It is summer, a hot sizzling July in Delhi... the mere thought of escaping to the cool, fresh mountain brings succour! This time it is the very source of the great river Ganga that we are fleeing to seek refuge in! This is the "season" for the Himalayan journey, just after the monsoons swell the rivers and landslides threaten drivers... The closest we can get to the cool river waters from Delhi is the pilgrimage town of Hardwar in the foothills of the Garhwal Himalayas in Uttar Pradesh.

           The national highway from New Delhi to Niti Pass is the one we follow to reach Hardwar. This once silky smooth road has been broken to a dusty bumpy path by the passage of heavy vehicles over a rain-softened surface and we bump our way past numerous little towns and villages... The road is lined with trees and tall grasses and we compete for space with tractors, bullock carts and "phut-phuti" taxis that rend the thickly polluted air with their coughing...

           After nearly six tiring hours over 240 km of dusty road, we're there: Hardwar with the first glimpse of the deep-flowing, wide Ganga... The swift waters have just left the hills and entered the plains at this spot, where the rough flow is channelised into a smooth, swift canal that flows down the Har-ki-pairi : the main bathing Ghat, with a temple to Mother Ganga on its banks...

Ganga in Hardwar

Legends are varied as to the significance of this ancient, now bustling little town -- some say that Lord Shiva (Hara) put his foot on earth here after releasing the impetuous river from his matted locks... others say that the King constructed this bathing ghat especially for his elder brother, the reclusive poet Bhartru Hari. Hence there is a slight confusion as to whether the place is named "Haridwar" (the gate of Hari) or "Hardwar" (gateway of Hara). The town is a medley of closely packed hotels and markets and tourist lodges, and the ghat overflows with devotees taking holy dips... The brown waters look deceptively calm, for the flow could drag an unwary bather tumbling away towards the Bay of Bengal!

           Eventide brings, with a clangour of bells, the daily Ganga Aarati, worship of the river with lamps. Devotees float little leaf boats filled with flowers and incense and a bright ghee lamp down the dark river that sparkles as though with a million diamond jewels. The incense-filled breeze and the cool waters sweep away the fatigue of the journey and the peace of the gloaming fills our very being...

Rishikesh...

Rishikesh at Sunrise

We now enter the hills following the river, driving over slightly undulating roads through fragrant forests and twenty four kilometers later we find ourselves in the narrow market lane of Rishikesh. We have climbed to about 356 metres above sea level. This little town is bursting with Ashrams and tourist lodges... we usually stay at the Dayananda Ashram in Purani Jhadi, close to the southern end of the town. Our room overlooks the river. We jump off the car, dusty, giddy and rattled and head straight for the Ganga. There she is, roaring and gushing along in her undeterrable way!

           The water is surprisingly and refreshingly cold even in the afternoon heat of the July sun... the monsoon flow is muddy, but the pleasure of a dip in the fresh cold water is unequalled, wallowing among the rocks and rocking with the flow...

           The quiet town of Rishikesh is clustered on the hillsides on either side of the Ganga. The main road is lined by ashrams of every description and affiliation from the Andhra Ashram to the older well known Sivananda Ashram. Opposite this is the famous Lakshman Jhoola, a suspension bridge over the Ganga, where Rama's brother Lakshmana is said to have crossed the river on a jute rope. Another bridge is the Sivananda Jhula, taking you to the Geeta Bhavan and other ashrams.

           The food at the ashram has made me ill (this is one of the hazards of travel in these primitive places) but we must carry on with the journey. We have now acquired from the ITBP (Indo-Tibetan Border Police) the use of a jonga, a sort of long, hardy jeep, that is almost an extinct species now , ideally suited to the rough wear and tear of Himalayan journeys. The minute we leave the precincts of the town and enter the crisp scented mountain air of the morning, my illness evaporates and we bowl along pleasantly through the sylvan surroundings. A wonderful scent permeates the air: sweet golden yellow flowers blooming in clusters on small trees. Langurs, black-faced white-coated Himalayan monkeys gambol on the trees and across the road ... we even spot a small deer no bigger than a dog...

           The road rises very gradually in the initial stages. We are constantly within sight of the Ganga, curling gracefully along in a broad, smooth, gleaming ribbon, ruffled occasionally by pearly surf where her course is roughened by stones. We wind deeper into the mountains through dense forests and each turn reveals taller and more majestic mountains...We wind along, higher and higher at the very top of the mountain a breath-taking view bursts upon us: a panoramic vista of row upon row of mountains fading with the depth!.... The road now takes us through a series of ups and downs and then a turn, and lo! we behold the first view of Devaprayag (literally, "the confluence of the gods"), the holy confluence of Bhagirathi and Alakananda: the two main tributaries to the mighty river Ganga. Bhagirathi, so called after a legend that holds that the sage Bhagiratha brought her down from the heavens to alleviate the souls of his ancestors, is still a young river, while Alakananda, after a long journey from the Alakapuri Glacier beyond Badrinath is on her last lap. With the drunken joy of youth Bhagirathi plunges headlong into the stately and sober Alakananda, flowing silent as a sheet of brown satin from the other valley, to continue onwards now re-christened "Ganga".

          

The confluence at Devaprayag

We honk and inch our way through the dirty, crowded town and then proceed on foot to the ghat. We cross the Bhagirathi on a small suspension bridge, rocking gently over the riotous waters, swirling and leaping with ebullient energy just beneath! A refreshing dip in the cold waters of the confluence and a visit to the ancient little Rama temple atop a hillock and we are ready to follow Bhagirathi to her icy source in the North: the Gomukh Glacier.

