger one hasn’t lost his innate friendliness. Still, with a sheepish wag of his tail he maintains his distance now. His owner then disappears behind his flock into the rocky face of the mountain lining Marsar, a dour looking massive lake so far below. The mountain range on the other side seems to be the end of the world.
Find a lake like no other at- Pangong Tso – The Gems in the Crown
At Sundarsar the pack horses are being lured back to the camp with treats. Mushtaq is the pony guy and his intense eyes are a little disconcerting but his devotion to the animals is absolute. The helper at large, Shabir dresses one’s wound and then their forelegs are bound for the night. Waking up at dawn next morning I am duly rewarded with the stunning sight of Mt Kolahoi’s outline towering in the horizon. The clouds quickly drape themselves around it.
The Women at the Meadows
The long march back to Lidderwat is along the stream coming out of Sundarsar and we cross kothas with Choughs pecking in the empty corrals and women inviting us in for tea. Most of us move on regretfully. At Homwas near a Kotha barely discernible from above, the Bakarwals are sitting, literally on the sheep. Years of practice shows in the methodical evenness of the shearing being done with ancient scissors. Bags of wool sit waiting to be loaded onto the horses. A young girl wants to see what I have shot. As I sit to show her, a little scruffy girl, barely 2 feet off the ground, who has been watching me with big round eyes comes and tucks herself into me to watch too. I can do nothing but hug her back and beat back a crazy desire to carry her home.
Back at Fayaz bhai’s house his solemn boys find us and some treats. Shagufta finds new people in her house. I had gone for a trek, thinking only of the mountains I wanted to be in. Kashmir is truly a generous gift from nature. But I learnt how much a place is about its people. That a trek is a journey and companions matter.(Totally lucked out on that!) At some level it felt we were all just walking each other home.
Take a rambling walk with me in- Tarsar Marsar : A Trekker’s Take
