itrus

For a breathtaking, literally or otherwise, view of the sunrise over the Garhwal and Kumaon ranges, it would be best to spend the night at Tunganath, and gasp and claw your way up to Chandrashila before dawn the next day.

We began the journey from Rishikesh to Chopta, halting to witness the blending of the very differently hued waters of Alakananda and the Mandakini rivers at Rudraprayag. Given the lack of good hotels at Chopta, we sought accommodation in Duggalbitta, 6 kms before Chopta. Duggalbitta, with its almost no mobile connectivity and no electricity welcomed us with half-hidden waterfalls and green and gold hillocks teeming with Himalayan blue magpies and silvery grey langurs.

The road just above our resort had teasing views of the Kedar and Kedar Dome peaks.

The next morning, we drove to Chopta and began trekking up the Tunganath trail. That day, we planned to go up only one-third of the trail, and halt at a large green meadow known as the Tunganath bugiyal, where tall trees covered with lichen swayed their branches in the nippy, refreshing wind. We bounded down the grassy slope, watched lazy cirrus clouds drift over the snowy mountains etched in a deep azure sky, and had syrupy sweet tea at the lone tea stall by the path.

The next afternoon we started out from Chopta again, on horseback, to reach Tunganath at dusk. In the falling light, golden clouds hid the mountains, and threw everything into a silhouette. The cold was seeping into our bones, so we were glad to get inside the impressive stone temple. Golden statuettes shone at the altar lit by brass lamps. Behind them was the ancient stone lingam.

 

The evening aarti and the chanting of Sanskrit hymns took us centuries back in time. Outside, it was totally dark. We groped our way into a tea stall. While we had tea, two weather beaten men tossed rotis over a log fire. The flames lit up the crags on their happy faces. In a few days, they would carry the golden statuettes down to their village. The temple would remain closed for winter, covered in snow, and watched over by the lone lingam. Tunganath had no electricity, and no running water.

By 8 pm, we were in our sleeping bags, swaddled in all our woollens, and hidden under two thick blankets, both of which felt soaking wet, thanks to the near zero temperature. We were still ramrod stiff with the cold. The lone candle could have offered some warmth, most of it imagined, but we had to blow it out — with all the windows closed, we could die of carbon monoxide poisoning.

At 4 am, when we opened the door, a blast of cold wind hit our faces. Turning to avoid it, we saw the most mesmerising sight ever: the entire snow-covered Garhwal range stood bathed by the light of a huge moon. You could just stand there, in complete surrender, while this overpowering beauty filled your heart.

 

We began the 2 km trek to the Chandrashila peak over broken shales of rock, slippery from hidden streams, some shifting position underfoot. The route was narrow, curving and steep, and the moonlight revealed deep precipices. Torches began to appear way below us. More had joined the trek. The bright red flag of the Ganga temple on the peak finally became visible. We scrambled up the last of the scraggy boulders to stand on a narrow ledge surrounded by a deep drop. To our right were the distant Trishul, Nanda Devi, Panchachuli and other peaks against an orange sky, and before us, much closer, stood Chaukhamba, Mandani, Kedar and Kedar Dome. Around 20 men and three women waited on the windswept top, freezing blue fingers on camera buttons.

 

And then, like the lone red stage light marking out the most poignant moment in a play, the sun rose.