For a metropolitan individual peace to ears
is heavenly dream. To him silence is scarce while for those in the lonely hills, noise
obliterated. This unfriendly and distant human behavior brings noisemakers from
the plains to disturb peace in hills, while the reverse simpletons tend to
lose their sanctity.
Whichever the case may be, silence is hard to find these days in the hills in India and it’s a luck to discover a whispering,
winding, way lined by rainbow colored
nameless little flowers. Ready to perceive and withstand, obnoxious, high pitched odours from Indian
Railway toilets for two nights to discover a road without shoe marks, a voyage
from Calcutta
was eagerly waiting. Mukteshwar was the name that came first likely for
it’s mystical Bengali script that lay before you a journey to freedom reminding
you of the word ‘mukti’. Little
did I know about Mukteshwar’s windy nature, its jaw dropping temperature and
the sound of rain it mimics bolt from the blue when the wind streamlines
through the Deodars .
Before the middle of December on the
thirteenth I guessed it would be chilly but sustainable with layers of wool and
a jacket. The first evening passed by in lazy walks for a kilometer or two
around the village bazaar of a few shops and a ‘choumatha’ ( four
roads crossing)in front of IVRI’s (Indian Veterinary Research Institute) main
entrance. This crossing is a vast open space very unlike that in crowded cities.
Acclimatization at around 8000 feet was not that adequate on the first day. So we
returned to our hotel only to find that the electricity had vanished. But the
service men cared little and kept smiling much to our awe. Electricity keeps
fleeing here giving you little chance to store some hot water or charge your modern
day connecting device. The men from the hills are not worried about this. They
kept discussing about the present political scenario in the state. It had
already started drizzling by then.
After a sumptuous, affectionate dinner from
the hotel boys we planned to be back to our room in search of a cozy space
below the specially made blanket for the hills. It was when we felt something soft below our shoes. The snow had started settling. Unable to witness
in sheer darkness the only thing we could do was to curse our fate realizing little
what was in store for us next morning.
Sleeping well in pitch darkness and nothing
but absolute silence, we were awakened by impressive heavy knocking by Surinder the ever smiling, helping running man with a
pot of hot tea to sip and a picture perfect view of four feet snow. In
whichever direction we looked through the large sized window, it was a thick
blanket of snow and silence. The nature was unwilling to speak. Such succulent
silence you never would witness anywhere.
After we had burnt our lips unable to
restrain ourselves to put our feet in knee deep snow for a few clicks with
Canon, someone reminded me of Calcutta.
It would snow more he said for the forthcoming days and the roads will never be
cleared for the next seven days or so. It was such a sudden sullen thought that it made me sit and put my fist below my chin, plunged in shattering thoughts.
The roads will be closed and I am a prisoner in Mukteshwar, I thought. The
electricity was still not back and the storage geyser surprisingly empty.
It was ten in the morning when we were
ready for a splendid breakfast with ‘puries’ and ‘alur dom’. The snowing had stopped, the sun bright
right over our head but the mercury kept plummeting . It was such a distressing
event on one hand while an unbelievable thought of silver screen heroines in
scantily clad dresses in ankle deep snow and ice crept in my mind. I imagined
how the prisoner of Zenda felt during his days in castle unable to leave.
If you don’t do it now you face the music , I told myself.
With a little life left on phone I rang up the police to listen ‘ have patience’
in a compassionate voice. Mukteshwar remains
closed to traffic for now was what I heard. I contacted my friend
Kushal Dasgupta at Calcutta and asked him
to help us out. It took another ten minutes
to clear the bills. With four of those ever smiling hotel nonentities and a
broken plastic room- cleaning stick for
support, I started my voyage with a
salute to Columbus. The snow was not
less than three feet deep and my legs kept slipping, unable to trace a rough
surface. But the four held me as tight as they could never leaving me for a
moment. Who they were I thought, forgetting that they were only those common simpletons from
the hills extending their help for nothing. The walk that started nearly three
feet deep in snow with hard rocks below lasted
four hours covering eight kilometers with
no less than four falls strong enough to break your patela or ankle. But it never happened for those four,
who lifted us each time with sheer
muscle power. The walk was a hell for the weak novice cosmopolitan so called entity, who hardly utilize ten percent
of their endurance. I still remember the four- hour unbearable physical exercise up and down the
hill, waddling in heavy deposits of snow and ice on the shortcuts away from the
main metal highway only to cut short time and reach destination by daylight.
Each time I fell sick it reminded me of Dersu Uzala, the man born from mother
nature whose sheer endurance still puts every human being to shame.
My wife, who was a bit ahead in the race, suddenly looked back
and cried aloud, “Look, at the end, there is no more snow.” There was so much
joy in those words that it took me another half a minute to realize the truth. The risk of this journey is hardly one percent of what the mountaineers face and this put my smartness in a shambles.
That very moment my telephone started ringing, Kushal Dasgupta was on the line.
Hearing that we were out of danger and as if
he himself was out of penance he
jumped out in sheer ecstasy saying, “If Jatayu would have been there he must
have uttered, Mukteshwar theke mukti
(free from Mukteshwar)”. This witty
alliteration was so appropriate and so powerful that it made me lose my
pain in joy. I looked at my saviours and asked, “Where are we now?”. To my
utter disbelief they replied,” Why Sir? We are in Mukteshwar, Sir. We have only left behind the campus of
IVRI and walked another three kilometers.”
Nothing but the sheer size and the vastness of IVRI campus put me to embarrassment unable to
compare it with anything I had witnessed so far. Does the BHU have a larger
campus? I wondered. Dasgupta was still on the line expecting me to reply.” No
you are wrong my dear, its not ‘from’, its ‘Mukteshwar-e mukti (Free at Mukteshwar)”,
I said and kept on laughing like Jatayu
all the way to Calcutta on train.
(After I had resumed my office at Calcutta I came to know
that about 100 tourists were rescued from Uttaranchal and at least 50 poor men and
children died from cold. )
