The day when CP and his wife went to hike to Llama top, I had decided to visit Gartang Gali. A trek used in earlier times to trade between India and Tibet. The highlight of this trek was the end, where golden wooden stairs (around 50) end the Indian side and from where the Tibetan side begins. I started for Gartang Gali at around 11 AM, and CP had already left by then. Ishan's mother said that CP and his wife ate separately in the morning. She was happy to see that, although I did not understand why. Before leaving, I asked Ishan whether I would be able to reach Gartang Gali or not. This was because there are no petrol pumps in Harshil. The last petrol pump one will see is in Uttarkashi, around 60-80 km away. My car showed that it can run 270 km, but these readings are never accurate. I had to calculate the distances beforehand. Additionally, once you are outside Harshil, there are no networks. I had to reach Gartang Gali from Harshil Valley the old-school way, remembering the route and asking a dozen people along the way.
Ishan said that I will be fine, and my calculations gave me a green signal as well. I went ahead with it and made my way outside Harshil Valley towards the flood-struck village of Dharali. I was staying around 200 meters away from the debris and 3 km away from Dharali, which was washed away in 2025 due to cloud bursts. The road to Dharali was in patches and showed me a glimpse of the disaster in between. As I exited the valley, an army vehicle was toppled and sunk more than half into the debris close to an army milestone that read "Canteen" on it. The milestone was deep inside the debris as well. Ishan had told me that there was a ground and helipad here as well, but we can't see it now. It's all inside the debris. When I went ahead for 400 mtrs, a very old man was standing with a young man asking for the lift.
"Are you going towards Dharali?" the young man asked.
"Yes"
"Can you take him with you?"
"Yeah, sure!"
The old man had a grey Nehru jacket on with a magenta shirt inside. He was wearing a cap and brown trousers, and the shirt was not tucked in. He sat on the backseat of the car and not the front, even though my bag lay there on the backseat. I did not ask him or request him to sit in the front. I asked him whether he lives in Dharali. He said he does, and he was born in Dharali and has always lived there. I asked him when the road would be reconstructed, to which he said it would take months. The debris is so much that they have to cut a new road from up now. The old route is now gone forever. I kept looking at him through the rear-view mirror whenever he spoke, but he was never looking at me. He spoke by looking outside through the windshield.
"I am 80 years old, but I have never seen such a flood in my life. I have spent all my life here, but I can't imagine such a thing happening at this place," he told me.
"Is your home safe?" I asked him.
"No, it washed away. My daughter-in-law and my grandson died in the floods. It's just my son and me now. He was not in Dharali at that time, and I was lucky enough to survive," he said without any remorse in his eyes. I did not see any sign of grief on his face. Could it be because so many people had lost their lives that they normalized it? Similar to how, if a disease becomes common among the public, like Diabetes, people aren't scared when they hear that they have it too? But if only one person has something, like Parkinson's, they are scared as hell. Or is it that he had grieved too much that he carries that grief with him all the time? It was hard to understand.
"Any money?"
"Yes! 5 Lakhs as home reimbursement, 25 lakh per person who is dead, money for the vehicle as per insurance value, and if you had a shop, then 2 lakhs."
He told me his house survived but is completely broken on all sides. He was renovating it with the money. He also told me that the government was very quick to disburse money to everyone except for the vehicles. A little later, he asked me to stop and showed me his house, which had no boundary and no walls on two sides. It was a two-storey blue house. He stepped out of my car, and I went ahead.
While crossing Dharali, I found a stream of water that had found its way through the debris. It was coming from somewhere between the jungles, which was abnormal. My bottle was empty as I had left it in my car while checking-in to Ishan's house. I parked my car on the debris and made my way towards the stream to fill the bottle. There, a BSF personnel was standing along with around fifteen labourers who were crushing the stones. I asked him the time it would take to build this road, where there is so much debris.
"Road? We can't build a road here now," he said and continued, "ye to khatam ho gya pura rasta ye aise hi rahega ab."
"What do you mean?" I asked, "How will people reach Gangotri?"
"We are making a different road. It will go from above," he told me while looking at the laborers.
