Dusk On The Bugyal

Ratanji was happy with a hundred rupees, -

His value for half a day.

And so we hiked – two solitary figures

To where the yellowed bugyal lay

Steep the climb, my wheezing lungs reminded me

Of a city life with no more pride,

As I pretended to stop for the rhododendrons,

Or there, the melting snow aside

Ratanji sprang like a hillside antelope,

But waited for me between his run,

All the time his eyes out there,

Scanned the north-west horizon.

I looked as well - Panchchuli with the other peaks

Covered with a sheet of snow,

‘What do you seek?’ I stopped and asked,

As dusk approached, with an alpenglow.

‘Milam babu, that glacier there,’

He pointed where I didn’t care,

‘My home, until the war with Chin,’

Was that a drop in the hillman’s stare?

‘You lived in that wilderness?’ I asked

Regret came but it was too late,

‘The largest village in old Almora,

But the war had come to change our fate.’

‘Did you lose a lot?’ I asked again

‘Home, village, and a childhood dream.’

Ratanji trundled – as I saw through the veil –

An old and wearied man in him.

But he turned around and gave me a smile,

(Though I could feel that melancholy in the dusk,)

‘What is a home, babu, what is a house?

‘With these mountains here, what more can you ask?’ 

Bugyals are alpine pasture lands, or meadows, in higher elevation range between 3,300 metres (10,800 ft) and 4,000 metres (13,000 ft) of the Himalayas. Extending for acres atop the mountains, these are sought after pasture lands in spring and summer.

The trek to the Khaliya top from the village of Munsiyari is an astounding hike. On a clear day, the grandness of the Panchchulhi peaks stare back in the backdrop of bleeding blue skies amidst other snow-clad peaks. Streams from molten snow, hilly pheasants and rhododendrons of myriad hues are other bounties along the hike. As I walked to the Khaliya top on a late November evening, I was mesmerised to see acres of the bugyal dried up in Autumn yellow, as herds of mountain goats and antelopes gambolled on its gentle slopes. If you are lucky, you might even have a village guide – like Ratanji – who will regale you with magical stories of the mountains, and in the process, humble you as you realise your insignificance, both in knowledge and in existence in front of the mighty Himalaya