Mark's Blog

The Trip to Gomukh

The two months which followed Rishikesh were totally unlike the time which preceded it. I travelled north and lived the seasons in reverse. When I left Rishikesh, it was getting hot and muggy, like a Parisian August. Two weeks after leaving Rishikesh, I was standing at 3400 meters above sea level, surrounded by amazing peaks in a prolific, fresh snowfall which covered everything the eye could see. Simon and I followed the Ganga all the way to Gomukh, where the icy flow emerges first from underneath the glacier.

That part of the trip began in Uttarkashi, our first stop after Rishikesh. The bus journey was up, up, up all the way. Uttarkashi was colder than Rishikesh, like an Irish March and we found the Yoga foundation Ashram a lovely place to stay. Simon and myself also found the infamous Chicken shop of Uttarkashi and massacred ourselves some tender tandoori with gusto. A sight for a meat-eaters sore eyes. My body was practically purring with protein afterwards. I also had some of the best Indian food that I had in India at a posh hotel close to the bus station. The tarka dal was just gorgeous.

After exploring Uttarkashi and meeting Arne, aka Bugle Baba, we ventured to the next town north, Gangonani, with its hot springs. About 1km up the mountainside from there was the village of Huri, like somewhere out of time, where we hung out with the locals for awhile. One of the teenage girls in the village approached Arne and myself in awe and in all genuineness said "you are beautiful, beautiful!" like she had never seen humans of our colouring before. It was one of the most disarming moments I've had with anyone.

The whole village celebrated the Khumba Mela the next day. We followed all of them down the mountain paths to the Ganga roaring below. It was a long way down for the whole town who turned out in what would be the equivalent of their Sunday Best. The deity was carried on a divan through the houses and fields and when we eventually got to the river, some of the bathing women went into altered states and raved so uncontrollably that they had to be restrained. I asked Natisha, the friendly man who took us into his house, what was going on with them "No problem", he said "God coming".

The journey up to Gangotri ended up being on the top of one of those huge Tata trucks you see carrying goods all over India. Arne, Simon a Sadhu baba and myself got up top of the cab and had a hair raising journey through the steep mountain passes with plummeting drops to the Ganga below. The scenery was truly spectacular. As it got higher and colder we saw the snow capped peaks grow nearer until they were towering above us as we made our way up the valley.

Gangotri is the spiritual source of the Ganga and is one of the holiest places in Hinduism. Every Hindu is supposed to visit Gangotri at least once in their lifetime. When we arrived it was before the season had begun. There was no electricity or working telephone lines. The place was quiet and the restaurateurs were hungry for business. We got good prices on hotels, kitted up with woollies and stayed an extra day there to get used to the tiring effects of the altitude (3000m).

On the third day we set off with our guide, Dinesh Rana for the three day journey to Gomukh and Tapovan. It was a decent trek at altitude and the weather was like an Irish January, fresh and breezy with the odd sprinkling of rain or snow. When we arrived up to the ashram at Gomukh, it began snowing in earnest. We huddled around the only fire in the place with the babas and about fifteen other trekkers as the wind blew the snows across the valley outside. I was so cold. My wind cheater had only kept the sweat in my clothes and I was as soaked as I would have been had I jumped in the Ganga by the time I reached the ashram. All that chilly moisture then proceeded to draw out every bit of heat I had in my body. I now appreciate the wisdom of Goretex. I lay under four covers for about an hour before I managed to get back anything even resembling warmth.

The following morning the snow had made everything white, from the tips of the peaks to the banks of the river. Simon, Dinesh and myself set out for the last 4km to Gomukh itself, stopping for a very welcome chai at a babas cave on the way. Everything seemed to get quieter as we neared the top of the valley. It was half a kilometre from the source of Ganga that I parted company with Simon and Dinesh as they went up further to Tapovan. I descended into the dangerous part of the valley, right up to a huge glacier at the end and with cupped hands took a drink from the Ganga as its milky waters flow out from underneath the ice.

The day was good and hot by then and most of the snow in the valley floor had melted as two english blokes and myself followed the sketchy path back to the ashram. We discussed how sometimes its hard to reconcile the life that your'e living through with the feeling that your'e just having yourself a normal day, although you know that this day is remarkable. How it would be nice if you could pinch yourself and wake up more fully to the time that your'e in. I wonder if socalled "everyday" life is the same. It, after all, is every bit as remarkable as a day walking through the Himalayas, the only difference is that one is habitual while the other isn't. That even in the midst of what you know to be beautiful and unique in your own experience, this feeling of normality persists, as it did in this valley.

One of the guys turned out to be Asthanga Yoga teacher to both Madonna and Sting, regularly picked up from his Notting Hill flat by stretch limos and whisked away at a generous hourly rate.

I decided that I was going to stay another night in the Ashram. Lal Baba and myself got chatting over lunch about post-colonialism, Auribindo, Krishnamurti and Jung. He roughly translated a Hindi couplet which he had composed that morning -- "I am growing old -- like the mountain, I have white on my head. Yet I need not worry if only that pure white has also entered my heart.". He gifted me some Jaggeri (delicious unrefined cane sugar crystal) and together with another "Spiritual Scientist" we had long, friendly philosophical discussions in his cell at the ashram. Eventually Simon appeared having descended from the peak at Tapovan with Dinesh, exhausted and with blisters all over his feet, relieved to have had that tough part of the trek over.

Later watching sunset's shadow move up the expansive mountainside and the white peaks turning shades of rose, I gave up trying to account for it all. It was enough just to let it happen. There was the quietest kind of peace in that. I joined the babas later in their singing of kritans (devotional songs), with Lal Baba kindly translating the lyrics for me as they sang. At their request for a song from my country, I sang "The Parting Glass" for them, in what seemed to be one of the least likely places ever to have heard the song.

Posted by Mark at April 20, 2004 12:18 PM