“PANWALI KANTHA” — Sometimes it’s the name that draws our first attention without any reason. So when I got acquainted with the place in an article, the appeal was irresistible to me to visit it ,which is situated on the old pilgrimage route in the Central Garwal. Shortly we two, myself and Pradeep Biswas, set out for Tehri via Haridwar. Tehri was the ancient capital of Garhwal on the bank of Bhagirathi, but now it has lost his glamour and importance.

We left it behind and took the road to Ghuttu along the upstream of Bhilangana, a tributary of Bhagirathi. By late afternoon our only bus stopped at the road- ahead of the village Ghuttu which spread on the either side of the beautiful little river Bhilangana. It was a quiet hamlet in the lap of the Himalaya on the bank of a rivulet which was cascading down with the crystal blue water from khatling glacier and ghusing down to pour its water into the Bhagirathi.

We checked in the forest-rest-house. Putting our belongings in the room we set out again for a stroll around the village with an eye to searching two porters for our next few days trek. We walked down to the riverbed and sitting on a flat stoneslab unleashed ourselves into the tranquility of the place against the setting sun. The rivulet flowed us to the past when the pilgrims and saints used to travel and halt on their pilgrimage along this route from Bhagirathi Valley to Mandakini Valley. Presently this roadhead village Ghuttu offers a number of treks including Shahasratal, Khatling Glacier and Kedarnath via masartal etc. You can get your provisions and porters and guides for your requirement here.

We engaged two local men as our porters and when we came to know from them that approaching for Khatling Glacier wouldn’t be judicious in this early summer on account of heavy accumulation of snow in the uphill ahead, we changed our mind instantly for ‘Panwali Kanta’ which was our primary objective. So we told them likewise and returned our nest. In the early morning the two porters peeped in and awakened us with two glasses of tea. I counted it as an indication of their sincerity which proved very helpful later. We got up and prepared as they were busy on repacking their loads. We left our Nightshelter at about 6.30 in the morning and crossing the Bhilgana on foot bridge came on the left bank and immediately began to climb throuh the zigzag village foot-track. The village, the river, the foot-track to Gangi all remained picturesquely in shilhoutte as sunshine was yet to appear in the valley below crossing the high ridge of the mountain. As we gained altitude we were getting warmer under the morning sunlight, though cool bridge often soothed us as frequently as we paused for a breath. Kanta is the colloquial term of a ridge. But Panwali Kanta is not only a ridge. it is a watershed between the two valleys of the Bhagirathi and the Mandakini rivers as well as it is also lucrative to the local ‘gurjars’ or the shepherds for its vast pasture of grassland around. During summer they used to settle here with their heards and continue to stay until winter falls. The Height is about 12000 feet above sea level and this place naturally offers a magnificent view of the peaks of the central Himalaya of the Gangotri region.

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After a continuous march of three hours and half on the bare slope of the mountain, Tirpan Singh, the guidde-cum-porter of our team declared a tea break. This was well deserving. He lit a small fire and prepared the liquor within a few minutes. It rejuvenated our energy and we resumed our journey. Tirpan proposed me to reach Panwali the same day which meant
to cover up a distance of two days march. It is about 16 kilometres and the gain of altitude is 6000 feet.

Nevertheless it’s labourious but the track was well defined and good. We now noticed big trees in abundance and we halted in the shed for our lunch as the sun crossed the midday.
In the afternoon we found a thached shop in the middle of the forest to my utter surprise and entered for a cup of tea. Tirpan informed me that a local villager ran this seasonal multipurpose shop for those Gurjars of the up hill pasturage. Here we came across a Bengali sadhu to whom we offered a cup of tea. We came to know that his partner left him behind and he decided to spend the night here. We hurriedly finished our cups and rushed for the last leg of our’s days March. While going through the forest Tirpan showed us some hideouts which the local poachers used to kill ‘bharals’ and deers by shotgun.

During late afternoon we came above the tree-line and soon we crossed the final ridge where from we caught the glimpse of the Majestic Himalayan range in the horizon and in front of us laid out a vast grasay pasture — that’s ‘Panwali Kanta’ , our destination. We unleashed our rucksack from our back and laid down flat on the carpet of the nature utterly fatigued. When, after – ‘a-while, we could manage to drag us into the two storied mudhouse of the Panwali dharamshala we were greeted by Tirpan with mug full of steaming tea and plate full of snacks. He took our rucksacks in the upper room while we sat at the doorstep with our tea. When the goal was achieved, only tranquility prevailed, which we could feel all around. As the sun set, the peaks of Gangotri region in front visible from this part including Rudragayara and Khatling which I could recognise, began to change its colour to bid adieu to the setting sun. The vastness of the land, where we stood upon, the greatness of the mountain encircled us and the calmness of the surroundings entered into our soul awakening a reverential feeling in the mind. We stood perplexed till darkness engulfed the surrounding and star studded canopy was hovered in the sky. A piercing cold wind drove us back to our nest.

