Char Din - Char Dham: Day-1 Yamunotri Dham

 

Day 1: The Pilgrimage Begins

From a Chilled Dip to a Hot One – Yamunotri Dham

Three more days to go!

Having arrived from Greater Noida by road the previous evening, our Char Dham pilgrimage began the next morning with a dip.

Where, you ask?

Not a holy dip in the icy waters of a sacred Himalayan River. Not yet.

Instead, it was a plunge into the chilled infinity pool of the Hyatt Regency Resort on the outskirts of Dehradun. Floating in crystal-clear water while gazing at the hazy Himalayan foothills stretching into the distance felt more like a relaxed holiday than the traditional start to a pilgrimage. An ideal mix, in my opinion.

As I stepped into the pool, an attendant asked cheerfully, "Good morning, sir. Relaxing before a busy day?"

"Not exactly," I replied. "We are heading for Char Dham."

He looked momentarily puzzled. "By helicopter, I guess?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "Then this is probably the easiest part of the pilgrimage."

I had to concede he had a point.

A little later, while handing me a towel, another attendant asked, "Sir, cold enough?"

"Quite cold," I replied.

"Good practice for the Himalayas."

"I get your point, young man," I said, adding “ and hope I can cope with colder challenges ahead.”

But then, every pilgrimage needs preparation. Ours apparently began with hydrotherapy.

"Hey, would you mind taking a photograph?" I called out.

"Certainly, sir."

"Oh, you do mind? Never mind then!"

The poor fellow looked momentarily confused before realising he had walked straight into a senior citizen's attempt at humour.

I handed him my phone and climbed out of the pool. After carefully arranging myself against the Himalayan backdrop, I struck what I hoped was a pose combining spirituality, wisdom and youthful vigour.

He took a few photographs and handed the phone back.

I looked at the screen.

"Excellent! You've managed to make me look ten years younger."

Without missing a beat, he replied,

"Sir, that's because I took the photo from very far away."

I was bowled. Cleanly.

As a geologist, however, I find it difficult to look at any landscape without wondering what lies beneath it.

The low hills surrounding Dehradun belong largely to the Siwalik Range, the youngest mountain belt of the Himalaya. These rocks were deposited roughly 2 to 15 million years ago as gigantic rivers carried enormous quantities of sand, gravel and mud from the rapidly rising Himalayas and spread them across the foreland basin. Over time, these sediments were compacted into sandstone, conglomerate and mudstone, creating the hills we see today.

Our immediate destination lay beyond those distant ridges.

The tour operator had advised us to be ready for an early departure. We obediently complied. The reporting time, however, kept moving like a politician's promise.

With nothing much to do except wait, we bravely sacrificed ourselves to the comforts of the hotel. The infinity pool already having received our first offering.

As I wandered aimlessly through the lobby, a smiling attendant approached me.

"Sir, helicopter delayed?"

I looked at him suspiciously.

"How did you know?"

He grinned.

"Sir, all guests lingering in the lobby after breakfast are Char Dham guests."

Fair point.

We moved to the coffee shop.

A waiter arrived. "Sir, helicopter coming soon?"

"We are hoping you know more than the operator."

He smiled diplomatically.

"Sir, in the mountains, nobody knows. Not even the mountains."

That sounded suspiciously like wisdom acquired from years of serving stranded tourists.

The delay stretched further.

Another round of coffee appeared.

Elsewhere in the hotel, a wedding was taking shape. A local dance performance was adding grace and colours to the lively hotel environment. For a few minutes we forgot we were pilgrims and became wedding guests without an invitation.

Then, just as we were settling into our unexpected life as resort residents, the much-awaited call arrived.

Pilgrims who had spent the morning swimming, chatting, snacking and philosophising suddenly rediscovered their spiritual urgency. Bags were grabbed. Boarding passes materialised from mysterious pockets. Goodbyes were hurriedly exchanged.

The pilgrimage was finally airborne.

Little did we know that before the day ended, we would exchange the chilled waters of an infinity pool for the steaming hot springs of Yamunotri.

The flight itself felt like a sightseeing bonus generously added by nature. A river sparkling far below, then at a distant glacier, and then at a mountain peak that looked suspiciously like it belonged on a postcard, the clouds drifting lazily across the valleys as if posing for photographs.

At one point, unable to resist, I leaned forward and asked the young pilot, "Do you ever get tired of looking at these mountains every day?"

Without taking his eyes off the horizon, he smiled.

"Sir, the mountains look different with every passenger."

"How so?" I asked.

"Most passengers are busy taking photographs. The interactive ones like you make the mountains look pleasantly different."

I wasn't sure whether he was complimenting me or merely being polite.

Either way, I decided to accept the compliment.

A few minutes later, one particularly enthusiastic member of our group asked whether the helicopter could slow down a little for photographs.

The pilot chuckled. "Sir, if I slow down any more, we'll have to start walking."

The cabin erupted in laughter.

As we approached the higher mountains, the landscape became increasingly dramatic. Steep slopes rose sharply from deep gorges carved by energetic rivers. The mountains seemed to rise in successive curtains, each one taller and more dramatic than the last. The snow-clad summits and glaciers above Yamunotri gradually came into view, reminding us that we were entering the realm of the Higher Himalaya.

