THE BAREFOOT TRAVELER - 7

Mana, the last village

After Badri Vishal darshan, we had a quick break-fast at an expensive joint overlooking the temple,  Masala Dosa at its worst! The small town was already alive with pilgrims and sanyasis.  Dogs were moving around freely. Sanyasis were smoking cannabis squatting on a concrete platform at the landing of the bridge over Ganga. Anybody was welcome. However, people were rather disinterested.

 By the time we reached Adwaita Bhavan, Veena Sahasrabuddhe was diffusing through the air, her highs poignant…. her lows gentle and sure, creating a mood of serenity. A desktop PC at the office room was the source and I found no one there.  A couple of minutes later, a tall, unfriendly sanyasi barged in with his jada (hair) like a blasted nebula, donning a designer cloak made of jute. Obviously he had spent the previous night in the open. The desktop belonged to him with its 76 GB of outstanding music. I asked him whether I could copy the music but he didn’t utter a word. He must be in arya maun (observing noble silence), I consoled myself. Later I gathered that he was Ajit Chaitanya, a medical doctor working in Germany who quit his job to become a sanyasi.  He was a Keralite, from Palakkad. Swami transferred 3 GB of music into my mobile memory card.

We started off to Mana, the last village of India situated at the China/Tibet border. Sadly enough, one of the rear wheels got punctured and we had to set it right. The belated start did affect our planning, we couldn’t follow the Mahaprastana route of the Pandavas. (The warrior-kings of the epic Mahabharata who after winning the war against their cousins, got convinced that nothing really mattered). Mana was just three km away from Badrinath. There was an arch welcoming the visitor to the village and one had to park the vehicle outside. There were only walkways inside the village, crisscrossing the whole place with tiny houses on both sides.  These hutments had a small backyard where the villagers grew vegetables and potatoes.

Sunil Gala was waiting at the entrance offering his services as Guide for Rs.300. Rajan asked him for Guide’s license and he was infuriated. In fact he was from the village itself, pursuing an industrial training course elsewhere. Young people who could roughly understand English had turned impromptu guides. Sunil felt insulted for being asked about his credentials in his own village by an outsider.

Nandu with Sunil

According to Sunil, the entire Mana village was inhabited by the descendants of a Mongolian tribe called Rongpa and there were 180 families of them in the village. The total population was around 600. They live in Mana for six months, i.e., from May to October and when the snow-fall starts, Rongpas make a bee-line to Chamoli, a beautiful village 100 km away. They come back after six months when the Badrinath temple re-opens.

Vyasa Gufa

We were climbing up a small mountain towards Vyasa Gufa (cave), from where we thought we could see the China/Tibet border. That was not to be. From the cave, it was a steep climb upwards. Dead –end! Unless you were trained in mountaineering, getting at the top would be impossible. The border was 24 km away from the place.  Moreover, Indian Army had its strong presence camped further up.

The gufa and surroundings were well-kept, with no litters. The legend says Vyasa wrote the epic Mahabharata sitting at this cave. He chose Lord Ganesha as his stenographer due to the elephant headed god’s sharp intellect and ability to capture every utterance with his elephantine ears.

Adjacent to Vyasa gufa, there was a small tea-shop 3200 m above sea-level, made hodge-podge, declaring to the rest of the world about its uniqueness. According to the sign-board, the joint was the last Tea-shop of India. Immediately we thought of having tea, standing at the entrance to get photographed! Later, we came to know that there were at least three “last tea shop of India” situated at various dead-ends.

The last tea-shop of India

We stretched ourselves under the trees. There was certain stillness in the air. It was time to climb down.

We saw Ganesh gufa too, much smaller in size where the writing part of the epic was done.  While the Lord was at work, River Saraswati in a playful mood flooded and snatched away the writing instrument! Undeterred, Ganesha broke one of his tusks and continued with the assignment! Vyasa got immensely furious and cursed the River to vanish from earth. Saraswati became persona non grata.

River Saraswati at her source

We did a site visit and checked her status. The origin was still intact. You would be spellbound seeing her gushing out from a cave in full force. You were standing on “Bheem pul “, the single-rock-bridge believed to be made by one of the Pandava brothers, Bheema in the Mahaprastana (journey to heaven after renouncing everything) route. You could even reach out and touch Saraswati from the bridge. Strangely enough, water at the downstream side was surprisingly calm. Saraswati had become a non-entity and flowed quietly ahead for three hundred odd meters to join Alakananda at the sangam (confluence).

Saraswati at sangam-  View from Bhim Pul

As per our micro-plan, we’ve had to tread five km further up (along the Mahaprastana route) to take bath at Vasudhara waterfalls. The water line, is so thin that it always fluctuated according to the wind-force. Trekking 25 km up, there exists the abode of legendary Himalayan Sanyasis, said to be living perennially. They have ashrams by the banks of Sadopanth Lake. The enigmatic Saint Babaji, believed to be 400 years old, is said to be living there!

We decided to return, anyway!

**********************