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Holiday Diaries #8: KANATAL!: The Night Trek

5th May 2017
The projector’s light flickered and finally faded to a black as the last of the credits rolled out. All of us sitting in that tent, under tarpaulin rafters with the wind zooming outside were stunned into silence. I was speechless. Spellbound. Inspired. The window pane rattled noisily and the shutter rocked back and forth, flapping with the velocity of the wind. The silence was deafening. Out of nowhere, spontaneously, our entire group of campers portrayed their admiration and awe through thunderous applause. The film ‘Poorna’ had comprised of a simple story, a young Indian girl, from a poor, superstitious and conservative family, grappling with the loss of her elder sister, the only one whom she thought she could share all her fathomless secrets with. She had had immense talent and an inherent ability to climb rocks and mountains, but had never thought of the power and strength of her hands which; coupled with the encouragement of a certain ambitious government official would enable her to attain great heights. Malavath Poorna became the youngest girl to scale and conquer Mount Everest’s summit and made the Indian tricolor fly high amidst snowy crests.
We had collapsed, exhausted into the tent’s seats minutes before the film was played, the energy that so ordinarily blossomed inside us, reduced to nothing more than a few embers due to the challenging 5k trek up the steep hill to the Surkhanda Devi Temple in Kanatal. By the time, we reached our Camp, we felt as if our legs had given way and going rock climbing, rappelling and valley crossing the next day had seemed next to impossible. Watching this film gave new hope to my spirit. If this ten-year-old child had battled all odds and had scaled the Everest, wrestling with the iron clutches of a brutally burning fever, then what was a small outcrop of rock to us?
Newly infused with inspiration and energy, a cacophony of chatter crackled throughout the small, cozy room. Little did we know, that an adventure, possibly the most unique one I’ve ever experienced hitherto; far more exciting than the adventure sports we were going to do the following day was in store for us! The chair coordinator of our trip to Mussoorie, Dhanaulti and Kanatal asked for silence as she came to the front of the room. The announcement that escaped her lips ignited a strange blend of fear and excitement in the part of my heart that savours, harbours and craves adventure. The Forest Department had performed a miracle: It had granted permission (which was rarely ever given) for our entire group to go on a night trek in the hills! Scarcely had this newest piece of news touched my ears that my friend and I looked at each other with mirrored expressions: the urge to dare and risk.
Before I progress any further, I feel that this short but very singular experience would not achieve completion till it received an appropriate background scenario. Many Indians and foreign tourists must be well acquainted with the name as well as the lovely landscape of Mussoorie. Lush green mountains, cerulean skies, cobblestoned streets and a bustling and brimming market complete the hill station. Kanatal, on the other hand, is a quaint hamlet, nestled in the loving and cradling arms of its Mother Mountains. Pure air whistles past your ears; pine, thistle and eucalyptus sprout from the soil and seem to touch the bluest of heavens. There are few facilities and life is tough, making the people more hale and hearty, their lean bodies and fair faces always glowing with a smile, despite the tens of hardships they encounter every moment of the day. Before the trip commenced, I had presumed that Mussoorie would top my list but I was misled. Kanatal made me fall in love with Nature all over again, it encompassed and enveloped me within its breathtaking beauty. It reminded me of why my soul pined for travel and made me realize the sheer insignificance of my being when framed against the age-old, wise, rugged tan mountains. You can very well imagine the nervous fervor that coursed through my veins when we realized that we were to go trekking through these very same beautiful but dangerous mountains, that too AT NIGHT.
Half an hour later, we were all assembled at the clearing that marked the entrance to our camp, teeth chattering, jackets wrapped tight and hoods on. Having travelled from Indore, where the temperatures were rocketing upwards, beyond 40 degrees Celsius, it had been a drastic transition to Kanatal’s frosty weather. Torchlights flashed on the ground. Edgy anticipation laced the atmosphere. Some of the people who were responsible for managing the activities and administration of the camp as well as locals registered by The Forest Department had graciously agreed to accompany us. After what seemed like eons to our restless minds, we finally set up the road at a steady sprint. The teachers had warned, threatened and blackmailed us to seal our lips else the trek would be cancelled and for once, to the surprise of everybody, we were the most obedient children in the world. Not a syllable could be heard, only the slight huff of breath.  The icy air clustered into white patches, floating away.
