The Raktisaur Sojourn | Stepping Into The Remotest Villages Of Himachal Pradesh

Ever desired to follow the river up to its mouth or origin?
There’s this song by Lord Huron that goes like this

‘Oh there’s a river that winds on forever, i wanna see where it leads
Oh there’s a mountain that no man has mounted, i wanna stand on its peak”

I would hum it all the time while hiking, and this time around, I took the lyrics a bit too seriously for I was so tempted to see the glacier that gave birth to the ever brimming Sainj River…I wanted to see Raktisar/Raktisaur!

Few months ago, the husband gifted me a book called ‘The Great Himalayan National Park’ by Sanjeeva Pandey and Anthony Gaston. Though the struggle to read books has always been my vice, with time I find myself hooked on it. I owe this trip to this book and to my ever so thoughtful husband who isn’t only super supportive but always gives me that extra push whenever i’m in doubt ( why won’t he …his hidden motive is to have his own free time when I am not around and play golf and play station like there were no tomorrow! Hmph!)

Mahi ( the homestay owner in Sainj) helped me contact Sharad, the founder of HMRA ( Himalayan Monk Riders Association) who planned to go on this hike with three other local men from Shangarh.Today was the beginning of the hike and would be the first time I’d meet my co hikers! I was nervous as hell because the book described the hike as a seven day tough trek in the heart of Great Himalayan National Park(GHNP) known for its pure wilderness and not so easy terrain.

Before I start narrating My Tales of Tintin Adventures, here’s a little about GHNP.

The Great Himalayan National Park is in the midst of the western Himalayas. There are only trails to travel within the park. The making of GHNP in 1984 was based on the survey undertaken by the Himachal Wildlife Project.  The remoteness of the area, low grazing pressure within the forests, super low level of tourist activity and dependence on traditional lifestyles were the main reasons to establish the park in the given location.
Four rivers, Tirthan, Sainj, Jiwanal and Parvati originate in the park itself fed by the melting glaciers and monsoon rains. GHNP is also listed now as a part of the world heritage site. The marking of boundaries for GHNP was such that the entire 620 sq. kms of Tirthan, Sainj, Jiwanal Valleys were without any human habitation except for the three villages of Shagwar, Shakti and Marore (with a total of just 120 odd people) all these three in Sainj Valley. And so I was lucky to have visited these special villages, which are still devoid of electricity and roads while hiking up to The Raktisaur Glacier.

It’s 9;00am. The sky is packed up and there’s a slight drizzle in the air but my spirits are undettered.No thats not because i’m too strong or anything but because i’m too used to Himachal’s moody weather by now. I finally meet Sharad and we do a lil bit of socialising while he’s driving the suv. The plan was to drive up to Niharani, the last village from where the trail begins. There are three guys in the backseat and we pick up the fourth one named Rohit from Neuli. I say an awkward Hi to everyone but i have no idea if they’re all coming along for one out of the four was just hitchhiking. They’re all young local boys in their early 20s while I and Sharad are the oldies here :P( okay not so old also!)

Niharini boasts of The Sainj Hydro Power Project barrage. It’s a sleepy little hamlet with Majaan village on the hilltop,watching over it. It’s October time and the villages are in their splendid greens. We are already walking along Sainj. She’s brimming with joy, shining turquoise green, undisturbed by humans. This is her habitat, she thrives here like nowhere else, she’s born here, all pure in the wild, leaving for villages, farms and towns. She might have destinations a many, but her source is one and only Raktisaur. I kept wondering how she’d get quieter , a tad more docile, as I hike further ahead, closing towards her birthplace.

My deep reverie was obstructed by Kishori and Rohit, contemplating whether they should climb the rock and fetch those massive white mushrooms.I’ve seen plenty in the Himalayan region so far, but never had I come across mushrooms as huge as these. The boys told me that these were locally called ‘Chechi’ and are quite edible.After crossing the bridge in Chenga, we were now hiking on the left bank of Sainj, nearing Jaangla. I sat with Rohit and Kishori waiting for Sharad and Biju.They talked amongst themselves in their heavy Himachali accent. I found it awkward to start conversations initially but did well with time. Pointing at this particular tree branch tied up with saffron cloth, I asked Rohit what it meant. It’s locally called The Panchasara Devta Tree and is said to protect people in this jungle. He told me how the local people celebrate inter dependance between nature and humans through sacred groves and traditional practises like digging of herbs in the meadows only after October time locally called Bees Bhadon.

