Gangotri is a typical pilgrim town in the Himalayas. The metallic road ends just outside the villages and the first sight is a line of beggars, most of them with flowing beards, eagerly awaiting your alms in the name of piety. Don’t be fooled though: a beggar here can give you change for Rs500!
But what hits you is the background noise: it is the Ganga, though here it is called the Bhagirathi. It only becomes the Ganga when it meets the Alaknanda, much lower in the mountains. The Gangotri temple itself was a disappointment. Even as the prayers were on, men were busy clicking their cameras and women gossiping. Piety was absent.
The next day, I set out on the 18km stretch to Gaumukh or the Gangotri glacier from where the Ganga actually starts. It was a tedious and slow walk, done by foot. I had on me a jacket for the cold wind and a cap for the harsh sun.
Also undertaking the journey were men and women, old and young, many of them in sweaters or shawls to keep out the cold wind. Seeing old women, some of whom had come from the deep south, brave the cold and the trudge up a rough mountainside all because of their faith, can be a humbling experience. Most of us would reach Gaumukh in a day; they might take two days, but they wouldn’t falter.
Along the route, on the rock faces are messages, in Hindi and English, to take rest, and breathe deeply as oxygen levels start dipping. High in the Himalayas, life takes a different meaning. You don’t waste food because every sack of flour has been carried up by an individual on his back. Tea is made in a pressure cooker.
Everyone helps everyone else climb, urging and cajoling those who are tired.
I had been walking for almost five hours (I began at 6am) and decide to take a break at a small tent to rest my urban legs, unused to climbing uphill for so long. A pahadi conjures up parathas and pickle. To me they were the best parathas I had ever had. Then, from a pressure cooker, he poured out steaming but watery and excessively sugary tea, made from pure Ganga water! I gulp it down greedily and perhaps devoutly. The host realised that I was tired — take a nap, he said. The warm razai was too tempting. Though I was eager to reach Gaumukh soon, I could not resist the offer and caught a siesta. An hour later, I was off again.
By early evening, more than half the way, the Ganga got smaller and narrower. The road is a rocky path; the trees and shrubs here disappeared as the oxygen levels dip. Finally even the grass ends; there are just rocks and stones.
And then, moving away from the stream to cross some boulders, I suddenly come face to face with the Gangotri glacier. It is a broad white sheet, which at the bottom has a cave-like formation (like a cow’s open mouth, hence the name Gaumukh). In this Gaumukh, ice is crushed into water, which then gushes forth starting the Ganga’s 2,510km journey to the Bay of Bengal.
The river does not look very pure; it is not pristine white, more a brown as the rapid flow has a lot of mud in it. And it is very, very cold. But that doesn’t deter the devotees from plunging in for a quick bath to wash away their sins.
I debated for a brief second but eventually decided that I preferred my sins to a dip in the freezing cold water. Except for the sound of the river and the howling wind, it was quiet, a place for contemplation, with a stark beauty. Above the river, the glacier winds its way upwards into the mountain. When you are standing alone in the midst of some of the tallest mountains, it can be a reminder of your insignificance, if at all it was needed. Up at 4000 metres, one begins to understand why, to find the gods, one always journeys to the mountains.
