The Heaven and Beyond
MANTHALAI TREK
“Those who dare to fail miserably can achieve greatly.”
— John F. Kennedy
It was only the second day and the group that I was hiking with, pondered over going back. Almost all were nerve-shaken, tired and some, even bruised. It wasn’t an easy trail. And I was the most ‘under-prepared’ amongst them all. Had no gear, no proper footwear and nothing but a cheap windcheater to brave the cold. To me, it never had been about the right gear or matching water bottle. It was about how I felt being in the wild, in the mountains. It had to do with what it was like to walk for miles with no reason other than to witness the amassing trees and mountains, streams and rocks, rivers and grasses, sunrises and sunsets. The experience. So powerful, yet so liberating. I wanted to feel it. To soak in the warmth of the daybreak and the chill of the dark night.
That night, the team sat around a fire, talking about going back the next morning. Their voices no more than a fading murmur to me for I was lost in my own thoughts.
“If there is even one of us willingly to move forward, I’d go with him”. And with this, I stood up and walked towards my tent.
Manthalai Lake, is considered sacred by the devotees of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati. If the locals are to be believed, there have been several parties that returned back from Tunda Bhuj, the place that we were at. The ‘bridge’ was broken and the alternate path was almost impossible to scale for a non-professional. Think this was what cemented the group’s resolve to back down, knowing that they wouldn’t be the first to give up.
Morning came and I was told that the group had decided to abort the climb. I was asked to pack my tent as we were to start immediately after the breakfast. I couldn’t remember being more let down than I did that precise moment. Heartbroken. I considered my options. There were only two. I could go back in the direction I had come from, or I could go forward in the direction I intended to go.
“I will never return home, not without reaching the summit,” I said with a finality that made me catch my breath, and then I walked away.
The group thought I was being a fool to take on nature without arming myself with every conceivable measure of safety and comfort under the sun. But it didn’t matter to the organizer. I had already signed the “Disclaimer”. If anything were to happen to me as a result of this ‘stupid’ decision, he needn’t take the blame.
A guide, a porter and a cook decided to join in. They took it upon themselves to ensure my safe return.
The path was just what they had told me it would be. Almost impossible. The sweet pain in my legs seemed to grow with every step that I took.
“We must reach Thakur Kuan before dusk. It would be too much trouble if it starts snowing on us,” said Sanjay, the porter. He had never been to Manthalai before. “It won’t snow on us,” I told him, “Universe won’t let us down.” He looked at me for long enough before saying, “Didi, aapke baaki dost raat mein Rum peete the na, isiliye Shivji ne unhe wapas bhej diya.” Loosely translated, he meant to tell me that I was the only one climbing up while the rest of my group had to return was because I didn’t drink or smoke. It made me smile. I knew I was in good company.
Thakur Kuan came but we didn’t halt. We wanted to camp as close to the summit as possible. This was because, I was determined to scale the summit and back the next day. It was not advisable to stay overnight at the summit and I wanted to spend as much time as possible by the lake. This left us with just one day to cover two of our assigned campsites.
As Udi Thatch caught our sight and the shadows of twilight grew deeper, we pitched our tents while Puran, the cook, made us some maggi. I remember crying myself to sleep that night, my mind emptying into nothing. Exhausted, I fell into deep sleep. In my dream, I fought the relentless arrows of hail and storm being shot at me.
I woke up well before the dawn. Determined more than ever before, I woke the other three up and we marched on in the darkness. Soon enough, the sun was up and with it, brought forth the much needed warmth. We stopped for breakfast at Mini Manthali. After a quick dip in the fresh and freezing waters, I moved forward, pushing my body to the bald monotony of the hike. There wasn’t a moment on the trail when that monotony didn’t ultimately win out, when the only thing to think about was whatever was the physically hardest. It was a sort of scorching cure.
It was almost noon and the summit was nowhere in sight. But I told myself, “Lunch toh upar pahunch ke hi karna hain”, with grit and determination, I never knew existed within me. Hukum, the 21 yr old guide and the only one among us who had been to Manthalai once before, replied, “Shaam ho jayegi shaayad.” They were starting to get hungry. So I decided to let them lunch, while I kept walking on. “They could catch up with me when they are done,” I thought to myself.
The dense trees alongside the trail had long vanished only to be replaced by ice and snow. And then, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, I saw the most beautiful temptress, The Lake Manthalai. I shrieked as I ran towards it, tumbling, falling but unhurt, picking myself up. And as I reached, I took my shoes off and let the cold water wash away my exhaustion. Few minutes and my feet were numb. I picked up my shoes and started walking along the silver shiny riverbed, all by myself. Looking up at the mighty Himalayas above, piercing the sky, and the river Parvati, stretched at his feet, so limitless, curving into the gorgeous Manthalai Lake, feeling that infinite, unspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, which comes only on such mountain heights, I drew in a long breath of delight.
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