We came across, to my utter dismay, the counterpart of that Bengali Sadhu who was left behind enroute. I didn’t like to interact with him but Pradip collected a lot of information about them. As he told me, both of them fled from their home in the mofussil of Bengal in want and were roaming about in disguise of saints from the Gangasagar. What disgusted me most was their deceitful appearance by dint of which they lived a better life than what they did before. Moreover they didn’t think for their families and children whom they left behind selfishly.

Morning wore a bright Sunny face and as we came out our hearts filled with ecstasy. The weather was pleasant and the sign of life of a few Gurjar families around there and their herds awakened in the prevailing tranquility. There was no hurry-skurry. Life here rolls on along with the sun. After a light breakfast we picked up our rucksacks and bade goodbye to those local people who gave us shelter yesternight and stepped out on the track that led to ‘Triyuginarayan’ via ‘Khunta Khal’ the local name of a moderate pass lying a few kilometres ahead.

But soon we came to a halt as we found our porters were waiting there for us. Everything around was shining but the face of Tirpan Singh, our guide, whose wrinkled forehead bore some serious indication. “What happened?” when asked, he simply showed me the foot track in front which had been buried under the deep snow and it’s next to impossible to locate it and follow the same. The only alternative, as he suggested, if we wanted to proceed further, was to climb the cliff and to walk along its razor’s edge untill ‘Khunta Khal’ appeared on our way. Obviously his suggestion put our courage and conviction to an acid-test, because it would be a risky attempt to trek on the sharp edge of a ridge without any support of ‘lifeline’, the rope, which could resist any unwanted fall or acccident. Nevertheless, we decided to proceed.

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So we left the usual track and began to scale the slope of the ridge using all of our four limbs. Tirpan was leading followed by myself and next to me Pradeep and after him the porter all with their own load. As I came upon the top of the ridge, I paused for a while, feeling the intensity of the wind and noticed the sharp fall of about one thousand feet on the other side where no snow could even accumulate. I poised my balance and concentration, then followed the foot steps left behind by Tirpan who already crossed the riskprone zone and waited for my arrival. I traversed the razor’s edge safely and anchored beside him. Now only I could get time to look behind and anxiously noticed that my both behinders tried to cross that formidable ridge but they sank down on their knees. I immediately sent Tirpan, who was also watching them and finally he managed to fetch them safe one by one with great craftsmanship and courage.

The Ridge became flattened and we felt comfortable and safe and resumed our walk ahead in a row as usual through kneedeep snow. But ‘Khunta Khal’ or the pass was still a long-way. While plodding through the soft snow I hoped that after crossing the pass this hazardous journey might come to an end. Tirpan brought to our notice the pagmark of a Himalayan Bear on the soft snow which thrilled all of us. We paused en-route to “Khunta Khal” where Tirpan showed us the remains of a group of poor pilgrims who were burried under and an avalanche last year. But all these could not stir our mind to a great extent because we were too embarrassed with the condition of the snow which now and then reached our west level.

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Ultimately we came upon the pass and with utter dismay noticed the terrible condition of the age-old foot track completely burried under snow and beyond negotiable condition.

So as Tirpan begin to descend the slope through the thick bush and hedge leaving the foot-track aside, we came to his heel with leaden feet.He already noticed a shaphered’s hut at the bottom of the slope amidst a small green pasture of land and selected it as our night’s shelter and when we all reached there he broke off the dayIn no time we rearranged the lonely hut and composed ourselves with our mattrasses and sleeping bags laid out while the porters brought a huge log and lit a fire. With steaming mugs of tea and snacks we soon recovered our energy which was drained out to the buttom in last eight hours of prolonged march through soft snow at about twelve thousand feet above sea level. There was no human being in the vicinity though ‘Mogguchatti‘ was only a few kilometres further. The starry night-sky was visible through the perforated thatched roof of the hut and we rolled down in the womb of our sleeping bags after early dinner.

The following morning, as we left for ‘Soneprayag‘, the road head on the Kedarnath route, a heavy downpour accompanied us till Triyuginarayan where we halted for a while. Though drenched to the buttom we visited the temple where the holy marriage of Lord Shiva and Parvati took place under the priesthood of Lord Vishnu according to mythology. Once important pilgrimage has now lost its importance to the modern travellers of Kedarnath who normally have very little time in their tight-scheduled package-tour to visit this beautiful place and the temple. It seemed to me that the temple along with a few habitats around remained in the hoary past with the ever-burning holy-fire as an evidence of the great marriage. We also added some wood to the fire and prayed to the holy couple and headed for a hotel in the usual life of din and bustle of our world.

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