12. Even Holiness Cannot Save our Himalayas

Rishi woke up to three feet of snow. It was colder than he had ever felt before. The previous night, devotees chatted till late in the night, discussing matters from far and near.

People from all parts of the country, arguing whether the storm that just hit Delhi would have repercussions in the mountains too. A cloud cover had definitely formed over the hills as well as the northern plains. Farmers from Punjab, in large groups and in motorbikes, busy with langar seva as they served the growing queue, spoke with worry. The rice had almost harvested after a devastating summer. Rains in May, heavier rains in early June, large scale planting of rice and then a lull. A lull that stretched for a week, then a month and then almost two months. Finally, some rains in August and some more in September. Cropping pattern in doldrums and now this storm, threatening to drown the ripened field of gold and brown. Even a brief rain could cause lives to collapse. The worried farmers kept serving till late at night.

Rishi woke up very early. It was only him and the devotees as they sipped on the early morning tea. The Gurbani rang softly through the valley. The devotees, amongst them the farmers from last night were visibly worried.

Rishi did not have to speak up. People were talk incessantly. Some debating of last night, some worried for their fields, some debating on the climb to the holy lake, some wondering if the forest check post at the Valley of Flowers is open yet. A couple of stunning pahadi policemen came rushing in. They were surrounded immediately.

The news was terrible. The policemen had stayed over near the helipad, some distance from Ghangaria and had access to wireless services. Rishi could see the stress on their face. Stress and fear. The fear you see, when news channels first break news of a disaster and offer limited clues to the injured. And as time passes, you realise that these injuries were just a metaphor for deaths. Very often, such a tragedy which begins with a news flash of 20 injured finally climaxes to a 100 dead, even during the historic Kedarnath floods, initial numbers were as low as 53 dead. We all know the final death toll. Such are the vagaries of communication.

These policemen were definitely worried, ‘It finally struck Delhi. We don’t have much news now but the power grid had collapse by 9 pm. We still don’t much at all but what we know is that most of Kumaon, Garhwal, Himachal and Kashmir received heavy snows through the night. Punjab, Haryana and parts of Uttar Pradesh were lashed with heavy squalls. There are reports of landslides throughout the district and we are not sure if pilgrims and trekkers had managed to start from Govind Ghat below.

Well, this was certainly about to become a far greater problem than anticipated. Rishi heard the policemen talk to a local, ‘How many people stayed in Ghagharia last night’. About 3000, answered someone.

Rishi sat down by the fire, sipping sweet tea in what might become a long long wait. So, this is what happens now, he said to no one in particular.

Two police women joined them. From their looks, no one seemed to have slept in the night and here they were now, at 5 in the morning, smartly dressed and a crisis brewing in their hands.

Luckily, we still had an active wireless network. One of the devotees spoke out. Another one asked, ‘what happens now’. More questions came their way till it was apparent that no one knew anything. We were in it together and no one would come to save us.

What about us, asked a wildly expensive looking person, dressed in the best winter gear and carrying a fancy glass that could retract after use. As he poured tea into this strange contraption, he asked again. There must be a hundred or more trekkers in the lodges, what about them, as he swept his hand towards the ramshackle buildings that double up as fancy hotels in the season.

He was the only trekker in a crowd of hundreds, the rest were all sleeping in their overpriced rooms.

That does it, Rishi. Really does it. He muttered Kedarnath and a few people froze.

A police woman took charge. Patting him lightly, she loudly said, ‘Abhi panic nahi, abhi saath rehne ka waqt hai (this is not the time to panic, this is the time to stay together). Speaking softly, she asked him for his name and the details of his entourage. Turns out, he was part of a 60 persons strong entourage, all packed in threes or fours to a room. Visibly shaken, he muttered, ‘But our climate forecasting app told us nothing. This was supposed to be easy’.

A few senior functionaries came together and addressed the crowd, ‘No one needs to worry. We have ample space and enough food. You can stay at the gurdwara as long as you want to’. They looked towards the panicked trekker, ‘We meant you and all your friends, everyone is welcome’.

The crowd marginally shifted its shape. Finding the nearest carpet, most sat down in the cozy gurdwara, passing tea and talking of less stressful things. A young farmer asked him about Kedarnath.

I was not there, he replied. But I met people, read reports and confirmed sources for the past several years. Now that more than a decade has passed after the floods, I still do not want to go there. I feel modern India’s greatest mystery remains unanswered in the Kedarnath valley.

The farmer listened intently, a small troupe sat nearby. Someone passed more tea.

I was in Karnataka then and had narrowly escaped an elephant attack a few days ago. My mind was already muddled but the Kedarnath tragedy shook me of my comfort forever. I mean, it could have happened to me, you or anyone around. It could have happened elsewhere, isn’t it. Does one not cross a few hurdles, the size of the floods, before he realizes that some tragedies stay with you forever, Rishi spoke.

