http://epaper.hindustantimes.com/PUBLICATIONS/HT/HC/2010/12/12/ArticleHtmls/SUMMIT-OF-THE-GODS-12122010585001.shtml?Mode=1
Himachal Pradesh is the land of inaccessible religious shrines or temples; a fact confirmed when I
visited one of the highest temples in the interiors of the state, Dev Badeogi, trekking from a village
near Sunni, amidst the tall mountains of the beautiful northern state.
The old temple may not be famous, but it is one of the very few which enshrine Dronacharya, of
the Mahabharatha epic. It can be reached only by foot, trekking through several hamlets along the
mountain slopes. We were going to trek to it from a village called Panetu.
From Sunni, Panetu is ?? kilometers far, ?? metres higher, but it takes about ?? hours by car. Sunni
itself can be driven to from Shimla easily, amidst a picturesque road, which also boasts of two
temples; one consists of a lone tiny room, which is believed to contain a natural Shiva Lingam, and
the second is called “Athara Bate Bees” (Eighteen out of twenty) - a temple constructed in the
memory of a tragic bus accident which left eighteen out of twenty passengers dead
A little before Sunni, amongst the many mountain peaks, I was pointed to a tiny speck in one of
the summits, barely visible in the distance. This speck was the destination we were headed for; I
could imagine people even living in that height; let alone pray.
After a place called Tattpani, a little further form Sunni, we crossed a signboard indicating another
road which led to a shrine called “Shiva gufa” or Lord Shiva’s caves. I couldn’t go there this time,
and so was left wondering about the history of the shrine amongst the foothills.
We reached Panetu, where we rested the night in one of the accompanying friend’s relative’s
house.
The next morning, we were ready to conquer the heights. There is no “road” leading to the peak or
the temple, except a trodden path etched out by the frequent use of villagers. The morning sun rays
were intense, even as we started to walk towards our faraway destination. The path initially rises
gradually, but it soon transforms into a steep rocky narrow path, which requires careful treading, as
sometimes, the rocks are loose and there are chances of losing one’s foothold. Initially we crossed
a few houses, (since the paths naturally lead to houses), where the kindly residents looked at us
with curious glances, always offering water or refreshments and a place to rest. Due to our
unfamiliar faces, they all could clearly understand our aim and also could relate to our tired red
faces. From the few conversations had, the hike to the DB was not easy, not even for the locals. It
proved even more difficult for us as we were unused to such climbs,
We stopped frequently, resting below whatever little shade that could be found below overhanging
boulders or overgrown shrubbery, there being no tall trees on the mountain. Each step soon
became an effort, and although we seemed no closer to the temple, it did become tangible after a
while – no longer just a flag. The structure was soon visible, on exactly the tip of the summit, yet
far far away. We reached the top of one mountain, with a majestic panorama around us, only to
see that was far more to climb.
Fortunately from this point forward, the path is cemented, so atleast there was no need to be
cautious while plodding on. After about 2 hours of trekking, sunburnt by the seemingly
concentrated sunrays, we reached the foothills of the mandir. We had arrived but not yet reached -
the final path were about 30 steep steps to the actual temple. The gods demanded absolute
devotion, nothing less and so it is exactly at the summit - not near, not in the vicinity but the
zenith.
At the foothill, where we stopped to freshen up before paying our homage, there is a small village -
colourful houses with brightly painted roofs, stray cows strolling around, a few children playing on
a small green field, by which was a small pond. It looked an idyllic sight. A tap’s cool water
refreshed our tired and sore feet, as our uncontrollable thirst. The final steps were taken barefoot; I
felt a sense of exhilaration as I stepped on the threshold of the elusive temple that had demands so
much from its devotees.
The temple is not the traditional concept of a Hindu shrine – there are not many idols, no loud
clanging of bells, no thronging of crowds, no buying and selling of “Prasad”, no small shops
selling small picture frames of gods. There is none of it; it is an ancient and small wooden
structure, recently been reinforced with concrete and tiles. Around this covered section is an open
balcony on all four sides, fenced with railing for protection from a fall below. The covered
enclosure had a low door, painted and engraved which remains closed for the better part of the
year. It opens only on occasions such as “Sankranti” - it is here that the actual shrine exists.
Having visited the place on the day of Diwali, we were lucky to have a glimpse inside. The shrine
is actually not an idol, but a set of stones, believed to be holy and found in a holy place. I am not
quite so sure about the history behind it.
There were hardly ten-fifteen people present, all tired from the physical exertion of the climb,
waiting for the priests. Soon, the priests of the temple came, opened the “dwars”, burned incense,
and a small yagya with ghee and a little wood, a little distance outside the opened doors. It was
difficult for them to get the holy fire burning, given the extremely windy scene. The devotees
offered their prayers - some brought rice grains, some money and some just agarbatti. What struck
me the most was the silence around - everyone almost whispered, not wanting to break the
tranquility or disturb the symphony of the winds.