As we rounded a steep curve, the beautiful town of Kanatal lay spectator to the stars. Tucked into a deep ravine, glimmers of light: yellow and white twinkled from the houses and it seemed as if an hourglass of stardust had spilt onto the soil of the hamlet. They sparkled but were no competition to the splash of glitter across the inky sky. It was a sight that inspired awe.
As if out of nowhere, a sudden forest trail cut into the woods sloping downwards to our right. The sound of shoes slipping along the loose soil echoed in the forest’s depths. I took steady breaths, occasionally allowing myself to drift into a world of fantasy, where there was nobody but me, the forest and the stars, the ethereal queens to guide me. As sight weakened due to dimmer light, all other senses immediately sharpened. It's funny how completely dependent we are on our eyes during daylight, but how quickly we adapt to a situation where our eyes fail to guide us adequately. Moonlight shone on the forest floor. I had always underestimated moonlight, leaving its magic to be one experienced only by stereotypical lovers in cheesy romances and poems but I consider myself one of the most fortunate ones in the world to have experienced this enchantment that fateful night. Beneath the coal tent of the night, the subtle but very powerful light of the moon channeled our sight onto the ground ahead of us, glistening off rocks that ran alongside the trail. I ran my hands along the cliff to whose side we had to strictly adhere to. Textured and callused, witness to centuries of the Earth’s being and as wise as the trees, now on our left. In the light and shadows cast by the moon, their breathtaking green was lost amongst the darkness, towering and intimidating. A slight slip and we would tumble into the gorge of death.
After a kilometer or so, a glade came into view. We all sat down panting, where the trees parted to offer the view they admired and looked up to each day. I had never seen such a beautiful sky, glimmering with light, blossoming with white beauties. Whispers ran through the group, everybody as captivated as I was. I closed my eyes, breathing in each moment. Each instant in itself seemed a burst of magic. Cool air whipped past my face, the sweetest I had ever smelt. I had been strangely afraid of this trek, but looking into the vast woody expanses, I realized that I would love nothing more than to sit here all night long, watching the sun break out from beyond the clouds from between the crevices of the trees; rising above the snowy peaks of Kanatal. The conifers seemed more my guardians than beings that would cause me fear. A sense of calm descended upon the group. The air sizzled with thrill and exhilaration. We walked onwards, braving the intense cold.
My heightened senses picked up on owl hoots that reverberated through the wilderness. The scent of the earth wafted towards the trekkers. An occasional sharp tweet and chirp drifted towards my ears. All that could be sensed and heard was the profound chilly gale that was billowing my hair, the hushed whispers, and the slight breathing. Occasionally, I glanced up and saw the moon peeking out from behind a slender branch. Sometimes, a single white sliver attempted to squeeze through a dense canopy. But most of the times, it shone in its entirety, sprinkling its glory onto us.
Using the support of the craggy outcrops of stone, we panted and hoisted ourselves upwards. Twigs crunched as we lost our footing but quickly regained our balance. We stumbled and often sprained our ankles, but nothing could stop us from enjoying this night. The only light that shined alongside the moon’s were our flashlights. God knows how we would have survived the trek without them. There would certainly have been a couple of broken limbs by the time we returned to our camp. Wood, gravel, and leaves snapped beneath us. All of a sudden, the one leading the queue came to a sharp halt. We now had to overcome an unexpected obstruction. A literal one.
A massive tree trunk had fallen prey to the wrath of the elements and it had crashed onto the trail in front of us. Low hanging vines sported deviously prickly thorns. The locals concocted a simple plan with quick thinking and a calm demeanour. Each of us hopped onto the trunk and crouched, avoiding the crisscrossing vines. The person in front of us held up the flashlight so that we, as well as the one behind us, could see where they were going. Accepting the hand stretched out in front of me, I skipped and landed onto the other side and we continued with perfect pace, as though what we had encountered was a challenge we were used to tackling every day
As we finally emerged onto a crude dusty road after about an hour, I gazed longingly at the forest we were leaving behind. The black cloak of darkness had lit up a path of exploration and discovery, a trail I had never imagined I would get the chance to walk upon. I never knew that the darkest of shadows and shade could confine such happiness. The hour had strewn enchantment and birthed one of the finest adventures. The night had unfurled a carpet of the rawest and purest form of magic.




Comments

  1. Your description was perfect! I could actually envision being there even though im the most unathletic person ever!

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