We set off early next morning, driving past terraced fields, the air fragrant with pines, to arrive at Mori, just as the stars begin to glow. The dhabas have called it a day and it takes some coaxing to get one to light up his chullah; the village schoolmaster, however, is more obliging, opening his schoolroom for us for the night. Things look up in the morning with the sun shining brightly. Having tucked into alu-poori served by an enterprising local family we are ready to tackle the day.

Though we could have driven over the next couple of kilometres, a heavy spell of rain has washed the road away, leaving a slide of squelchy mud. To avoid it, we follow a path further up the hill. It’s a narrow track that winds through trees and shrubs and bushes, and rivulets that seem to emanate from just anywhere.

Deep in the valley below, the River Tons flows by….

Soon we are at the entrance of the Govindghat Wildlife Sanctuary and National Park at Netwar. A shuttle jeep service is available to the next point where the road has once again caved in and an errant mountain stream now rushes over. A makeshift bridge of tree trunks, stepping stones, and walking poles help us to get across. Wet with the spray, and cold, we are handed a steaming pitcher of tea. The hot, sweet concoction is nothing short of ambrosial. A couple of grass-cutters sitting for their mid-day meal have, quite pleasantly, surprised us.

Forests and fields merge into vast emerald vistas, and nestled among them, hugging the hillside is Sankri, a remarkable village. Its three-storeyed wooden homes with their covered verandahs, carved rails and slate roofs are architecturally distinct. A notched tree trunk serves as a staircase leading past the cattle shed, the first floor granary and all-purpose storage, to reach the top floor where the family resides. And its people, decidedly enlightened, are ardent organic farmers. Rice, maize, chua (amaranthus), uggal and madua (local millets), bhatt (black beans) sans fertlisers, find an assured clientele in faraway metropolises. We take a walk into the woods with the local patwari (headman), who points out plants along the way, identifying medicinal herbs that are found aplenty here. “We collect kutki, atees, brahmi, hathpanja and guggul,” he says.

I’m asked to chew a leaf. It’s sweet. “That’s chini patti. Stevia. We grow it on a farm up on the mountains two hours from here.…”

It is interesting that the villagers in this part of Uttarakhand worship the Kauravas, with Duryodhana as the main deity. As we stand by the beautifully carved wooden shrine, the mild shower that has accompanied us fades and a dazzling rainbow frames the evening sky.

From Sankri it’s a long walk to Taluka, a charming habitation of a few homes surrounded by brilliant flowers. Invited to stay at one for the night, we bend through the low door to enter a large room with a stone hearth plastered with mud. It’s a kitchen and living room all in one. Interesting are the cross-beams that support the roof and the open loft for storing firewood. With a glowing fire and a kettle singing, it couldn’t get cosier. Sitting contentedly, sipping adrak-laced chai, we barely notice the ominous clouds that cover the sky within minutes. Pealing thunder, a streak of lightning and the sky begins to pelt hail.

It’s cold the next morning as we wind our way along the river to eventually take a steep uphill path through minuscule hamlets, the dwellings hidden amid groves of apple and alu-bukhara (local plums) their aangans piled with produce just harvested. The trail undulates through forests of oak and deodar to Seema. Osla, the twin village, stands diagonally across.

Off at dawn, we ascend to reach a mountain plateau, navigating our way through farmlands alive with the natter of women as they get to work collecting sheaves of phaphra (coarse millet) for threshing, past herders with their shaggy-haired goats, and devotees making their way to temples that stand far down where the river surges by. The track then heads to the edge from where are visible the mighty snow mountains. Deodars and birches abound here. Further up, the valley widens to alpine pastures, the floor strewn with tiny blossoms, and brooks babbling by. The river flows alongside. Over a couple of stone bridges and we are at the meadows of Har-ki-Doon, bright green expanses surrounded by the immense white ranges. The valley below is a profusion of streams and rivulets, streaks of silver in the sun’s rays. We sit and gaze at the stunning panorama.

At night, as the stars light up an indigo sky, and the moon rises, the mountains shimmer. It’s ethereal, mystical, and incredibly beautiful. And, at sunrise, as the first rays dab the peaks with gold, then slowly lift the covers to reveal breathtaking vistas, a monal troops past brilliant in its plumes of green, purple, red and blue.

It is indeed a place fit for the gods.

Getting there

By air: The nearest airport is Jolly Grant Airport, Dehradun with daily flights from Delhi.

By rail: Dehradun is a major railhead on the Northern Railway line with direct trains to Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Varanasi and Lucknow.

By road: Local transport – buses and four-wheel vehicles – is available from Dehradun to Mori. (275 km)

Accommodation: Tourist Lodges of Garwhal Mandal Vikas Nigam (GMVN) and home stays. Both provide meals on request. Dhabas in the villages rustle up a meal too.

Best season: April - May and October - November

Contact:www.gmvnl.com

http://www.gmvnl.com/newgmvn/sports/treks/trek8frame.html

Remember: Carry some quick-to-cook provisions as also high-energy nibbles, a good pair of hiking boots, rainwear, woollens (outer and inner wear) and medicines.

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