Getting up (7.00 pm)
The day dawned bright and clear. As usual, the muted roar of the river crept into our ears. A peek out of the window showed a couple of our young neighbours up and about. Discreet enquiry revealed that they have dropped the idea of doing the Jibhi circuit again. Some of the team members, probably the girls, had declared yesterday's trip as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, meaning exactly that. So they switched their plans to Sarchi, a high-point famous for sunrise and sunset views, and that too in a car, not dependent on bus connections, thank you very much.
I must write about today's breakfast. Puri chhole is something I had asked for when we first landed up, and they got around to making it today. The puris were were like baturas, soft inside and reddish in colour, something we had never tasted before. There were ten of us sitting at the tables, and Amirbhai belted them out like a pro.
The walk to Bathad village (10.30 am)
Today we had planned to walk to the right of our homestay, to the village of Bathad, from where Kamlibhai buys his supplies. It is, at any rate, a bigger place than the Tung village we visited earlier. The waterfall we wanted to visit was a little beyond the village market. Kamlibhai said that the village was just 1 km away and the waterfall is right there, so we considered it well within our capabilities to cover on foot.
One thing is for sure, pahadis have no idea of distance. We started our stroll well enough, the sun warm on our backs, the road going up a gentle slope. The hills looked even lovelier than my evening walk yesterday, and the river leapt alongside like a happy puppy. We were not in a hurry, so we stopped whenever we wanted to, attracted by any picturesque spot.
After 20 minutes of upslope walk, we saw a milestone that said "Bathad 2 kms". Well, I mean to say, what? The sun suddenly felt hotter, the slope felt like that of the ramp to the pyramids, and we were soon forcing our thighs and lungs to continue pumping without slowing down. Our stops became a little more frequent, and when we had just perked up seeing some shoplike buildings appear around a bend, up popped another milestone "Bathad 1 km".
I made an amazing discovery. As long I was feeling that I had lost my fitness and the signs of age were depressingly evident (what, can't even walk 3 kms without huffing and puffing?), the going was tough. But as soon as I accepted that my body WAS older and it needed a different pace to enable sustained effort, my ego stopped fighting, my body eased out, my lungs found a new rhythm, and my thighs said "Okay, as long as you don't expect an Usain from me."
We were resting below a closed shopfront when an old man came past, chivvying a young black cow. We asked him about the waterfall, and he gave some detailed directions which told us that the market was just in front, a bridge was just after the market and the waterfall just after the bridge. A dyed-in-the-wool pahadi, for sure. But Raghubirji was an interesting person. He was from Punjab, had moved here a few years ago and bought a tract of hillside (15 bighas), where he grew apples, plums, japani etc, and owned three cows. He showed us his wooden house of two stories, with eight rooms, and invited us up for tea. We smilingly declined. Big-hearted people, the pahadis.
We huffed and puffed into town, having covered around 3 kms, feeling like parched cowboys arriving at a border town after three days of riding through arid desert (or rather, feeling like their horses; what the hell did the riders do except sit?). We plonked ourselves at an unattended shop at the bus stop, determined to collect some cold drinks and chocolate, which we finally did, and carried on with the encouragement that "waterfall is just ahead, maybe 30 minutes for you, 5-6 minutes for me". I ask you, what arrogance! But he was probably right.
We soon crossed a small bridge across the Palachan and hit the marketplace. It seemed to be THE swinging place in this part of the world, with restaurants and cafes and mithai shops, and a few more homestays.
The Chaldu waterfall (12.00 noon)
A path led us past a pretty school, past the start of a trekking route into the Great Himalayan National Park, and soon we were clambering along a forest path that went up and down, the river falling away again beside us, till we came to a lovely waterfall that passed below a bridge and tumbled down to a green pool far below. We stood on the bridge, queuing up while four young souls did their instagramming shoots there, and then we did our bit of selfies.
But the piece de resistance was yet to come. There were steps going down to the foot of the waterfall and the green pool. Should we, we asked each other and our thigh muscles. You have to get back up, said the muscles, don't ask me then. Down we went, ignoring their pleas. When the spirit is willing, the flesh has to fall in line, double quick.
It was indeed a wonderful sight down there. The four instagrammers had clambered over the rocks and were in the pool, posing in front of the cascade. There was a swish of breeze beside me, and I was alone. Panna had already whisked down there, teetering over rocks, splashing into ankle deep water, thoroughly soaking her sneakers. Soon she had convinced the instagrammers to boost her on the way, and inform me as next of kin in case she was washed away. They, bless them, enthusiastically agreed. But jokes apart, just see the pics.
We spent a little time there, this hollow where so much beauty had collected, munching on our chocolates. It was 1.00 pm already and the 3.5 km trek/walk back to our homestay was a sobering thought, especially in squelchy sneakers. But lo! As we walked back to the bus stop of Bathad, there was an HP state bus standing there, ready to leave in another 15 mins. Our return was thus a piece of cake, one that left a sweet taste in the mouth.
New guests in the evening (6.00 pm)
Panna of course did not cancel her daily dip in our attached river, post lunch. We woke up from our snooze, pulled out cane chairs onto our verandah, settled down with some tea, and found four more guests (two young couples) arriving with bag and baggage. Eh, what? I thought were full up. In the midst of his running around, Kamlibhai explained that these guys did not have a booking anywhere for tonight and he was arranging for then to stay on his property, on the intermediate level, in a tent. His tent was quite a big one, it seemed to me, once I had seen it put up, and with an extra outside washroom available at our level, the arrangements were a bit of all right. They will wake up to a fantastic location.
This was a long weekend, and half of Delhi had descended on these parts (these four people were also from Delhi, our chit-chatting revealed). I think bookings are also tight. Some of them may have arrived with booking for only two nights, hoping to work out something for the third night on the go. These guys were lucky they got a tent. They were even willing to sleep on the verandah, which would have been a chilly experience.
Our eight Jats were back at 7.00 pm, a bit quiet about their day. Mostly they vanished like rabbits into their rooms. Meanwhile another 8-9 schoolkids, mostly girls, were wandering around without bookings, whom Kamllibhai was arranging to feed dinner and then place in an uncle's property nearby which was unoccupied. Our premises were slowly taking on the looks of a Himalayan Howrah Station.
As we were wrapping up dinner, Vikram, one of our Jat friends, dragged up a chair, interested in some pow-wow with us. It seems some of his group members had a tiff and they were sulking in their rooms. They were all medical students from PGI Rohtak, and just completed their first year. This was his first tour with friends and he was loving it. Having been brought up in a conservative joint family in a Jat village, travel till now had only been to others relative's places. This freedom was something else altogether. His innocent joy was very endearing.
As we retired, we could see the two brothers toiling away in the kitchen, preparing rotis for at least 20 people tonight (plus us). It may be good business for them, but they really feel for the tourists who come to these remote places, totally dependent on them for their comfort and security, and they do their best to take care of them and send them back happy and safe. God bless them, those who take care of the hospitality industry in the Himachals!
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