A steep climb up to Guguna top and one could now see the first out of the only three villages that were allowed inside the GHNP. Shagwar shone bright on the green steps of the mountains, basking in the faint rainbow that just appeared in front us. Another delight that remains constant in most of my Himachal trips.While the boys decided to roll a joint out of the freshly plucked leaves( how rich is this place :)) i decided to hike further ahead. Hiking alone at such places feels therapeutic. The trails were pure wildd.Endless mushrooms clothed laden woods, stupendous cascades, birds that I’d never heard before and the most vibrant butterflies that gave me company( the dogs ditched this time for there were nowhere to be seen around). A little short of the village, while climbing up, in a dense jungle, I had a moment of self doubt. I was intimidated by a rather strange looking man, who hurried down towards me, running without brakes, staring at me incessantly as though he was drunk. I frantically dug my pockets for a swiss knife and looked at my mobile..It had no network. The man suddenly stopped a few steps away from me, just standing and staring. I sternly asked him what he wanted, when he yelled at his cows from a distance. I realised he was slightly disoriented and breathed a sigh of relief. The sign of a blue house some metres away calmed me down. It’s then that I realised, solitude in places like these can be as intimidating as comforting at times.

Shagwar took my breath away. A village with just 10 odd houses, running only on solar electricity. Snow clad mountains surrounded it while Sainj gushing down, created the only sound apart from birds. I decided to sip on some water from the outside tap in the blue house. A lady sat there with her daughter, shearing her lamb. This was the first time I saw a sheep without its coat. I cringed as the sheep resisted. When I asked the lady if it were hurting her, she laughed and said “ No! She just feels tickled” . My last two years of hiking in the mountains have changed my life in many ways, out of which one conscious change that i’ve made is to quit eating non veg. Having spent time with the shepherds, yak herders, horsemen etc, I got to see the animals closely and found them as human as us. It feels strange to bring up a certain living being only to be slaughtered and served on your dish or skinned off to be flaunted on your dress or bags. I often think about animal racism. A dog is treated like family and might even find a place in our bed. But a lamb with an equally warm heart and face only finds a place on our palate and plate! Strange are the ways of humans.No?

Shakti..Shaktee…Where time has ceased to move!

The dusk lit the sky in evening shades and we were almost there at Shakti. After crossing a massive waterfall, a forest department office, few grasslands and quite a bit of walking, we finally landed at Shakti. While Sharad and Biju were yet to reach, Rohit and Kishori sat down to fix the tents and light fire. I was finally at the village that I had read so much about. The village had three or four houses downhill while few sparkled on top. They sparkled with dim solar lights in the darkness that engulfed this quietest Himalayan alley. My head torch showed me the trail adorned with the weeping willows, leading me to the hamlet. I heard the kids yelling arou

nd, stealing the last few minutes of playing before they were called back home by their mothers. While everyone had the same age or same species company, there was one kid who showed traits like me. She ran around with a dog, giggling away to glory,with a plastic sheet turned into a leash that she tried putting around the dog’s neck. The game was something like this..she was supposed to lock him up with the leash and run around while the dog was to escape the horror he was subjected to :P. I sipped on some water from the outside tap. This was probably the first hike where I wasn’t carrying my sipper at all. The water here was the cleanest and there was plenty of it. Every bend and corner had some fresh water springs. The cherry on the cake was that it was icy cold.

While an old rustic house with muddy walls stood there all abandoned, a brand new cemented house with bright colored walls stood right beside it. Both though had contrasting structures and life span, made in different eras, but they witnessed no change. Time stood still in this village.Shakti was still cut off from the world. The nearest road head was 17 kms away at Niharini. It’s 2019 and there’s still no sign of electricity or medical aid here. I asked a lady ‘ Light nahi hai aapke gaon mein?’ She stretched her hand pointing towards the moon in the sky ‘ woh hai hamaara light!” Lights here in this world, that’s insulated to outside influences, work on the mercy of Sun God. It’s not easy in monsoons and winters. 

What about their culture? I asked Rohit, while staring at those dim lights on the mountain top that were put off by 7pm. ‘ Since they are isolated for a long time, they exhibit a distinct culture. Devta or the local deity is given utmost importance and governs all the aspects of the life of the villagers,’ ‘In Fact when the park was in making, these three villages were given a separate space outside the boundary for habitations are never allowed inside national parks. But the belief in Devtas is so rigid that the villagers explained to the government about their faith and how the local deity would be unpleased on displacing the sacred hamlet. Both Shakti and Marore have temples dedicated to Lord Brahma Rishi Guru Vashishth. Apart from that, villagers worship the spiritual life of natural elements or objects. One gets to see open air temples of iron tridents ( trishul) and scrap metal of used household items with red prayer flags.

