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Ghagharia : The Prayag to Ascent



Life is always stretched up on balance sheets by us. But those never gave us the joy as the ventures in nature give. I never hesitated to move on myself because I acquired that golden rule of change from the trees I met, the mountains I laughed with and the stars I glanced at.


No one has the ability to glorify Nature, it is not meant to be, all the things only do matter is the feelings and its reciprocation by ourselves.
On my reaching to Ghagharia or Govinddham, I did not need to accustom myself, I felt that those pines knew that I would come and they made it in my way. The clouds whom I was talking to earlier, may have sent the message. It is a town with much of a business, hotels and other pleasure arrangements, though they all know, everything is temporary and that feeling of giving up or leaving you will never see in their eyes. To them, its life hard in mountains, survival is everyday dose.

A cultural ‘prayag’ was on its height, I could meet many people and people means a library in each of them, every contemplation, complain, disturbance  and happiness are laid out. Being in the Gurudwara, I got to see some unseen people who were lost in the majoritarian world of fame.

The scattered clouds were representing their wishes to go down, to meet their dearest river, like the diverse human emotions were ready to melt down in the vast emptiness they have left, in the superior existence of Nature the hollows could be intimidated. And I go there always to seek that intimidation which will give me the greatest pleasure which I will not get by anything.


Govindghat to Ghangharia : Preamble to Eden



The moment I came to the confluence of Alaknanda and Lakshman Ganga, I realized the change within Garhwal. An abode of Sikh pilgrimage attracted thousands of pilgrims every year. We do often go to analyse the purpose of those but do we want to justify ours by sighting theirs. Every journey in the mountains I take is the most serious one and there I find myself every moment transforming at the most personal level.


The hospitality of the Gurudwara did not take me in surprise but it was overwhelming. To feel that extravaganza I would suggest every traveller to pass a day here. Sitting by the window at the inn, nothing could pierce that river sound, it seemed to take everything with it. NH58 was a strange route, many overhangs are ready to take you in them, but that strangeness has given it, the ultimate beauty.

On the entrance there was a gate, where they welcome me to the valley of flowers. It was a 13 kilometre walk to Ghangharia which has another name of Govinddham after Sikh Guru Govind Singh Ji. The road was but I could feel that I was among nature, playing with it, respecting it. By the valley , the Lakshman Ganga or Hem Ganga could be seen, this is the place where hope resides and a siren of upcoming devastation stays. Now it goes within its joy but some stories of Pulna which village was destroyed by this very river, got to me in sadness and indifference too. Life teaches lesson, when nature does its due, its always that much dramatic. The Bhyundar village too was carrying the same blunt tale of loss and renewal. When I entered into Ghangharia, it was a different town which I thought of.



Walking by that lean stream, was a joy at peace. 

Bhyundar : A Forgotten Ballad



The lonely hike has always been a treat to those who gets enriched in lone being. For me, this walk was for my living the lives I have never had, which I seek everytime to empathize in self portrayal. 

Here I name a place which is a song itself. the song of hundreds of rustics, where the lyrics are life and melodies are the breath. I went up to the forested halt, Ghangharia , there I met a girl of substance yet not a pro. But the real reflection and pixels of life was full. That girl took me to a hundred year old story where love resided, lovers lost in non existence. To me it was a long lost tale but for her a life of yesterday. 

There is a village named Bhyundar, which got its name from a folklore which still stays in the Garhwal and its wind, water and hills. The girl was on a regular yearly preparation of a festivity named Nandashtami, the pride of Bhyundar. She waits for her mate to bring those flowers which had a good omen "Bhramhakamal". The village is pouring in the joy of the unity and peacefulness. The lass is sitting by the banks of the Lakshman Ganga, a river which gives all to them and they have never been ungrateful to it. The beauty of the stream could not made her consoled but her eyes were on the slopes from where her man will come.
Joy is to her that , she places her head on his lap, and hum a bit , it was her world , incomparable to the different worlds of luxury. The shower is bringing its zeal to the stream and her heart beats as trembles the body from within. 

Among the clouds and rain shower, from an unseen land, the man comes up with a heap of God's message on his back. This is the most soothing green to her eyes. Tears could burst but the upcoming start ups of festival blushes her out immensely. It is a poem of anthology of Bhyundar. Poetry was there on the eyes of hope and despair, and even in the empty trembling hands of that girl. It is a clear afternoon now, the snows are peeking through the valley sides, this beauty was a familiar treat to the people of Bhyundar, some rejoiced with it, some blamed it for their fate or hardship. 

Beauty of nature has its cost of contradiction, that she knows very well but her mate is on the way to live another life which he has dreamt all over his being. Opinions hardly collide and they merely win in front of the vast love. They go to their home from where one can see that hollow sky with infinite wishes, after preparing things in the "pakka" temple. sitting by the window pane, her man sing the Garhwali song which is being sent to that skyscape of limits and unlimited desires. Hollow sky is not reciprocating , she does not know about that. 

Sleeping on the wooden floor with their hands as the most comfortable pillow, weaving is being completed of their future moments, though they know all are uncertain and even their existence but tangled love which is all over their being is now gasping but  in pleasure. 
A night as dark as the blackhole but not a magnet, is bringing rain into the village, every drop feels so heavy on the positivity. All are trying to make their ways into the chaos of confusion. 
The girl wakes up, and can not see him beside her, she is searching him like lunatic. 


Cries are inferior to the Nature, that gusting wind is making everybody understood of its power of mercilessness. She suddenly looks up to the other side of the river. There she sees him, but Lakshman Ganga and Bhyundar Ganga's confluence washes out every sight she could see. Houses are floating like leaves and dreams too in that water. A sudden silence kill everybody there, and for her , life stops as heart stops for her man.

That night changed everything for her, she became a hollow. Those vast open eyes I could see and could feel. It is never end. like sorrow, happiness too.  Now people go by the prior village and those unseen eyes can not see , and it is not meant to be seen by all, you will see if u seek to . Now she comes to Ghangharia everyday to work for an NGO, Life did not end but a sorrow is living by that stream.