Yogendra Deva

Continuing the journey in to the mysterious Earth For children and curious minds of all ages Yogendra Deva   The photographs from Aaba's Char Dham pilgrimage had found an unexpected admirer. It was Mihir. He had quietly copied the photographs onto his tablet and spent the next few evenings exploring them at his own pace. After reading Aaba's travelogues, the photographs seemed to tell a story of their own. One afternoon, he walked into Aaba's room carrying the tablet. "Aaba, I think something is wrong." Aaba looked up from the book he was reading. "With the tablet?" "No." "With the photographs?" "I think so." Aaba smiled. "Photographs usually don't make mistakes." "They do if people misunderstand them." Now Aaba was interested. He removed his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his handkerchief, and put them back on. "Let's see this troublesome photograph." Mihir placed the tablet on t...

  Day 3: At the Doorstep of Mahadev – Kedarnath Dham A tale of an anxious wait, twin rivers, the memory of the 2013 deluge, Bhim Shila and a quiet longing to return. The rain that had drummed on the cottage roofs through the night showed no signs of relenting. Morning merely made the grey clouds visible. The six of us spoke briefly over the phone before walking to breakfast. There was no urgency. Helicopter operations remained suspended, and no one could say when they would resume. A middle-aged couple occupied the table beside ours. Like everyone else, they kept glancing through the rain-speckled windows. The burly gentleman finally broke the silence. "Pahadan naal behas nahin karde... jadon oh keh den 'ruk jao', taan bas ruk jao!" His wife smiled and added, "Par nashta time te hona chahida!" Laughter rippled across the dining hall. "Punjab, Sir?" one of us asked. "Bilkul sahi pehchaaniya ji! Chandigarh! Punjabi bande da h...

  Day 2: In the Lap of Maa Ganga - Gangotri Dham Where ancient glaciers, rain gods, helicopters and even traffic jams gently guided us into the lap of Maa Ganga. The morning after our Yamunotri trek in Kharsali began with what could only be described as a meteorological identity crisis. At sunrise, brilliant Himalayan sunshine poured into our room so generously that it seemed the weather gods had personally blessed our onward journey. By breakfast, however, they had quietly changed their minds. Barely halfway through the 300-metre walk to the helipad, the heavens opened without the courtesy of any warning. We squeezed beneath the narrow overhang of a village house, hoping it would keep us dry. It did not. One large umbrella was then pressed into service for the final dash to the helicopter. Unfortunately, the rain had clearly not read its specifications. By the time we reached the aircraft, both the umbrella and its occupants had surrendered unconditionally. Fortunately,...