The Avalanche
The stage — one of the world’s highest motorable roads at Khardung-La. So high that you’re not allowed to venture outside for more than 10 minutes because of the depleted levels of oxygen, with a history of people being airlifted. The road is blocked due to snow and you are out, glad to have an excuse to stretch your legs and take in the pristine beauty of the ice-capped mountains. Kinda like this :
Suddenly, some people start shouting and you look up, thinking the road has cleared. What you see sends shivers down your spine. A whole sheet of ice is coming down the mountain onto the road right in front of you. Eerily beautiful. You turn around and run for your life. Someone’s shouting. It’s a friend of yours, trying to catch your attention. The direction you were running in has another sheet of ice coming down the mountain. Your close friend Aneeda is standing in front of you, face stricken with fear. You turn around. You turn around again. The world had gone white. Aneeda is nowhere to be seen. Layer upon layer of snow where she had been just a few seconds ago. Dread fills up inside. You shout for help in clearing away the snow. She could be underneath, suffocating. But luck is on Aneeda’s side that day. She slides on the ice till the edge of the road, but thankfully doesn’t fall over. Luck is on Barun’s side, who’s been trapped in our traveller while it is blasted with snow and rocks precariously from side to side. And perhaps even more so, luck is on Padhy’s side, who’s caught a full burst of the avalanche, slid across the entire width of the road, and somehow caught on to the metal bars of a Mahindra XUV to avoid being thrown mercilessly off the edge. You breath a sigh of relief.
The danger isn’t over the yet. Within a matter of minutes the world had gone from pristine to blinding white. It starts to snow. You are stuck there, at nature’s mercy until the clearance vehicle came along. There is nothing to do but comfort others, rub someone’s blue foot, offer someone dry clothes, and look at the menacing clouds, fearing the worst. Another avalanche and that would be it. Goodbye and thanks for all the fish. As you all recover from the initial shock, some of you spend some light moments in the snow.
And some others think back to the thoughts that flashed by in what they believed were their last minutes on earth. It’s funny how in these moments its the heart-crushing regrets that come flooding back rather than the happiest memories. Those strained relations, those words that were never said, those steps that were never taken. The snow-clearing vehicle arrives and your thudding hearts calm down. It isn’t going to be an easy task. Something seems wrong. Terribly wrong. The vehicle has cleared a way around your traveller. People are leaving. And you’re stuck. Cue Tundup Dorjey.
It is said that Dorjey was in 10th grade, studying in New Delhi when he was informed that his father had brain tumour and was given only 2 years to live by the doctors. He was called back home, had to leave studies and join the army to support his family. 18 badass years of military service later, having lead countless rescue operations in the Himalayas and served in Kargil war, he now lead treks along the frozen Chadar river in the winters, and drove a traveller in the treacherous mountains in the summers. His father was still alive. Those nerves of steel were gonna pay off today. The keys are snatched right out of the Bullets’ ignition (If you don’t know what a Bullet is, think Harley Davidson but with a bigger folklore in the Indian subcontinent). The muscular Bullet-riders are threatened that their keys would be thrown off the cliff if they don’t reverse their rides. Five Bullets and several Innovas are made to reverse. The traffic will only be allowed to move when your car has cleared. Even panic-stricken people who have just experienced an avalanche aren’t going to mess with Tundup Dorjey.
Within an hour you are down in the valley, the sun has come out, and you are enjoying some piping hot (and illegal) Maggi, contemplating what had just happened. And this would become your “Maggi wali story”.
