The Myths And Legends Of Devbhoomi

In search of divinity, Ashis Ghatak walks around the snow-capped mountains, exploring the myths and legends of Devbhoomi.

- Ashis Ghatak

Hoping to find some truth in a myth, I left the last village and crossed the confluence of rivers Alaknanda and Saraswati. I trudged along making my way through the thistles and the wee little wildflowers, losing imperceptibly the sense of time. Satopanth is the path of truth, the path that the Pandavas followed to heaven. Walking away from the fading dots of human settlements into the realm of high mountains and silence, the gigantic massifs and the mystic glaciers, mammoth waterfalls and sequestered stony caves, I was intrinsically following the footsteps of the Mahabharata heroes. Gravels and gorges are the best spinners of yarns and I yearned to listen to the stories etched over them.

“May I take a photo, baba?” I met a spiritual minstrel who was all smiles and posed. “Le lo, le lo bete (take it, son),” he said. His eyes were partially hidden by the big turban that he was wearing. His makeshift bedding and a customary jhola were dangling from his shoulder.

“Where do you stay?” I asked. All through my car ride from Rishikesh to Badrinath I saw men walking alone with a steel container in one hand and a stick in the other. Perhaps, spiritual men have been walking these paths since time immemorial.

“The mountains are my home. I stay where I feel like. Someone gave me some fruits and a cup of tea. What more do I want?” He was a figure out of the dog-eared scriptures that talk about vanaprastha—a stage of man’s life gained through the renouncement of material pursuits.