From fear to fearlessness

Himalayan tsunami

After months of mental preparation, the moment had finally arrived. I was back in Bangalore from the US and was preparing to leave for the Himalayas to get two weeks of solitude in the mountains.

The final lap of the journey started off on a train to Haridwar. From there, I travelled by road. Following the course of the river, we crossed several old and rusty bridges. Making the final river-crossing on foot, I arrived at the ashram well after nightfall and was assigned a kutir (small cottage).

There was a light drizzle all day, but the weather started to clear in the afternoon. It remained overcast and more rain looked likely. I decided to take a small hike up the mountainside. Watching the lives of the people on the mountain inspired self-reflection of the kind that was not possible in a city. The clouds were getting darker and it started to drizzle. I decided to make my way down the mountain.

The torrential rainfall continued the following day, and my eyes followed the stream down to the river below. The bridge that I had crossed was no longer there. Parts of the brick structure on the other bank of the river were visible, with nothing on my side of the river. The entire path leading to the ashram was washed away in a landslide.

The only lifeline back to my worldly existence was gone. As I surveyed the short stretch of river in front of me, a large boulder that I had seen earlier in the day seemed to have vanished, and I realised that the water level had risen very rapidly. It was almost at the edge of the cottage I was staying at, and I decided to climb to higher ground. The forecast indicated more rain.

As I climbed higher, the climb became more difficult and dangerous. When I reached a clearing, I sat down to rest. From my vantage point, the river appeared to have shifted laterally by a good 50 to 100 feet. The river had moved left and then made a sharp shift away from the ashram where I was staying. Scanning the mountainside on the other side of the river, I spotted a huge landslide that had poured thousands of tons of rock into the river below. As the river shifted to the left, it tore through a large rice field, taking several houses with it. Fortunately, all the villagers had sought dry ground higher up the night before and nobody was hurt. I made my way back, exhausted.

The next day, there was some respite from the rain, and sunlight warmed the thin mountain air. I made enquiries and was told that evacuations would be delayed as there was large-scale natural calamity at three other mountain-top locations not too far away from my place of lodging. These were on the Hindu pilgrimage circuit, Char Dham, and hence there were potentially thousands of lives at risk. The rains were early by a couple of weeks and everyone was caught unawares by the cloudburst and the sudden heavy flooding. All hopes of escape seemed to be in vain, as the only way out was to somehow get across the river. The bridge was washed away and landslides had washed away trail that ran along the river a few miles downstream to a dam that was fortunately still intact. I was told it was open to pedestrian traffic if I could reach it.

A couple of hours after sunset, it started to rain and continued well into the next morning. A few intrepid locals set out with their shovels to see if the route to the helipad down-river was passable. I tagged along. The trail started off with a steady climb, cresting half way up the mountain before descending towards the river below. Ropes and other safety contraptions were useless. The hillside was prone to landslides and it was not possible to find a rock or a tree that provided a stable anchor. A small slip could be fatal, as there was nothing to prevent a fall of hundreds of feet.

I spotted some sand bags and a few logs. The sandbags were holding up loose soil and the logs bridged a gap six feet across. Taking a deep breath, I gingerly took a few steps and made the crossing. My right leg slipped as I made my way down. I was using a tree branch as a hiking pole and I instinctively wedged this between two rocks, hoping it would hold. I slowly pulled my leg up, putting half my weight on the tree branch, and the other half on my leg still on the trail. After this, I tested the ground with every step before I put my weight on my leg, making it across the dam, and to the helipad, without any further incidents.

Hundreds of weary people were scattered all around a soccer field which served as the makeshift helipad. I patiently awaited my turn on the ride to safety. As I climbed onto a helicopter bound for Dehradun, I learnt the scale of this natural calamity, which had claimed hundreds, possibly thousands, of lives. I was lucky indeed.

This was a life-changing experience. When the elements show their enormous power, we feel powerless. Although we live in a world where death is a daily occurrence, we keep thoughts of death at a comfortable distance. When it comes close, the fear emanating from the attachment to the body is cause for suffering. My heart also goes out to the kith and kin of countless others who endured far greater hardship than what I underwent, and could never make it to safety.