I did not get it. The debris on which I was standing and drove my car was like a straight road. Why are they not choosing this to make it into a regular path?
"But why are you not building a road here?" I asked.
"Here? You know how much debris is here?"
"How much?"
"Minimum 40 feet. Till when will we dig this? If we make a road above it, it will sink in one month. And more than that, 200 people who lost their lives in the floods are below this debris where we are standing."
I looked around, and I could sense the depth of debris now. To my left, a deodar tree had only its peak visible, and it was at least 100 meters away from me. But the thought of standing above 200 corpses made me think about it for a long time. I thought about the men and women who were born here, lived happily here, and somewhere in the mountains, when two girls would have gone to collect wooden sticks, they must have asked each other about their death. Nobody in this world would say I would like to die in a flood so people can drive and walk on the debris above me, and my corpse is never found. I understood why the government disbursed money so quickly. It was to save the trouble of digging so much and taking out those 200 people. However, honestly, it was an impossible task. The debris was so much that 100s of machines would be required for many days.
I heard a little noise from behind, and when I turned, I saw a group of friends trying to create a video of themselves with a car. They were not shouting, just the normal laughter, but unaware that the view they thought was worth capturing, a million tons of debris, had homes, a helipad, a ground, and people talking to each other from their balconies just a couple of months back. It is hard to express. I went ahead to my car and drove to Gartang Gali.
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| Debris in Dharali |
The road from Dharali to Gartang Gali is what I can best describe as "pure bliss". Flowers on both sides of the roads, single lane, an extraordinary view of the mountains, and no traffic at all. I kept asking people about Gartang Gali to stay on the correct path always. However, surprisingly, this was the first time that everyone said only one line, "Take left from Bhairon Ghati and don't cross the bridge." All the people I asked told me the exact same line. In 20-30 minutes, I reached the Gartang Gali entrance, and yes, they all were right. I could see a bridge just 10 meters away from Gartang Gali. It was a good landmark to remember.
I parked my car outside and started to walk towards the entrance where a Swift Dzire was parked. A couple walked out of the car, and the driver turned the car towards the road going to Dharali. I thought that since he was a driver, he must have come here many times, and so he could answer my questions. "How much time will it take to cover the complete trek?" I asked the driver wearing a red shirt and a grey sweater.
"I don't know. I have never been inside. I just drop the passengers," he said. I saw his number plate was registered in the Dehradun RTO. It was unusual that he had come to this spot so many times but never visited. I went past him and started reading the history board at the entrance describing Gartang Gali and why it was used for trade between India and Tibet. I saw the driver come out of the car, and he started reading the boards as well. Then, he took out his phone and clicked a photograph of the entrance. I went to the ticket counter and asked him the same question. He told me it's a 2.5-hour trek and asked me not to stand supported by anything towards the valley side. He asked me if I had a camera or a drone, etc., in my bag. I denied, and he did not confirm by checking my bag. He believed me.
The Gartang Gali trek was a usual Himalayan trek that one may encounter while visiting villages. It was steep in some places but manageable. I encountered not more than 5 people going in the opposite direction towards the gate, and I was all alone at all times as far as I could see on the trek. I heard a lot of sounds coming from holes in the stones and bushes on the side. Ocassionally I would see big reptiles and bear claw marks. I hoped not to see the owner of these marks at any time here. "Are you alone?" asked a person going back towards the gate. "Yes!" I said to him. He was sweating like anything and had trekking poles in his hands and a bandana on his forehead.
"From where?" he asked.
"Haridwar", I told him.
"No, I mean, from where are you coming alone? Harshil?", he asked.
"No. Haridwar. I came alone from Haridwar," I told him.
