Tailpiece

For the first few hours of a trek down from freezing Sandakphu we had initially missed and later ignored the presence of a dog on the trail. It is quite possible that we were too gripped by the sight that greeted us at dawn — from the highest point in West Bengal we saw four of the world’s five highest peaks catch the first rays of the sun: Mount Everest first,the beautifully sprawled Kanchendzonga next,Lhotse and Makalu soon after. It is one of those rare mountain moments that can hijack your mind for days and insulate you from the presence of four-legged companionship.

But the dog hung around like omnipresence. Most often it stayed behind us,doing only it knows what. Sometimes it headed the two of us,its zigzagged movement over the rocky downhill trail from the 12,000 feet Sandakphu interrupted by its sniffing of the grass,chasing butterflies or when it raised its hind leg at a tree trunk. Once or twice,it let out a long growl into the vast valleys of rhododendrons and evergreens. Its attendance raised questions — where did it come from,where will it go,etc.? But the dog remained above existentialist theories and gave us uncomplaining company.

Towards the end of the day-long trek and closer to Rimbik,where we knew there’d be a room and a bed,we bought it a packet of Tiger biscuits. Dog wolfed down the biscuits and looked at us with pleading eyes. We gave it a second packet and all three of us shared a third. Our dog loves Tiger biscuits was the only answer we had as we walked into Rimbik town. It refused to join the honky-tonk chaos of Rimbik and our guide melted back into the gathering mountain evening. Where will it go? Why did it come and from where?

Dogs have it easy in the mountains. They look happy,well-fed and available for gratis as guides or best friends. And they are free souls too,not encumbered by such acts like the fang fights and territorial pissings of our city strays. As an experience while crossing into Nepal from the Tanakpur border in Uttarakhand once indicated,dogs hold no respect for international territories either. One such followed us till the actual border from where we hired a cycle rickshaw into Nepal. On the Nepal side,we were stopped for the perfunctory glance across faces and photo identity proofs. It was late at night and as the bored border guard gave us and our rucksacks — hanging from the rickshaw in ungainly fashion now after a month of travel through Garhwal and Kumaon — the stiff cursory once-over,the dog drifted past us into Nepal. It moved merrily,like it was possessed by a reggae groove.

These mountain dogs do seem to have a lilt in them,a certain rhythm of the up-and-down terrain that neatly syncopates with the native human life in general. I remember two. This was when a loud EDM party was on in a tucked away fold of the mountains in Himachal Pradesh’s Parvati Valley: the heavy boom-booms from the party all but belonging to the surroundings; the millisecond raining down of beats and bass lines enough to melt the fresh snow that overlooked the scene. For the past four days that I was at the groggy Israeli-overrun village of Kasol,it rained unrelentingly through the night. I avoided the party and ended up visiting two artist friends staying in the unhurried village of Chhalal,a 45-minute walk through a forest trail and not far from the party venue. Returning alone at night,I lost my way.

Close to midnight and caught in the middle of the forest and with a drizzle on,I realised there were multiple trails. I looked for the Parvati river knowing it’ll take me closer to my room in Kasol,but got lost further unable also to find the return route to Chhalal. I stood at the crosstrails thinking up survival strategies — find a large rock,clear it off the undergrowth,improvise with the plastic packet in the knapsack,get hold of a strong stick,conserve the battery of the portable reading light (my torch had conked). Then at a distance I saw lights. I was overjoyed. Electric lights = human presence = a night shelter!

I walked towards the lights,but they weren’t stationary. Getting closer,my feeble reading light lit up the dark scene. I realised the lights were actually the glowing eyes of two large dogs — their tapetum lucidum alighting my wildest fears. In that chilly mountain air,I broke into what is known as cold sweat. Don’t move,don’t react. Watch. Watch. Wait. Think. Ah,are these then the two dogs that I saw shadowing me down the wet steps of Chhalal village? It is then that I realised that they have been waiting for me at the actual trail head,possibly chuckling at my foolery. They gave me company till the rickety wooden bridge over the raging rain-fed river. They didn’t smoke and I didn’t have biscuits. As I walk across the bridge,they walked back unrewarded,refusing to join the party scene pell-mell of Kasol.

Not all of them welcome strangers in the night though. Certainly not those at Chopta — the stunningly beautiful Uttarakhand village of meadows,tall trees,long walks and blessed by the looming presence of the stately Chaukhamba peak. Haughty hot dogs they were. They slept or lulled around during the day,but with the hint of twilight their cold bloodshot eyes opened up and their heavy black coats bristled with alien presence. Their human masters made them wear metal rings around their necks,for predatory leopards and wolves go for the neck. They growl long and deep into the night while guarding livestock from bigger carnivores — an extraordinary nocturnal soundtrack in a land of divinity.

Yes,there are spiritualists among our canine friends as well. In Uttarakhand,a land where mountains and mythology merge seamlessly,it invariably begins with the dog that followed Yudisthir and his Pandava brothers to the doors of heaven,none letting the other go. The old octogenarian priest of the granite-carved Tungnath temple at 12,000 feet repeats the legend. He does the daily 3.5 km trek up to the temple,the highest among the famous Panch Kedar temples,while his horse forlornly follows him. The priest does not want to burden the beast for as long his own legs are able.

We are led up the steep incline by the priest’s dog. Both master and pet wear thick sandalwood tilaks on their foreheads.

I proceed further up to the top of Chandrashila peak at 13,500 feet. It is eerily beautiful — a vista that takes in splendid views of the Chaukhamba,Nanda Devi,Kedarnath,Neelkanth and other peaks. At the very top and between icicles hanging under rocks,small stones,weather-crusted photo frames of young girls,armlets,necklaces and coins have been left behind by travelers in memory of their deceased.

While returning,I feel thirsty. I have run out of water and suck on icicles like popsicles to quench thirst. I’m hungry too but can’t chew on biscuits for dozens of vultures fly in circles overhead. On reaching the Tungnath temple campus again,I see the priest’s dog gorge on what looks like khichdi. It looks up once and goes back to eating.

I chew on a thought: If every dog has its day is a phrase appropriated to the city-bred wretched life and can be interpreted positively through our annual summer jaunts to cooler altitudes,in the mountains,every dog,literally,has it every day.

Shamik Bag is a freelance writer based in Kolkata.