Ganga mein anth

Harshil

We were on our way to Gangotri and Gaumukh, where the Ganges takes its roots. The six-hour ride in a rickety green bus packed to the roof with tourists and pilgrims, through the long, winding, hairpin curved and narrow routes of the himalayas, is to say the least - an experience. It was my first time, and to be honest, the winding routes turned my insides upside down.

Everytime i looked down the gorges and saw the white sands and the blue water, i wanted to jump right out of the window and pitch a tent nearby. From the distance, i saw a row of green tents along the banks of the Ganga, and further down, a green bridge. A few minutes later, the bus stopped and i heard someone bang on the bus door, "sab theek to hain na?" When i peeped out, i saw a couple of army men, inquiring with the bus driver if all the passengers were okay, and if the journey was trouble free.

I'm telling you people, there's something that comes over you when you're in the borders of our country, and run into the people who guard them. (no, i am not having a RDB hangover!) Harshil seemed like someplace straight out of an artist's canvas. Surrounded by mountains, the sun barely able to reach the valley, harshil with its maple and apple trees, is a trekker's delight. A humble little buddhist temple makes the picture complete (you can see it there in the picture, behind the pole.) We spent time meeting folks from the village and biting into juiciest of green apples, and then moved on to Gangotri. Now, the routes around these regions are so narrow that there are fixed time slots for every single bus that maneuvers these roads. A couple of hours here and there could lead to busses or other vehicles facing each other head-on, with no place to reverse. Which is what happened to us.

On a steep and narrow curve, our bus found itself head-on with a truck carrying rocks. Since the truck didn't have any space to reverse, it was left to our bus driver to do the same. My eyes popped out and jaws refused to close when i looked out of the window and saw what we were onto. Reversing downhill on the narrowest of routes, with the Ganges deep down there??? This guy better be good at it!

I realised I was not the only one jutting my head out of the window. Behind me, I heard an old lady wail, "hai, bhagwan, hamari anth to Ganga ke teer mein hi hogi." Of course, that was not to be.We reached Gangotri at dusk, and I got out of the bus thinking my nose felt wierd. My friend told me I had snow-blackness, which happens when you're exposed to extreme cold.

At 1 degree C, what else did I expect!