I woke up on the D-Day to the noises made by a Bengali group of trekkers who were getting ready to hit the top. I woke the rest of us up and put on as many layers of clothing as possible, to prevent the imminent leash of harsh cold and wind chill. The three of us were concerned about being late already and feared that we would miss the daybreak and the first light on the peaks. Sujoy was the last one to appear from his tent and we were raring to go. Each one of us had borne enough hardships to let anything go wrong now. We embarked upon the trail with Nandini, for a change, without her contacts, walking safely between Prashant and myself. The climb was definitely tough and the three of us had similar thoughts – descending such a steep decline would be an even tougher ask. Only Nandini was voicing the concerns and we were irritated to hear OUR thoughts aloud. What kept us going was the fact that there was no way we could call it quits after days of efforts. Meanwhile, the climb did not seem to be leading anywhere yet. We were walking along a ridge and had to overcome two ascents even before Dzongri top could be visible.
An hour into the hike, Nandini was clearly sagging and had started complaining of exhaustion and headache. Over the past two days, altitude was taking its toll on Nandini. Her appetite had drastically reduced and so was her liquid intake, which is crucial for fighting against altitude sickness. My jovial self had by now stopped egging her up but was literally pushing her to the top, my walking stick acting as the cane that hits the cattle to force them keep moving. Given that she wasn’t as easy as a cow, this approach did not work for too long. That’s when Prashant unleashed the carrot of the ‘carrot and the stick’ methodology. As she sat on the side of the trail, Prashant tactfully drew out a potent finger of KitKat out of his daypack and offered it to Nandini. She was more than happy to accept it and the chocolate bar gave her mental satisfaction and physical energy to continue to the top. Sujoy allayed our fears of being late by suggesting that there was enough time before the day breaks. Soon we were at the top and we were well in time. The summit had been achieved. The mission was accomplished. We jumped in joy, rejoiced, clicked hyperactively, huddled and made videos of the view with our voices in the background, before the first light of the sun hit the range. Right infront of us were Black Peak, Kanchenjunga, Kabru North, South and Dome, Pandim and a host of unnamed peaks, all above 7000 mts, some above 8000 mts. On the left were ranges of mountains partly snow-capped, partly covered with mist and clouds and on our right was a deep valley with streaks of clouds, all below us. It was a weird view to behold. Weird enough to let Almighty’s name slip out of my lips.
Kanchenjunga fanned off the mist from infront of her to stare at us and soon all the peaks were glistening with the first rays of the sun. By now, we had stopped clicking as we had realized that some things could be captured only by the non-digital wide angles of the eye.
The wind was biting my toes below the two layers of socks and shoes. The cold was freezing the blood in my veins but we refused to leave until there was not much of the peaks left to be seen (they were slowly getting mist-clad again). Meanwhile OUR tea-boy reappeared like an angel from down below, holding the same kettle and glasses. We rejoiced and drank two glasses of the best hot drink I have ever had. Eventually, the mist started to reappear and Kanchenjunga was behind the cloud cover. It was now attacking the Kabru family and Pandim simultaneously. Heaving a sigh of total satisfaction, we started retreating back to Dzongri and soon discovered the beautiful trail we had taken to hike up; the trail and the surroundings that were not visible at 3 AM. At one instance, we found ourselves walking on a very narrow ridge, connecting two hills while one end of the ridge went down very steeply, with ofcourse, beautiful snow capped mountains in the background. At another descent, we saw a flat stretch of land covered with dwarfed rhododendrons. A recent snowfall had painted the plain with white, as if the trees had literally grown out of white snow.
We reached Dzongri and did our victorious breakfast. Nandini rushed into the tents to put her contacts on while Prashant sped with sheer determination towards a small piece of land covered on all four sides. I simply sat, totally convinced that I was now suffering from pneumonia, figuring how long could a person suffering from pneumonia survive without medical aid.
An hour into the hike, Nandini was clearly sagging and had started complaining of exhaustion and headache. Over the past two days, altitude was taking its toll on Nandini. Her appetite had drastically reduced and so was her liquid intake, which is crucial for fighting against altitude sickness. My jovial self had by now stopped egging her up but was literally pushing her to the top, my walking stick acting as the cane that hits the cattle to force them keep moving. Given that she wasn’t as easy as a cow, this approach did not work for too long. That’s when Prashant unleashed the carrot of the ‘carrot and the stick’ methodology. As she sat on the side of the trail, Prashant tactfully drew out a potent finger of KitKat out of his daypack and offered it to Nandini. She was more than happy to accept it and the chocolate bar gave her mental satisfaction and physical energy to continue to the top. Sujoy allayed our fears of being late by suggesting that there was enough time before the day breaks. Soon we were at the top and we were well in time. The summit had been achieved. The mission was accomplished. We jumped in joy, rejoiced, clicked hyperactively, huddled and made videos of the view with our voices in the background, before the first light of the sun hit the range. Right infront of us were Black Peak, Kanchenjunga, Kabru North, South and Dome, Pandim and a host of unnamed peaks, all above 7000 mts, some above 8000 mts. On the left were ranges of mountains partly snow-capped, partly covered with mist and clouds and on our right was a deep valley with streaks of clouds, all below us. It was a weird view to behold. Weird enough to let Almighty’s name slip out of my lips.
Kanchenjunga fanned off the mist from infront of her to stare at us and soon all the peaks were glistening with the first rays of the sun. By now, we had stopped clicking as we had realized that some things could be captured only by the non-digital wide angles of the eye.
The wind was biting my toes below the two layers of socks and shoes. The cold was freezing the blood in my veins but we refused to leave until there was not much of the peaks left to be seen (they were slowly getting mist-clad again). Meanwhile OUR tea-boy reappeared like an angel from down below, holding the same kettle and glasses. We rejoiced and drank two glasses of the best hot drink I have ever had. Eventually, the mist started to reappear and Kanchenjunga was behind the cloud cover. It was now attacking the Kabru family and Pandim simultaneously. Heaving a sigh of total satisfaction, we started retreating back to Dzongri and soon discovered the beautiful trail we had taken to hike up; the trail and the surroundings that were not visible at 3 AM. At one instance, we found ourselves walking on a very narrow ridge, connecting two hills while one end of the ridge went down very steeply, with ofcourse, beautiful snow capped mountains in the background. At another descent, we saw a flat stretch of land covered with dwarfed rhododendrons. A recent snowfall had painted the plain with white, as if the trees had literally grown out of white snow.
We reached Dzongri and did our victorious breakfast. Nandini rushed into the tents to put her contacts on while Prashant sped with sheer determination towards a small piece of land covered on all four sides. I simply sat, totally convinced that I was now suffering from pneumonia, figuring how long could a person suffering from pneumonia survive without medical aid.
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