I was sitting around the bonfire with four Himachali men sharing stories from this alien world that forms a part of the land we all belong to yet is so distant and distinct that one feels you’ve entered a different planet. The village boasts of being home to the oldest voter in Himachal, a 108 year old lady named Shari, who recently passed away. Oh and btw it also happens to be the farthest polling station in Himachal. Imagine the election official trekking almost 22kms through steep terrain amidst forests of the Himalayan National Park ( could they just hire me ;))

Shari’s house is 200 metres away from the polling station and she’s carried in a palanquin for voting.

‘Palanquin…really’? I scoffed! How do they manage that? ‘ So a chair is fitted between two huge wooden poles and the person is carried in that. While this is just 200 metres,patients and sometimes even pregnant women are carried this way for miles. In a recent incident, last month in February 2020, a pregnant woman was carried in one such makeshift cart for over 30kms , taking about 8 hours to reach the nearest hospital in Sainj Valley.’

I told the boys about the famous story of Hari Datt Sharma, popularly known as Shastriji, that I read in the GHNP book. In 1989, he was appointed as a teacher at Shakti village for 20 households of Shagwar Shakti and Marore but there was no school building at that time. Shakti was then 22 kms away from the roadhead. So Shastriji chose a cave that was half a km away from the Shakti temple and 200 m above the Sainj river. The first batch was of 13 children at this cave school. He continued to teach for the next 13 years till 2002. Shakti now has a school till 8th grade and kids from Marore and Shagwar village daily trek up to Shakti.

It felt strange to be in this world left far behind. Strangely happy. That probably because I was just a passerby. camping in a hamlet which doesn’t know what a television looks like or hasn’t experienced the comforts of electricity sure feels incredibly unreal. Moreover a road inside the national park would mean easy accessibility, coming in of mobile towers and electric poles thus affecting the wildlife preserved so beautifully till date! But then again, wasn’t I being selfish? How about if i were to live here for good. This, no way, was an easy thought. Yes the water is the cleanest, the air as pure as snow, there’s ample of weed that grows like wild grass and there is harmony amongst the meagre few humans but somewhere in that beautiful simple life lies the urge to live with basic needs that you and I often take for granted.

And probably some secret force heard this conversation that i had with myself for just three days later, while hiking back from the glacier, a misadventure of sorts happened that made me realise how easily, what’s basic becomes a luxury, making one feel crippled and helpless.

Next morning the hike up to Marore was an easy climb. Three things that one can’t miss enroute are the two giant rocks on the mountain top, on the left bank of the river. The rocks are said to have a religious significance, looking down on Shakti, as though guarding the villages. Secondly a really huge waterfall, again on the left bank, since you are walking all along on the right bank until you hit the bridge just before the Marore village. Thirdly, a Brahm devta shrine which even has spring around it where only locals are allowed.

Marore had a few scanty houses, even lesser than Shakti. I didn’t come across a single person outside. The village was unbelievably quiet. The Brahm temple,that stood at the very entrance of the village, looked quite similar in terms of architecture, to the Manu Rishi temple in Shangarh. The narrow alleys in between the houses showed that the villagers were gearing up for winters. Every house had their balconies adorned with leaves hanging by the roof, in order to dry and stock up for winters. Solar batteries lay outside in the sun, getting charged. The peculiar ‘ward off the evil’ yak horns adorned a few house doors. We sat here for a short while,planning to cook our lunch a little further ahead, along the riverside at Sundrabundra. Kishori and Rohit quickly fixed a choolaah out of the rocks around, using the wood as fuel. I helped the boys chop veggies for pulao. It’s the easiest, fastest and the most filling thing you can cook while hiking. The most unforgettable thing about this lunch was how Kishori struggled to stabilise the cooker for it fell off the rocky choolah three times. Our stomachs grumbled loud and we still had a long way to go. The gusty winds would make it difficult to let the fire be and the cooker was trying to be notorious, testing our patience and hunger of course. That meal was probably the most delish for a meal hard earned satiates your tummy like none other.

The hike up to Karechar Thatch was easy with trails more or less along the river. This was our home tonight. Thatch means meadow. This place is even called Karechar Top where the gaddis (local shepherds) generally camp. Next morning while hiking uo, Rohit showed me fresh leftovers of a gaddi camp. Holding this beautiful bright feather, he quipped’ Jangli murga khaaya hai lagta!’ ( looks like they cooked chicken out of the wild hen).

