Journey to the Source

(circa 2009)

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Fifteen years later, the memory of my childhood journey to Gaumukh remains vivid—the chill in the air, the roar of the Bhagirathi, and the overwhelming embrace of the Himalayas.

At ten, I embarked on a Chardham pilgrimage with my family, reaching Gangotri, the temple town marking the Ganga’s sacred origin. After a night in a cold pilgrim inn, we set off on an 18-kilometer trek through the rugged beauty of Gangotri National Park. Carried in baskets by pithhus, we children watched as the trail shifted from lush greenery to stark, rocky terrain.

At Chirbasa, we rested, refilled our bottles, and met fellow trekkers. Beyond that, the path became treacherous—narrow, dusty, and lined with sliding sand. I found myself alone with my pithhu, passing grazing mountain goats, a wandering sadhu, and Israeli trekkers, all adding to the spiritual aura of the journey.

Reaching Bhojwasa, we reunited for a simple meal of rotis and dal before setting off for the final four kilometers. The last stretch was surreal—no defined path, only massive boulders and the distant roar of the river. The snow-capped Bhagirathi and Shivling peaks stood like silent guardians.

And then, we arrived. Gaumukh—the source of the Ganga—emerged from a vast glacier, a scene of raw, untamed beauty. Standing at the river’s mouth, I felt small yet deeply connected to something greater.

Even now, when life feels overwhelming, I close my eyes and return to that moment—the relentless flow of the Bhagirathi, the crisp mountain air, and the quiet strength of the Himalayas. It was, and always will be, a journey to the source. This journey also became the source of inspiration for Enii. Ganga it was, Enii it became for me.