"You are so brave." his eyes lit up. He was more proud of me than I was. "I wish I were like you," he said to me. I did not know how to respond to this compliment. I am not used to it. I just smiled and continued my trek. The trek ended in 1 hour with a beautiful golden wooden stairway, which felt like it was hanging on one side towards the valley. This was what I was here for. I was so happy to put my foot on the staircase that I had imagined for some time. "Not more than 10 people at a time and more than 2 people on a single stair," the board read at the start. I put my foot on the stair and it made a cracking sound. Believe me when I say that when you are on a stair hundreds of meters below of which a river is flowing, and if you fall, you cannot hold onto anything, such cracking sounds will make your heart drop. I looked down towards the stairs. "Damn!" I said to myself. The stairs had a lot of cracks on it. It was a scary picture, although I am sure there was nothing to worry about, as such things are maintained regularly. I kept peeking down towards my right to check the depth, and the vast emptiness of the Himalayan ranges was beautiful to watch from such a point. It was the end of the trek, and the Indian side ended with an iron gate wrapped with barbed wire. The other side of this gate was Tibet.
While I was drowning in the beautiful valley view from Gartang Gali, a group of four boys came and started taking pictures. A lot of the visitors had carved out their names on the stairs and trees at this point. They started shouting those names and making jokes with each other, which honestly were not even funny when I was 10 years old. They asked me if I was alone and from where I had come, etc. They were spoiling the view and the moment. Then, from the top of the stairs, I saw the same driver coming. He smiled at me. "Ah! Finally, you decided to come", I said. "Yes! I thought, let's see it once, what's the harm?", and he, like me, ignored the boys as well.
After talking there for some time, we started to go back. He told me about his taxi company and the package the couple had taken to visit this region. He expressed his regret over not being involved as a travel companion with the couple. "They don't talk to me unless they want to stop or go somewhere", he said to me. Later, when he found out that I am a software engineer, he raised multiple questions for which he couldn't find answers online. "My ads are not able to perform well. I paid too much for Google Ads. How to put down a CTA button? Should I redirect to my number or make a website?" These are some of the questions he raised. Honestly, I was surprised by his knowledge in marketing areas and answered all his questions promptly. He asked me to give him my phone to take my photograph. "Give me your phone; you should have proof you came to Gartang Gali." After insisting a couple of times, I gave him my phone. He turned it back and said, "S24! Nice!" Amazed by how he knew, I asked, "How did you know?" He did not say anything but took out his phone, removed the cover, and showed me. It was S24! He was using the same phone, but an FE edition. "Taxi pays you well, I see!", I said jokingly. "If you do anything with hard work and without cheating, it will pay you well," he smiled and then said, "Kedar Baba Ka Ashirwad hai!"
Mohit, the taxi driver, and I exchanged numbers and went our way, promising each other that we would meet for dinner tonight in Harshil. I went back to Harshil, driving through the same beautiful road, and the same debris under which there were more than 200 people dead. I did not fill my bottle this time. As I was about to reach Harshil, Ishaan called me and said, "Where are you running so slow? I just overtook you with my bike!" He had gone to Gangotri with his friends to eat maggi and have a cup of tea. He told me he is waiting in the parking area for me, and let him know when I am about to arrive there. I entered Harshil with a lot of memories in my mind and complex emotions I had felt in Dharali. Those sentences that the BSF personnel said remained with me for a couple of months, along with the face of the old man whom I gave a lift to. On my left, I saw CP and his wife, fully packed with multiple layers of clothes, sipping tea and eating Maggi in a shop. I went ahead to the parking space where Ishan was waiting.
"Maggi?" he asked me.
"How much Maggi will you eat? CP is sitting there," I told him.
"Really? Leave it then," he said and continued, "It's about to rain. Maybe snow. Let's go back to the place."
"Really? It will snow? But I want to buy wool", I said to him.
"CP was also saying he will buy wool, you can go with him," he said and started laughing, knowing very well that I won't go with him.
"Okay, let's go then quickly before it rains," he said to me, and we started walking towards the market. After walking about 50 metres, I remembered I had forgotten my bag in the car.
"Hey, I forgot my wallet. It's in my bag. I'll come quickly," I told Ishan.
I went running towards my car and took out the bag when my WhatsApp notification tone rang up. It was a message from Mohit.
"Aapse mil kar bahut acha laga bhayia. Main late ho jaunga. Kal sath me lunch karte hain. Dehradun me milte rahenge."
I smiled when Ishan shouted, "Are jaldi chlo barf padne wali hai!"
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