Devaprayag to Harsil

A supposed shortcut to the next township of Tehri takes us awhile along the Alakananda till we branch off uphill along a kutcha road to Hindola Khal, perched on the shoulder of the hill. We buy some fruit at this small sleepy village and continue through the afternoon heat along bare and somnolent surroundings... on the way we come across a branch-off to a place called Chandravadani from where we were told we could glimpse some snow peaks... but clouds rising in the afternoon heat make this the wrong time for a good view and we pass on... we drone on downhill, tired with the heat, encrusted with inches of fine white dust when suddenly, a miracle! in the midst of all that dryness emerges a whole slope covered with dense forests and some strange unseen creatures setting up a chorus of chirrupping ! This oasis provides but brief respite and we continue down the valley till we glimpse the wide plain valley of Tehri.

           Tehri comes closer as we follow the Bilangana river that joins Bhagirathi in this broad valley. Workmen and trucks are crawling all over the dusty valley and the river has been diverted: the construction of a controversial dam is in slow progress... we heave off the bumpy dirt road and our tense muscles ease as we slide down the velvety highway into the dirty town of Tehri.

           After a quick lunch and some cursory dusting we are off along a smooth straight road (a surprising change after the tortuous twists of the Garhwal mountain roads!) plain and flat across the broad valley to meet the river and the mountain road. The river gets rougher and more tumultuous as we travel backward in her history! There is a small dam across her torrential waters at a place called Maneri. Here the road is carved into the rocky mountainside which sort of overhangs and the reverberations of the river's roar in this semi-tunnel are overpowering! Two hours and we reach Uttarkashi, a sleepy little town with a history of earthquakes! This is the district headquarters of Uttarakhand and across the mountains we can see the buildings of the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering that has its base camp here.

           The waters of the river are icy now and the river edge is lined with bathing and burning ghats... we even see a half-burnt body floating down the river -- we're told that this is the frequent custom of the villagers on the riverside, who can't afford the fuel to burn their dead entirely... !! We have just about enough time for a quick visit to the ancient Siva temple where a perforated pot drips Ganga water onto a huge Sivalinga. A huge trident supposed to be installed by a Nepali king towers over us in the courtyard. As evening closes in we climb up to the ITBP camp of Mahidanda, 11 km up from the town. At last we're there, drinking in the cool scented air under a towering pine tree, a few bright stars peeping from between the clouds... ITBP supper is formal but warm and welcome and we snuggle into rajais (warm quilts) against the chilliest day so far for us, strangely in the middle of an Indian summer!

           Up next sunny morning and we wind down the hill again, watching Ganga garland the opposite mountain as we descend. Onwards to Harsil, we stop at a little village called Bhatwadi to buy potatoes and juicy cucumbers, our sole means of subsistence while trekking and camping later...

Snow view from Harsil

The road climbs gently and the river with us.. we now have to cross the river, for the old road had been swallowed up when the river was stopped by a mountain-slide that threatened the villages and Uttarkashi downstream... fortunately the dammed forces of the young river were gently released in a carefully made breach and the town was saved...

           Sulphur springs at Ganganani just across the river are a minor attraction en route... We climb higher, following the contours of the mountain when lo! our first glimpse of snow! a rugged summit, whitened with fresh snow, peeps from between the two mountains, disappearing now and then as we get deeper into the folds of the hillside... We now cross the road to join the old road... the mountainside is scarred with a series of winding cuts and hairpin bends that we giddily negotiate, splashing ever and again through a little stream cascading from the top... Before us, fresh snow-covered peaks rear their heads, while behind us is the breathtaking view of the green valley we are leaving, tall peaks scaling the skies, clothed in delicately patterned green velvet!

Harsil...

It is cool and cloudy as we cross the river in a broad plain spotted by sandy islets and we enter a fragrant forest of Chid pine and Devdar. The roaring of the river echoes off the rocky hillside: we're in Harsil!

The Bhagirathi in Harsil Valley

We climb off the jonga and walk down through the trees , our feet crunching crisply on a carpet of pine needles and cones. Here is a bridge: Bhagirathi is only about 10 meters wide, crashing against the rocky side of the mountain, leaping over boulders, rolling and rollicking madly on!! A chill wind sets in and the clouds portend rain... Harsil is a small sleepy village sitting in a bowl with high devdar-covered mountains all around. About half a dozen green, bubbling mountain streams splash their way down and tumble into the Bhagirathi. We cross one of these on a military bridge on our way down to the river, behind an ancient little temple to the lord of the village....

           Clambering across huge boulders, I sit facing the tumbling, splashing river... the opposite "bank" is a sheer rock-face of the mountain, the road we came over cut into it several metres above...and anchored into this rock-face, the roots ploughing ground-wards through tiny crevices, are devdar trees, crests pointing heavenward...a little bird is a swish of colour as it darts out from under a rock, skims the surface of the river and then crosses back. The endless stream gushes forth in cascades of silvery laughter as she swirls and tumbles in tireless gyrations over the rocks. I dip a tentative hand into the water: the biting iciness almost burns!! Ma will not let us off without a dip and in we have to go! The cold hits one like a blow and I clamber out screaming and shivering! A chill wind whips us and we snuggle behind a huge rock. Right behind this is a large rollicking mountain stream, hurling itself with all its accumulated might into the Ganga -- a "wild cataract" that "leaps in glory"!! The demarcation where its green waters plough into the muddier waters of Bhagirathi is clearly visible. An arm of the mountain, bed