The floods at Kedarnath haunts me often because of two specific questions. First, obviously, what made the stone to roll and settle in the way it has and saved the temple and how could it be possible that such the stone, visibly less than the Kedarnath shrine manage to save the temple from destruction. So, was it the stone or something that saved the shrine. And second, I agree that construction is the national pastime now, greed stinks everywhere. But is true that a number of the living and the dead were looted in the immediate aftermath of the floods and when we talk of the dead, is it true that a large number of people died in the cliffs above, some whose skeletons lie strewn around.

This is what pulls me to the region and find out stories about the floods. As a nation we should slap ourselves in the face and ask ourselves, ‘Is it right for us to mess with nature at an altitude of 3500 metres. Pilgrims could have been always allowed but not in such dramatic numbers. Basically, you are are asking 60- and 70-year-old to prepare for a high-altitude trek in the highest mountain range of the world and that too, on a treacherous terrain with zero chances of rapid evacuation. If the scale of construction were far less, the repercussions would have been significantly less’.

A few listeners nodded and one said in approval, yes. We seem incapable of taking rational decisions, it is certified that we will choose the worst, most dangerous roller coaster to boast of the human spirit. Yes, the human spirit is capable of great things. But the same spirit is an adamant being. His motto is simple, ‘What I decide happens’. And so, he convinces himself to cut the biggest forests and dam access for millions of beings, all for his supreme will to win over any obstacle that comes his way. The indomitable human spirit can hurt nature sometimes.

Profound, whispered someone from a dark corner. Others hummed in agreement. The feeling was electric.

Do you have stories, Rishi asked. Of those days. I have many but yours may be a lesson, who knows. A lesson for us to make out of this freaky weather.

An unknown number of people milled around. Strangely, it was festive inside the gurdwara. Many trekkers from Jhargram, Dharwad and Thiruvarur, repositories of stories themselves, had made themselves comfortable without waiting for anyone’s invitation. Some lesson in peaceful coexistence this – till it lasted.

I was stuck in a fire once, not a flood. When a forest lit around me, I remember my hair raising for a few moments and felt a chill run through me. The fire was behaving as it had a soul, jumping across roads with an elegant step through the canopy. For a very brief moment, I felt surrounded by this fire on all sides. The others had gone ahead and I fallen back. I did not know what to do. And stood numb. Not scared but numb. I don’t know why the fire missed me but I was helpless in that moment, sometimes, the human spirit can’t make it. This was one of those times.

That is intense, nature can leave you totally vulnerable, a trekker commented. I have a story as well. In these very ranges but in a different time. We were traveling in far off Kinnaur, when a landslide hit our road. Traffic got cut off from each other as boulders fell at different places in this stretch of road, effectively turning us into islands. While no died in that tragedy, a number of us had to spend the night stuck between two roadblocks and a constantly shaking earth. No pain compares the pain nature can give us.

I was stuck here in 2013, came a sound from the back. Hi, I am Radhika. I was young then, on a trek to the Valley of Flowers as part of our school trip. Our group had got stuck as the rains took our breath away. The carpets became wet, so did the leaky hotels and people were scared. It rained and rained for days or hours, I am not sure. But it rained with a loud whoosh as if warning us that this was not some light splatter. It was a deluge and we could hear the Hemganga, roar next us. People were strangely peaceful, no one complained. We sat together, thousands of us and the gurdwara took us all in. No one was stopped. But the stress was too much. And people broke down often. I sat with my friends and our guide hovered around us like a bee. It took more than a few days before we could evacuate Ghangharia but I feel, that as humans, we all turned into something profoundly simple in those days, not the complex being that we usually are.

Her words were met with claps. It turned into an applause and for a moment, outmatch the sound of puttering pattering rain. We felt confident. This was minor compared to what happened in those nights long back.

A young trekker, easily identifiable as the rest of his clan, stood tall, ‘But what is happening. Such snowfall in the early weeks of October. How is this normal. How is this an accident. Things are so different from when we were kids.’

‘You cry for your childhood, it was just a few years away. Imagine our time. If I close my eye, I see nothing of the old, so strong has been this force of change. And the weather is just one of the many things that changed. Look at this year, droughts in place of rains, rains when least expected, our weather is nothing but a character from that video game of old days, where two players with TT bats would try to kick a ball into the other side’s goal. Our current weather is like that ball, so terribly kicked by human actions that it seems to be losing its centre of gravity. 2024 was going to be a terrible year. I am sure, commented someone. This had turned into an early morning adda with real Bengalis to enforce the protocols of a traditional adda session.

Someone called out for breakfast and the entire congregation stood up, picking the prasad in the most orderly fashion. Was it the ambience of a venerable gurdwara or a sudden jab of tension, switching on one’s humanity switch, one couldn’t correctly say but the mood clearly called for large heartedness.

For Rishi, this was all a revelation. He had been making a lot of discoveries lately. And this aspect of human nature, caring for one another in the face of adversity shook his long held beliefs of the futility of human intelligence. Was it one’s inherent nature or was it based on a spiritual assurance that come what may, people will be taken care of that made us unlock our kindly selves.