Exactly a year after my last hike in the Sahayadris, I found myself at Thakurwadi – the foothills of Prabalmachi (machi translates to plateau in Marathi). I was there to take another shot at this route, on my birthday eve. Last year, much to my disappointment, I had struggled significantly on this hike. But this year even without having trained, I had come with a firm resolve to do better. I had equipped myself with appropriate footwear and clothing in the hope of making up for my lack of training.
I began at 4 PM and walked with trepidation while maintaining a steady pace. I just didn’t want to crash out like last time in the first few hundred meters itself. A big JCB blocked my path just as I started on the incline. The local authorities were working on the road that would connect Thakurwadi to Prabalmachi. This had been a dream project for around 200 odd villagers of the Machi. It would end the isolation of the Machi with the rest of the villages located at the ground level. At the first pitstop – Aai Hotel, I bought some cucumbers and continued on my trail without taking a break.
En route, I met two children – S & R, who smiled at me shyly and accepted the cucumber when I offered it to them. They were in their school uniforms. Over the course of the next hour, they would be my silent companions, as I navigated the hairpin bends and short inclines, which had proven to be quite onerous for me last year.
I learnt from them that they stayed in the ashram school in a village about 7 km away. And every weekend, they took a back route from their school to trudge up the hill to their home on Prabalamachi, where their parents lived. S was 12 and R was 8. At one of the turns, S stopped and gave R his slippers. That’s when I realised that they shared the only pair between them. They walked barefoot without flinching.
At every bend on the trail, we encountered small stalls selling cucumbers and lime juice. We paused at every junction and enjoyed some of the treats that the locals offered. At one point they bid me farewell and took the steeper option, which cut through the bends almost right up to the final stretch. We bid goodbye and I walked through the shaded trail. I was not confident of making it on time and didn’t want to be a burden on the kids who were heading home after a week.
As our paths diverged, the single pair of slippers shared between the two brothers continued to be on my mind. I had forgotten about the challenges that I had faced on the hike last time as I continued my slow climb. I was lost in thought. The trail was only a few kilometres away from the sprawling metropolis and the new airport and yet, the villagers were deprived of necessities of life.
At the last incline, I pushed myself through and somehow made it to the last stall. I had expected the brothers to be on their way to their home, given how much time I had taken to walk this trail. But there they were, both sitting patiently, waiting for me. We celebrated this small reunion with some more chocolates and biscuits and spoke a bit about their school. S liked English and R didn’t say much but only smiled shyly when I asked about his favorite subject. They mentioned that the food at the school hostel was good and that they got eggs on Wednesdays and Fridays.
I later learnt that many children from the Machi went to this residential school because the local schoolteachers deputed by the state would refuse to climb up the hill every day. So, while the school building existed on the plateau, it remained mostly shut as there were no teachers available. Maybe the road would change that, or so one hoped. As we made our entry onto the plateau, we saw a sugarcane juice stall, so we stopped one last time for a refreshing treat and before we parted ways, with a promise to meet again, the customary – bhetu lavkar (see you soon in Marathi).
The Prabalmachi plateau, the second base village for the twin peaks of Prabalmachi and Kalavantin, was also my destination for the evening. Back in 2012, Hotel Prabalgad run by the Bhutambara family would act as the base for all our hikes to Prabalgad and Kalavantin. The family always looked after me like their own. But Nilesh, the enterprising one, thought deeper and had created an exclusive camping site towards the east with commanding views of the Matheran valley and the formidable peak of Kalavantin standing tall in the background.
I made my way to the site to meet him. He was tending to the mulberry tree and even let me help myself to the sweet ripe fruit. The campsite was serene. With some delicious local food, sturdy tents and even cottages and functional restrooms – I had always felt at home here.
Over a fantastic lunch thali, Nilesh brought me up to speed on the road – the ultimate dream of every villager on Prabalmachi. We agreed that despite the concerns of the regular trekkers, a road had the potential to transform the village economy. Prabalgad, another ninety minute hike from Prabalmachi, was densely wooded and most of the area had not been fully explored. With the hike from Thakurwadi base to Machi reduced, further forays into the magnificent peaks would be possible. Besides, medical and education facilities would become more accessible to the tribal villagers.
He invited me to accompany him to collect the package of chicken brought by his friend. His friend worked at the base and often brought back chicken for Nilesh. Nilesh was expecting a few more hikers to spend the night at the campsite so he had ordered a few kilos of chicken for the party.
We stopped to see the setting sun. I had seen multiple sunsets from this plateau and observed how the valley below had transformed, not always for the better. The urban sprawl seemed more menacing than ever but at least the Matheran side was somewhat more untouched.
Once at the campsite, I unpacked my backpack in my tent and settled in with the characters of Manto who kept me company for a long time. The day had been long, and I was content lying down on the warm earth. My friend Orion – the hunter made an appearance and so did Jupiter – shining steadily amongst the other blinking stars. I noticed the many airplanes making their classic turn above me and I let the silence envelope me. It would be a matter of time before the other campers arrived.
They arrived with their excited talks and laughter and music. Last year I had allowed the din to spoil my mood but this time I was unbothered. I was lost between the stars and the stories of my beloved city, written by Manto, the master storyteller. If Manto wrote about the villagers, my friends S&R would find their way into it, I was certain of that.
Nilesh introduced me to A who was leading another group to the campsite. Turns out A had trekked with Breakfree in 2014 to Kalavantin. It was good to meet him and catch up over the excellent chicken curry made by Nilesh and his wife.
