The Hike to the Top.

The climb was not an easy one…as both of us huffed and puffed up the rocky terrain, I surmised that the effort would go waste. After all what good was a forsaken piece of forest land covered with towering deodar trees, which gave the place a dark and desolate appearance even when the sun was in mid sky!

The sky overcast with low lying clouds and the winter sun playing hide and seek, there was not adequate motivation to climb to the top of the hillock in a dank weather such as this. But undaunted, we marched along, clambering through the mud steps naturally carved out of the hill with knotted twigs and tangled branches as footrests.

When we reached the top, it was past midday. A slow breeze was blowing and the vast open area with terrace farming along the sides was breathtaking to behold. A pair of discerning eyes would see beyond the small stretch into the surrounding dense forest, but then we were too tired to apprehend any menace. There were a few souls scattered across the clean meadow, basking in the slanting rays of the departing sun. Time to rest and sink in the tranquility all around after a somewhat tiring climb.

Within moments of settling down in the bushy grassland, hunger pangs got the better of us. A cursory glance around made me notice the small shop. It was a kind of a makeshift shack resting between two poles, with a plastic cover serving as the roof. Interestingly, it was the only one around with a menu comprising of just Maggi and Chai. The few others had left by then as there was not much to explore, but then I had a will to stay long. A lackadaisical noon with Maggi for lunch and a handful of local men for company was not too bad.

With a penchant for knowing more about Garwhali ways of life, more so since I had them at my disposal just a few yards away, I lost no time in huddling close to the small kitchen fire in the decrepit little shop. And thus, began the story.

Premlal and Buddhiprasad were brothers from the Dabali village downhill. One worked as the forest night-guard and the other ran this shop atop the mountain along with his two nephews. They grew potato and other crops round the year, and climbed the mountain during winter when there were tourists, to operate the tea and Maggi shop. They came here at daybreak and returned late in the night by when it was pitch dark and wild animals prowled loose. Often they had the company of a cheetah, or a wild bison while taking the jungle trail to their village, but these people seemed to have enough spunk up their sleeves to carry on with their food business in spite of such terrors lurking free.

‘Animals are afraid of fire, madam’, came the reply. Sharing a habitat with the wild, they knew the rules of jungle life too well, and escape unscathed. However, Prem appeared a tad jittery while narrating their nocturnal adventures, and looked at his nephews from time to time. As if he was seeking approval for revealing the wee bit which still seemed to be under the wraps. A slight impetus from my end…and breaking his indisposition, out came in gushes the most incredible part.

‘Piche jo pahari hain, uski choti me hain ek pari ka mandir’ (The hill there at the back, it has an angel's temple on its peak.)

Conditioned though I was in disbelieving such stuff (given my urban upbringing), little I could do to suppress my childhood obsession with fairy tales. I gave him my undivided attention and signalled him to keep talking, as I dug into the bowl of steaming noodles sautéed with dry veggies. The man pointed to the mountain in the distance while I strained my eyes in the direction to check out the pointed tip of a white temple, one that had a fluttering flag tied to the spire. And if bad luck would have it, the silhouette of a winged creature clad in a white flowing dress.

Whether I saw what Prem intended to show me is perhaps insignificant in the grand scheme of things --- but here was a man who didn’t give a fig for wild beasts capable of devouring him in a jiffy in the middle of a deserted woodland...but believed in a fairy whose evil glance could turn him into a stone. The Garhwals did have plenty of stories hidden within the folds of its rocky exteriors, one just needed to scoop them out with finer prowess.