The helicopter dropped us at Kharsali. From there began the real pilgrimage. The helicopter ride had been smooth, comfortable, and impressively efficient. Naturally, the mountain decided it was now time to remind us that shortcuts only take you so far.

I was not alone on this journey. My wife accompanied me, along with two other couples travelling with us. At my age, wisdom occasionally triumphs over enthusiasm. Therefore, while younger pilgrims tightened their shoelaces and prepared to conquer the mountain on foot, I entrusted my fate to a palki.

My vehicle of salvation arrived in the form of four cheerful young men who looked capable of carrying not only me but perhaps a small elephant if required.

As I settled into the palki, one of them gave me a quick look and asked with a grin, "Baba, comfortable?"

"Comfortable, yes," I replied. "But are you sure about the load?"

The four exchanged amused glances.

"No problem, Baba," said another. "We carry much heavier people."

I wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or insulted.

The laughter that followed suggested they had anticipated exactly that reaction.

A few minutes later, as they powered uphill with astonishing ease, I remarked, "You fellows must have the strongest legs in Uttarakhand."

One of them shot back instantly, "And you must have had a very good breakfast."

That settled the matter.

The climb continued amidst much laughter.

In truth, I began to suspect they were enjoying the journey more than I was.

Or perhaps they were simply enjoying my attempts to convince them that I was lighter than I looked.

The trek to Yamunotri is about 6.5 km one way along a narrow, winding, cemented mountain path. It takes about 5 hours for the round trip. We started rather late – 4:00 pm and were back at 9:00 pm.

The route is dotted with eateries all along. Tea, pakoras, Maggi, parathas, biscuits, cold drinks—you are never more than a minute away from food.

It sometimes felt as though one could complete the pilgrimage entirely powered by tea and Maggi.

Pilgrims of every imaginable age filled the path. The route was a masterpiece of controlled chaos where pilgrims, ponies, palkis and pithoos somehow negotiated right of way without the assistance of traffic police. Palkis like mine swayed rather dangerously through the traffic, making their occupants jittery with the fear of collision with others.

The mountain, however, remained unimpressed.

As the path climbed higher, the valley narrowed dramatically. Deep below, the young Yamuna rushed through a steep rocky gorge, already displaying the impatience for which Himalayan rivers are famous.

Now we were in the Great Himalayas.

The youthful sandstones and conglomerates of the Siwalik foothills were far behind us. Here, the mountains are built of much older and harder rocks—gneisses and quartzites that have endured immense heat, pressure and deformation deep within the Earth's crust before being uplifted to form some of the highest mountains on the planet.

The rugged landscape all around bore testimony to the continuing battle between uplift and erosion. The Himalaya is still rising, while rivers such as the Yamuna work tirelessly to wear it down. The result is the spectacular scenery before us—towering peaks, precipitous slopes and deep gorges carved by water and time.

As a geologist, I found it impossible not to admire the grandeur of the process.

"How much farther?" I asked.

"Only ten minutes, Baba."

Ten minutes later I asked again.

"How much farther?"

"Only ten minutes."

I began to suspect that in the mountains, distance is measured not in kilometres but in optimism.

And then, suddenly, the temple complex appeared.

Perched precariously on steep slopes, surrounded by towering mountains, Yamunotri Dham possesses a charm that photographs struggle to capture. Flights of stairs connect various parts of the complex. The sound of the river echoes continuously through the narrow gorge. Steam rises mysteriously from the famous hot-water kunds.

At Suryakund, a small pond of intensely hot water, devotees hand over small cloth pouches containing rice to the purohits along with dakshina. The pouches are lowered into the water and, a short while later, emerge partially cooked and transformed into sacred prasad.

At the heart of the complex lies the sanctum sanctorum housing Maa Yamuna, depicted with her distinctive blue face. Standing before the deity, after the climb, the crowds, and the mountain journey, one experiences a sense of peace that is difficult to describe and impossible to manufacture.

For a few moments, the noise fades away.

One simply stands there.

And feels grateful.

Unfortunately, the return journey also highlights a less inspiring reality.

The pilgrimage route suffers from poor maintenance and management. Basic civic infrastructure requires urgent attention. Smelly toilets, inadequate waste management, and litter scattered along sections of the route diminish what should be a pristine spiritual experience.

The saddest sight is plastic waste finding its way into the river itself.

Yamunotri is sacred.

The Himalaya is sacred.

The Yamuna is sacred.

Keeping them clean should be sacred too.

As we descended in the darkness, my four young companions chatted and laughed as though they had merely strolled through a park. Their energy remained undiminished, while mine had been thoroughly humbled.

They richly deserved—and earned—a good tip. More importantly, they left with my sincerest blessings and gratitude.

It made me happy that we parted company with smiles all around.

The mountains glowed softly in the evening light.

The young Yamuna continued her headlong rush downstream, unconcerned by human affairs.

Perhaps she has seen too much history to worry about us.

Jai Maa Yamune!