Start of day (6.00 am):
We woke up at 6.00 am to a chilly 10 degC morning. The valley in front was misty. As we gazed at the sunlight slowly emerging, we made up our minds. Today will be devoted solely to lazing and gazing, enjoying the deck, looking at the valley, and perhaps a short walk somewhere. Our host Mahavir came up and asked whether we are planning the Tunganath trek, that same place we got stuck yesterday, in the rain, and we said an emphatic NO. What about Deori Taal then, just a 4 km drive, followed by a 3.5 km trek? Why are you pushing us, we asked. We want our guests to have fun, he said. Too much for us, we said. They have horses, he said. Oh, that’s another set of unused muscled brought into play, can you imagine the aches - better to laze and gaze, what? 
As soon as he had gone downstairs, a tad disappointed in having such inertial masses masquerading as travellers in a trekking country, Panna and I looked at each other sheepishly. We had a tacit understanding that each day, even if it was a simple highway drive, should have a memory, an event that we could recall with a smile. And Deoria Taal, though challenging, might just about offer the memory for today.
We hollered to Mahavir to get breakfast ready pronto. Walking up was said to be 2.5 hrs, and the round trip 5 hrs. The mind boggled, but we got ready super quick, polished off an alu paratha each, and wondered what to carry. The host said it was higher up, so it might be colder. Given the morning’s performance, inner wear was a must. I wore my half jacket on top, with woollen cap and muffler. Gloves were in the glove compartment (loved that!). Panna wore God knows how many layers. We carried hot water in a flask, and chikis for energy. The spirit of Amundsen was once again stirring.
Climbing to Deoria Taal (9.30 am):
The road approach to the village that is the start of the trek took just 10 mins. We parked our car at a suitable spot and gazed at the gate that announced the pathway to Deoria Taal. It was a jolly series of steps, going up God knows where, with twists and turns. The sky had also darkened, as if frowning at our indecisiveness. Would we be safe from the rains for the next 5 hrs? An old man skulking nearby gently suggested horses once again, saying you can be up in one hour, down in half, and with an hour by the lake, totally 3 hrs (I know his maths was off, but this was not the time). He quoted a figure, and when we agreed, went prancing down the road to organise horses, which took half an hour by itself. Actually most of the horse owners had migrated to Kedarnath, which is a lucrative business in tourist season, as many people opt for horses in order to negotiate the 16 km off-road walk.
Two horses, two horse-owners. Technically, one horse (Lucky), 4 ft high, with an old man (Sivlal), and one mule (Tinku), 5 ft high, with a young lad (Dhanraj). They looked at us, and I was immediately assigned the mule. Makes sense, because we have to get on top of the bloody things. We imagined we would stand on a high platform, the animal would amble up alongside and we would gracefully swing our legs over the saddle, put our feet into the stirrups, and tally-ho. Reality was far more messy, since horses nowadays were brought up to be pretty independent-minded. The influence of western society, no doubt.
For both of us, the damn animal would not come close enough to the ledge, to make the swinging of leg a viable proposition. It had to be taken away and repositioned a couple of times before the alignment of planets happened. Reminded me of reverse parallel parking in a tight space, with the tendency to give up after two attempts and start again. Anyway, with a lot of hollering from the lads and muttered Hanuman chalisa from Panna, we managed to get aboard our mounts and we were off.
The starting point was at 6,800 ft. Deoria Taal was at 8,000 ft. This meant, a climb of 1,200 ft. Whoever called this a trek, was talking to paharis, not unfit retired Bongs. The climb was pretty steep, though the path was well-defined, paved with stone slabs, mostly uneven, over which the animals clattered and stumbled. Mind you, there were people doing this climb, mostly youngish, and as we passed them, they looked at us longingly (I envy them, no walking effort), and our animals looked at them longingly too (I envy them, no stupid loads on their backs). People were resting all along the climb. The sun, incidentally, was out in full force, as was the sweat. Amundsen had handed the baton to Lawrence of Arabia.
The scenery, when we could tear our tense gaze away from where the four-legged friends were stepping, was fantastic, as the village below fell away and the surrounding mountains claimed 100% of our visual range. The greenery was soothing, the yellow terraced farms a nice counterpoint to the picture. Clouds in the sky were mostly white, and they did their best to hide the few Himalayan peaks that would have been visible otherwise.