The climb hereafter  till Parkachi though was short and beautiful but suddenly became more dramatic. The tree line reduced as we further hiked up, Sainj was a tad less boisterous, there was more weed around, we finally got a chance to negotiate a few streams with makeshift nerve wrecking bridges. Oh! And the unexpected showers were just a cherry on the cake. We had decided to camp around Jogini, a little ahead of Parkachi, but the weather gods had some other plans. Enroute, we met some herb collectors. I can never forget this particular man, who walked with almost 30 kgs on his back wearing one shoe. The stream ahead was furious enough to snatch his shoe away. The wide dimpled smile on his face, in spite of the discomfort he might have experienced walking 60 some kms, remains etched in my memory.

It was 3pm. But it felt like 6. The clouds were busy playing boomerang. I trailed behind Rohit on a not so easy, steep and slippery climb while Sharad, Kishori and Biju followed us in a bit. A dilapidated hut in the middle of Parkachi Thatch, welcomed us with arms wide open. There were two tiny rooms,out of which one of them had a floor, with just four or five wooden planks. The middle part of the floor was baseless and hollow. Rohit spoke in his heavy Himachali accent “logo ne yahan se lakdi nikal li, aag jalane ke liye. Ab hum baaki chaar planks use kar le kya?’ Left over wooden pieces and ash filled up the hollow space.

A few minutes later, three of them, zipped up their ponchos, rushed out in the crazy downpour with their axe and sickles,giggling like little kids, for they looked like wild bears in the jungle. A couple of minutes later, we all sat down, around the most comforting fire, listening to Himachali songs, watching the mountain across the window turn white. We sat there in the wild, just us mountain kids, uncomfortably numb in the october himalayan chill yearning for pakoras. Biju was kind enough to give in to our demands and happily fried some. Was this real? We made our own cafe out of a broken hut, at 3300 amsl, so close to the Sainj’s headwaters. As rohit narrated Jogini’s folklore, my mind drifted a little to the local deity and the mountains outside my window, whispering thank yous to them for I can never explain how grateful I felt that moment.

The Moonlight is our chandelier tonight,

Few scanty sticks left behind by an anonymous kind stranger is our fire

The Grey Nightjar that chauks constantly as if whistling intermittently is our sentry around

While a rocky mountain cave is our home.

I had never heard my heart beat so loud. Apart from the Sainj River gushing in the background, it was my heartbeat that broke the monotony of the eerie silence that engulfed us that night. It almost felt like a faint jamming session with three different symphonies, The Raktisaur glacier stream flushing down into the valley, the Owl caulking off and on and my heart playing drums behind. Camping in a cave, in the wilderness of the Himalayas at 4300 amsl was definitely not planned. But then again, the best adventures are always unplanned!

Rewinding by a couple of hours, looking at Kishori, plucking humongous mushrooms in the wild for breakfast, I scream with joy ‘Wow’! Our meal for today is grown, sourced and cooked in the wild. ‘Eat well, It’s going to be a long hike today’ said Viju, our guide. Where exactly are we, you ask? In the heart of Great Himalayan National Park, a camp short of the majestic Raktisaur Glacier.

The glacier looked so close yet no matter how much ever we walked, it remained elusive. The landscape changed in a couple of hours as we approached the no tree line zone. The mountains at this end looked more daunting than beautiful. And trails? Strewn with large boulders, they glared down at us in hues of brown & grey forewarning us that a peek of the glacier had to be earned & not taken as a matter of right. How would we pitch our tent, I see only rocks? We just witnessed a brilliant sunset but are too tired and worried to be awed by its splendor. Our head torches shoot pencil beams of light frantically searching for some shelter.

A little later, torch lights signal at us from the hill top to climb up to them. That demanded looking deep within my soul to muster that last ounce of motivation & energy to reluctantly put one foot ahead of the other & grudgingly climb yet again. Little did we know that a cave waited for us on the mountain rock face, smiling to embrace our tired souls, giving us shelter that night when we needed it the most. I quietly shed a tear of joy and blessed this marvel of nature in my heart. This cave was ‘home’ tonight.

Finding wood at this altitude isn’t easy. Perhaps I never believed in luck until today. A very kind shepherd left a huge bundle of sticks inside the cave. Bhojpatra, a local tree bark found in abundance in this altitude is used to fire up the cave in no time. Icy cold water fetched right from the mouth of the glacier and a simple Khichdi was the menu for the night. The oxygen being scarce alleviated our hunger as it took longer than usual to cook but that was probably the most delish meal I’ve ever had on a hike. Later that night while Viju narrated the story behind Raktisaur, the blood lake, Sharad yelled “Guys, we’ve had dinner, the dessert is waiting for us” We stepped outside the cave. He pointed at the glacier, clothed in white, glistening in the moonlight, the most peaceful sight in the dark’ I uttered’ You bet! Could anything get sweeter than this?!’