A small bonfire gathering ensued later. I sat with the group for a bit and around midnight, I decided to call it a day and I retreated to my tent. The distant noises of the evening did not die down. But it was my birthday now and I was not going to lose my cool like last year, so I wished myself a happy birthday and closed my eyes. I did not realise when sleep finally came.
I woke up at my usual hour without the alarm. It was still dark outside. I unzipped my tent cover, put on my shoes and went for a stroll around the campsite. After freshening up, I decided to pay a visit to my friend – Rama Kaka, aka Langde Kaka, the man who had guided us on multiple trips into these peaks. I had missed meeting him the last time, so I entered the village and eventually found his house. His limp due to Polio had earned him the nickname and he was well known among the villagers.
At his house, his daughter told me that he was “on duty” at Kalavantin peak and I could meet him there. Turns out that the final ascent of Kalavantindurg had become trickier over the years and the local youth had installed a rope and a ladder to navigate that patch. For a small fee, you could use those to climb up. Rama Kaka was in that detail that morning.
Now I had not exactly planned to scale Kalavantin and I was not confident. Besides I had not eaten anything and had drunk some water. I could have gone on. I was making stuff up in my head to stay back in my comfort zone. I caught myself mid-excuse.
I had to remind myself of the many trips that I had led to the peak here. I was Man-in-Charge of Breakfree Journeys after all. But I countered with how long ago that was. Maybe I had grown rusty. My depleting confidence was about to get the better of me. But the thought of meeting Rama Kaka gave my hike a purpose, and without much debate I set off.
I meandered slowly through the forest patch, ascending sharply at every turn, a bit breathless by then but I was soon navigating the scree-laden gullies. It dawned on me that now my shoes wouldn’t hold on their own. I was pushing my luck on the loose rock, so while they had served me well so far, I had to now be careful.
After a few minutes, I found myself at the base of the rock-cut steps. The infamous ones with a sharp exposure to the valley. These steps apparently made Kalavantin one of the most dangerous hikes in India. Self-doubt had started to creep in. The impostor was crying out loud now.
I closed my eyes for a bit. I remembered my first time here. Once the climb had begun, one forgot about the impending dangers and your spirit carried you through, all the way to the summit. The company I had back then also had played a big role. I opened my eyes. I was by myself now.
It was time to shed some of the weight that I was carrying. I had left the backpack in my tent, and I only had my water bottle with me. I decided to leave it behind as well to keep my hands free for the upcoming rocky patch. I looked at the swifts gliding gracefully by the cliffs and I started the ascent.
Ignoring the rope, I trusted my own grip and scaled the first rock patch. And then I was onto the steps. I climbed the first flight and then I waited for a group of hikers to pass. They were descending and they seemed confident, so I took it easy and stayed out of their way. I was in no rush. One step at a time. Scaling these steps was less about skill and more about my mindset. With encouraging thoughts, I let my feet carry myself through. At the final patch, I chose the gully path and dug my heel in and hoisted myself up.
As I reached the penultimate patch, I saw Rama Kaka and another friendly face, Gajanan standing and hoisting hikers up. Only G recognized me, but Kaka had forgotten me. Naturally so, it had been over a decade since I had met him. I said hello to him anyway and then I climbed up the ladder to the final peak.
At the peak, a group of hikers from Kerala looked at me and, as was often the case, wondered if I was from there too (it was the moustache, I was sure). We spoke for a bit and then I spent time enjoying the warmth of the sun. I got down before it got too hot.
Rama Kaka, G and I clicked some pictures together. G reminisced about the past and we exchanged numbers with a promise to stay in touch. Kaka told me that his grandson had started a small eatery – Hotel Shailesh and that I should check it out on my way back. I agreed to do so and with a promise to meet again, I started my descent back to the village.
The steps were not so threatening now; it was my turn to encourage the hikers making the climb up now. I even shot some videos for those who wanted to capture the thrilling climb. I was in good spirits; I was perhaps experiencing something equivalent to runner’s high then. The swifts glided in their encouragement as I navigated the scree patches without much trouble.
At the periphery of the village, I noticed a young boy playing near a tree. It was R, my young friend. We high-fived and made a stop at the local store for some treats. He told me that his brother had accompanied his parents to the Shiv mandir located on the plateau for darshan as it was Maha Shivratri that day. I bid him goodbye to head to Hotel Shailesh.
Shailesh, Kaka’s grandson, had done his diploma in engineering but found more meaning running the eatery and preferred to be in the mountains. After polishing off the omelette and the coffee that he got for me, I wished him luck and then made my way back to my tent. After a quick breakfast and more coffee, I took some pics with Nilesh and began my descent.
I was deliberately slow this time. I wanted to savour the silence of the forest, I wanted to sit under the shade of the trees and drink the countless glasses of sweet and salty lemon juice sold by the kind locals on the way. I wanted to see the birds fly and the langurs run by.
Last year, I was a mess on the trail. My heart rate had shot up, and my back protested harder as I gained height. I was close to giving up. But I persisted and somehow made it to the plateau. The year that had followed the hike echoed the same theme.
On countless occasions I found myself unprepared and in familiar and yet strange territories, full of self-doubt. I had changed jobs and taken risks to get out of my comfort zone. But after a long time, I realised that what I needed the most was to start shedding old baggage. I had to be travelling light – both metaphorically and literally. I had to let go of possessions that had lost meaning over time.
And most importantly, the year had taught me to trust myself a bit more. Maybe that is why the morning experience at the base of Kalavantin got etched into my mind.
When I hit the dirt trail and saw the JCB once again, my mind went back to the brothers S&R and the single pair of slippers that they shared among themselves. Would the road make a difference?