Day 1: Commencing the Thatharna trek and arriving at a cave utilized as a slate mine, instead of reaching the mountain summit.
After successfully conducting a workshop on the role of waste pickers in reducing plastic pollution and combating climate change, I felt motivated to embark on another adventure: climbing a different mountain, Thatharana Trek. However, instead of reaching the mountaintop, I stumbled upon a cave used for slate mining, located a few hundred meters below the mountaintop, and off the planned route.
I was told to follow the water pipeline, but I ended up tracing a path strewn with multi-layered plastic litter and lost my way. A shepherd informed me that the mountaintop was just a few hundred meters away. However, given the fact that I was ascending alone, he warned me about the potential risk of encountering bears, as there weren’t any people up there.
It was at this point that I decided to retrace my steps. The prospect of becoming a protein-rich meal for a bear, or “Bhaalu/Richh,” was not something I was particularly eager to entertain.
Day 2: Determined not to leave my unfinished business from Day 1 unresolved, I made the decision to ascend the mountain on the following day. Bashir Bhai, a resident of Kharota village, graciously offered to be my trek guide.
I quickly realized that attempting this hike solo on Day 1 was a rookie move. The Thatharna trek has no clear earmarked path, and to reach the mountain top, one needs a keen sense of direction. Unfortunately, I am not from here and lack that skill. That’s where Bashir Bhai came to the rescue.
At the start, we encountered a bit of multi-layered plastic artfully scattered around, but as we ascended through the forest, it was like entering an untouched wilderness. It was just the two of us for the whole trek, except for a couple of shepherds who were climbing up to retrieve their goats. Hearing the Kangri dialect of Punjabi from them was a real treat. We encountered woodpeckers, leeches and many loud bees and other insects, trees laden with moss and ferns. The trek was very slippery with a lot of rocks covered with moss.
Bashir and I shared a common tongue, both Punjabi speakers, and we used it to discuss big issues like climate change and its global impact and dwindling biodiversity. He lamented how the forests were becoming eerily quiet, with the numbers of birds and animals declining. Then he informed me about various mushrooms, herbs, bear diets, and even the secret lives of forest insects, along with the history of slate mining and Khaniyara Panchayat.
Slate mining in the area was started by the British. In undivided Punjab, the Lahore High Court mandated that slates are the property of the village Panchayat, and since then, the Panchayat received a steady stream of revenue from it, which was used to build roads and other needed infrastructure in the villages under the Panchayat. In recent times, the Panchayat has lost control of the revenue stream, and now it goes to the state government.
We weren’t just a couple of hikers; we were card-carrying critics of the ruling dispensation. Our bond strengthened as we exchanged tales of our support for the Punjabi farmers’ movement. Bashir beamed with pride at the recent camaraderie between the Sikhs and Muslims and shared anecdotes of fellow Punjabi trekkers who had braved the mountain with him. He even casually mentioned his son pursuing an MA in Music at Punjabi University Patiala!
The Thatharna trek might be a mere four and a half kilometres, but it was a steep climb with moderate intensity. Normally, hikers take three hours, but we managed to get there within two hours, and we descended in two hours as well. As we reached the top, monsoon clouds surrounded us, and the cows around us appeared to be in a deep state of zen as they grazed.
Scaling that mountain was an absolute joy, and having Bashir Bhai as my wingman made it all the more memorable. We chatted up a storm about bear culture, lifestyle, and everything in between, but thankfully, the only bears we encountered were in our stories.