The Laugh Of The Valley - my Himalayan Journeys within.

19th August'08, 6.00 am.it was light.The sun greets the mountains first.The air was crisp,breath freezing to form white fog.The street was full of sounds–the horse owners hawking their prices.The stench of wet dung rose from the side.
The 4 km trek led straight in the heart of the mountains through a forest of pines,maples and furs.Split log bridges spanned tinkling ravines.Sunlight washed the landscape,it was the best day in two months.Balsam and everlastings started to appear,I asked if the valley had started,the guide said no–but if I ran around that bend,I will see it.
So I ran, breath coming out in puffs,backpack jostling,as I rounded the boulder cutting off the view beyond–I stopped,my mouth formed an “o”,my heart expanded. In front of me lay a gigantic field of swaying pink,framed by mountains that made me feel I was at sea level,not high in the mountains,their peaks invisible.Silvery clouds swirling just above the tops of the trees,beyond lay the forget me not sky.I stood there until everyone else came,then we all stood some more.
The valley of flowers is 8 km by 2 km,cradled by 7 mountains,part of the “Nandadevi Biosphere Reserve”,streams run down from the mountains feeding the river Pushpavati which then meets the Bhyundar Ganga, Bhyundar Valley is the local name.It is called the playground of the fairies.Stories of yetis/unexplained creatures are many.
The water there was sweet.We pestered the guide for the name of every plant we saw,learning what was edible,balsams with their pods popping open,scattering seeds tasting like toasted peanuts,Whorlflowers,Potentillas,Cinquefoils,Edelweiss,Monkshood/Aconitums of deep purple that induce trans- extended exposure the scent brings sleep,Bell flowers, Blue berries that stained our fingers.Near a stream-bed,I found Forget me nots,growing in a hollow in a rock face was a single Himalayan poppy.Blue and fragile,iconic plant of the region.
In the warm sun,we sat near a glacier,the air scented,pushpawati flowing below.Watching water drip off icicles,snow falling in the freezing waters.The deep boom of the rushing waters enhanced by the soft rustle of the wind on the leaves,sometimes a Himalayan monal would give a call.content and happy,at peace with the world,we sat there for long.
On return,we found out that it was the only sunny day that season–we had been at the right place at the right time,Good that roads swept by landslides didn't deter us.

I left a chunk of my heart, frozen solid in the permafrost.