In the verdant embrace of the Goddess: A journey via Nanda Devi, Alaknanda

Lata lies on a newly built highway from Joshimath to the border pass of Niti on the India-Tibet border. The journey from Dehradun took us via Rishikesh into the Alaknanda valley on the Char Dham highway. The highway was clogged with traffic heading towards Badrinath and Kedarnath and Hemkund Sahib. 

One passes the five “prayags”, or confluences, the first being at Devprayag between the Alaknanda and the Bhagirathi, followed by Rudraprayag, between the Alaknanda and the Mandakini, Karnaprayag between the Alaknanda and the Pindarganga, Nandaprayag between the Alaknanda and the Nandakini and, finally, Vishnuprayag between the Alaknanda and Dhauliganga. Lata village lies on the banks of Dhauliganga. It is from Devprayag downstream that the Alkananda becomes known as the Ganga. 

The Char Dham highway runs along the Alaknanda Valley. Its construction has scarred the mountains, which flank the river, and we came across several landslides and avalanches that are hastily repaired to allow the lucrative pilgrim traffic to flow uninterrupted. 

Near each of the confluence points, which are sacred to the Hindus, taxis and private cars line up along the road for pilgrims to offer prayers at hurriedly constructed shrines and temples, take selfies and indulge in the new pursuit of “reel-making”. 

What I remembered as quaint little mountain villages on my earlier treks have now grown into jumbled collections of restaurants, guesthouses and homestays catering to the growing phenomenon of religious tourism. There is no regard for the fragile environment of these high-altitude locations, and heaps of rubbish and waste form small toxic hills or get dumped into the river. 

A pollution time-bomb is ticking away in the folds of these mountains. The contrast with the well-protected Nanda Devi sanctuary is stark, but one wonders how long before it, too, succumbs to the lure of easy money. The demands of religious faith, the inevitability of development and the imperatives of defence of our borders seem to brook no counter argument.

As if the spoliation one has witnessed is not alarming enough, the Alaknanda Valley is now being threaded by 28 tunnels — 16 mainline tunnels and 12 escape tunnels — through the mountains for the Rishikesh-Karnaprayag railway line, the construction of which is in full swing. It was depressing to see huge tunnelling machines boring through the mountains, with heavy machinery strewn all over the riverbanks. Having witnessed what the current level of traffic and tourism is doing to the vulnerable and shifting landscape, one shudders to think what calamities the railway will bring once it is operational.  

Climate change is fragmenting glaciers and melting permafrost, leading to avalanches, storm surges and flash floods across the Himalayan zone. One saw the heavy scarring of the Rishiganga river from Lata Kharak, remnants of the collapse of its glacier in 2021, which swept away villages downstream. The 13.2 megawatt (Mw) Rishi Ganga hydro project was completely destroyed, and the 520 Mw Tapovan-Vishnugad project under construction was severely damaged, with a number of tunnels collapsing, trapping workers inside. One should not forget that the Himalayas are also an active seismic zone, compounding the risks. 

But these ominous thoughts receded as we prepared for a trek into a fabled landscape, still remote enough to attract relatively few trekkers. 

The sanctuary is a glacial valley, rich in forests of oak, rhododendron, cedar and pine. Rare plants and medicinal herbs abound on hillsides. Since the area was closed to all activity for nearly four decades, there has been significant recovery in its wildlife population, including regular sightings of snow leopards, bears, musk deer and the ubiquitous blue sheep. The forests are alive with the sounds of exotic birds. You hear them more often than you see them. It’s not often that one encounters nature in its most raw and pristine manifestation.  

We had to delay our trek by a day due to heavy rains and warnings of possible flash floods in the Chamoli region. Fortunately, the next few days were clear and sunny, and the snow peaks were sharply etched against a brilliant blue sky. We were supported by a team of 14, including our guide, several porters (since ponies are not permitted inside the sanctuary), a cook and a helper. We had to crawl in and out of bubble tents and sleep in sleeping bags, which never quite kept the plummeting night temperatures at bay. 

Our first day’s trek took us on a relatively moderate ascent of about 400 metres over 6 km through lush vegetation. The campsite at Belta was situated at 2,800 metres, next to a mountain stream. One could see that it had not been used for some time since it was overgrown with thick vegetation, which had to be cleared with a machete before our tents could be set up. A brief spell of rain had us worried about the more difficult trek the next day, but the sun returned in all its shining glory in the morning.

This time, it was a longer and more difficult trek of about 8 km, with a steep ascent to 3,800 metres. But the track went through dense forests of oak, cedar, pine, and occasional walnut trees. There were breathtaking views of the high mountain peaks, now clothed in fresh, dazzling white snow. 

The camp site at Lata Kharak had a few dilapidated wooden huts, which were taken over by the porters and the kitchen staff. Our tents were set up on an adjacent level ground. In the afternoon light, we were treated to a feast of magnificent mountain views, which form a ring around Lata Kharak. There was the distinctive Trishuli, flanked by the Betartholi and the Nanda Ghunti. Just below the Trishuli was the badly scarred gorge of the Rishiganga.

The next morning, while it was still dark, we headed to Sheni Kharak, a higher ridge about 2 km away, from which we witnessed an ethereal sunrise over the mountains, as they turned from grey to pink to gold, and caught a glimpse of the snow-capped Nanda Devi peak. To see the distinctive curved shape of the entire mountain, one would have had to climb another higher ridge, but we decided to call it a day.  

We chose to trek down to Lata in one go the next day —15 km. Even though it was downhill, it proved to be difficult and tiring. We arrived late in the afternoon, near exhaustion, at our small but comfortable guest house at Lata. A hot shower and a sumptuous hot meal revived us enough for us to undertake a day trip the next day to Niti village, about 70 km away. En route we had a glorious view of the snow-capped Dunagiri mountain. 

Niti village had just a few of the old, traditional houses with slate roofs and facades covered with colourful images. Otherwise, modern concrete is now taking over erstwhile village homes built with wood and pressed mud or stone.

One has returned from the trek with mixed feelings. The Nanda Devi sanctuary represents what could be, while the Alaknanda Valley is a warning about what shouldn’t be.