Horse riding takes getting used to, and one day is too little practice. The saddle was jolly hard, so our legs and knees had to take some strain in order to protect our backs from the jerks. Hands gripped the pommel in paroxysms, trying to keep the body upright, while leaning forward a little to help the horse with the climb. Additionally, Panna’s horse was a little skittish and slower than the mule, and I could hear Panna talking to it in various tones - from stentorian to placating - while the old man leading the horse stuck to a standard “Harrumph, hupp, hoyeeee!” A man of few words.
Incidentally, hats off to the paharis’ stamina. My mule man was a youngster, but Panna’s horse-whisperer (shouter, more like) was 62 years old and he does this climb 3-4 times a day. They accepted praise on this front casually, saying we do this from childhood, implying that if you were here, you would also be able to do it too. There were many small eating joints on the way up, and the shanties had been constructed transporting goods by mule and also on human backs, 60-80 kgs at a time.
Meanwhile my mule had found that some friends were climbing up in front of him with goods, and he kept up a blistering pace, leaving Panna’s more delicate horse far behind. The other mules veered off for their delivery midway, and it was a task to convince this one to carry on to Deoria Taal. He kept on complaining vociferously at being separated from his gang, trying to turn around from time to time, with the lad Dhanraj hanging on to his bridle. Tense times. I know horse-riding and chariot-riding examples are given in Indian philosophy to demonstrate the witness-consciousness as a rider, but seriously, they don’t know what they are talking about. I didn’t feel like a witness, more like a victim of a cruel fate.
With a couple of stops, where we had to undergo the primeval dance once again, we topped the final climb and were just 200 m away from our destination. We paid the Forest Dept fees and walked down the last stretch, where the Deoria Taal stretched in all its glory. It is a pretty large lake (sorry, that’s the best I can do), right now green in colour with clear water, probably rain-fed, surrounded by green meadows, with thick forest beyond the meadows. It seemed an idyllic setting, with mountains all around, and some snow-clad peaks visible here and there through the clouds. We had seen some pictures of this lake in winter, with the peaks Chaukhamba, Neelkantha, Bandar panch, Kedar range and Kalanag clearly visible and reflected in the lake, which is even more spectacular.
Legend has it that this was the lake where the Yaksa posed questions to the Pandavas. Legend also has it that Yudhisthira was so fed up with Bheem’s drinking problem (water, friends, water) that he was asked to build a lake on his own. I am not clear how these stories go together. I mean why should Yaksha reside beside a lake from which Bheem keeps on glugging. But that’s what they say.
The meadows beside the lake had a ladies' group and two couples, each doing their own thing. We also did our clicking, then sat in the shade of a tree in the meadow, chewing a chiki. Mastication is always relaxing, and we did not feel like going back.
The climb down (11.30 am):
It had taken us 1.10 hrs to climb up. The expectation was that we would descend in 30 mins. That’s gratifying, but a faster descent has implications of its own.
One was that, we were leaning back, with much greater pressure on our legs and knees. I was having to bend repeatedly in order to avoid low branches (a six-footer man riding a five-footer mule needs a lot of bending), but have you tried to bend forward while leaning back? It beats Heisenberg’s Uncertainty principle - both simply cannot be done together.
The animals, now happier because they would be rid of these pesky riders soon, were practically jumping from crag to crag, with bone-jarring impact on our backsides. Pain in the ass, literally.
The climb down, though easier for man and beast, was tougher for the witness-consciousness, and we hobbled down finally from our mounts with stiff limbs and perhaps a permanent wide-legged stance.
We chatted with a few youngsters who were doing the Tunganath trek and Deoria Taal trek in succession. We said Wow. They learnt that we were doing a 40-day road trip. They said Wow. Finally we broke up the mutual admiration society, got into our car, and drove back to the homestay.
Lazing and gazing (12.30 pm):
We were finally back to our original agenda, albeit with a few aches and pains. It was at least 25 degC, which was a fair jump from the night temperature, and we happily completed our bath. Lunch from the lady was roti, toor daal and pahari bhindi (lingura in their language, fiddle-head fern in English), so soothing for the soul.
We woke up at 5.00 pm to an overcast sky rumbling with thunder. At least three locals in this place had told us: “Mumbai ka fashion aur Garhwal ka mausam- kabhi bhi badal sakta hai.” Soon it was pouring, the temperature dropping a bit to sub-20 degC. Might be a cold night once again.
We dined downstairs on their simple fare of roti, daal and capsicum-aloo sabji.
Tomorrow we leave for Rudraprayag.
Photo credits: Panna Rashmi Ray
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