The view from the top, all around the balcony is incredible. Sunni can be seen far far below, Sutlej
a sinewy vein moving across the valley, the adjacent and faraway mountains merging with the
skies at a distance. The source of our journey was obscured by so many intermediate hills. I felt
incredible peace - this is how religion should be, personal and away from mobs, with the absence
of sounds encouraging one to look within. The proximity of nature liberates one - harmony with
self is inevitable; to come so far with so less support, can only bring one nearer to a higher power,
be it within ourselves or external. My thoughts revolved around this as we scrambled down,
exhaustion creeping into my exhausted body.
As we completed the seemingly endless descent to Panetu, despite being exhausted beyond
imagination, I felt exhilarated. Not religious by nature, I could not place the reason for such
feelings, but I could not deny them either. After the physically demanding journey upwards, on
standing in the temple on top of the world, I had felt an unknown inexplicable power - of faith
couple with untainted nature. That experience cannot be described; is has become a cherished part
of my memories.
Himachal Pradesh is the land of inaccessible religious shrines or temples; a fact confirmed when I
visited one of the highest temples in the interiors of the state, Dev Badeogi, trekking from a village
near Sunni, amidst the tall mountains of the beautiful northern state.
The old temple may not be famous, but it is one of the very few which enshrine Dronacharya, of
the Mahabharatha epic. It can be reached only by foot, trekking through several hamlets along the
mountain slopes. We were going to trek to it from a village called Panetu.
From Sunni, Panetu is ?? kilometers far, ?? metres higher, but it takes about ?? hours by car. Sunni
itself can be driven to from Shimla easily, amidst a picturesque road, which also boasts of two
temples; one consists of a lone tiny room, which is believed to contain a natural Shiva Lingam, and
the second is called “Athara Bate Bees” (Eighteen out of twenty) - a temple constructed in the
memory of a tragic bus accident which left eighteen out of twenty passengers dead
A little before Sunni, amongst the many mountain peaks, I was pointed to a tiny speck in one of
the summits, barely visible in the distance. This speck was the destination we were headed for; I
could imagine people even living in that height; let alone pray.
After a place called Tattpani, a little further form Sunni, we crossed a signboard indicating another
road which led to a shrine called “Shiva gufa” or Lord Shiva’s caves. I couldn’t go there this time,
and so was left wondering about the history of the shrine amongst the foothills.
We reached Panetu, where we rested the night in one of the accompanying friend’s relative’s
house.
The next morning, we were ready to conquer the heights. There is no “road” leading to the peak or
the temple, except a trodden path etched out by the frequent use of villagers. The morning sun rays
were intense, even as we started to walk towards our faraway destination. The path initially rises
gradually, but it soon transforms into a steep rocky narrow path, which requires careful treading, as
sometimes, the rocks are loose and there are chances of losing one’s foothold. Initially we crossed
a few houses, (since the paths naturally lead to houses), where the kindly residents looked at us
with curious glances, always offering water or refreshments and a place to rest. Due to our
unfamiliar faces, they all could clearly understand our aim and also could relate to our tired red
faces. From the few conversations had, the hike to the DB was not easy, not even for the locals. It
proved even more difficult for us as we were unused to such climbs,
We stopped frequently, resting below whatever little shade that could be found below overhanging
boulders or overgrown shrubbery, there being no tall trees on the mountain. Each step soon
became an effort, and although we seemed no closer to the temple, it did become tangible after a
while – no longer just a flag. The structure was soon visible, on exactly the tip of the summit, yet
far far away. We reached the top of one mountain, with a majestic panorama around us, only to
see that was far more to climb.
Fortunately from this point forward, the path is cemented, so atleast there was no need to be
cautious while plodding on. After about 2 hours of trekking, sunburnt by the seemingly
concentrated sunrays, we reached the foothills of the mandir. We had arrived but not yet reached -
the final path were about 30 steep steps to the actual temple. The gods demanded absolute
devotion, nothing less and so it is exactly at the summit - not near, not in the vicinity but the
zenith.
At the foothill, where we stopped to freshen up before paying our homage, there is a small village -
colourful houses with brightly painted roofs, stray cows strolling around, a few children playing on
a small green field, by which was a small pond. It looked an idyllic sight. A tap’s cool water
refreshed our tired and sore feet, as our uncontrollable thirst. The final steps were taken barefoot; I
felt a sense of exhilaration as I stepped on the threshold of the elusive temple that had demands so
much from its devotees.
The temple is not the traditional concept of a Hindu shrine – there are not many idols, no loud
clanging of bells, no thronging of crowds, no buying and selling of “Prasad”, no small shops
selling small picture frames of gods. There is none of it; it is an ancient and small wooden
structure, recently been reinforced with concrete and tiles. Around this covered section is an open
balcony on all four sides, fenced with railing for protection from a fall below. The covered
enclosure had a low door, painted and engraved which remains closed for the better part of the
year. It opens only on occasions such as “Sankranti” - it is here that the actual shrine exists.
Having visited the place on the day of Diwali, we were lucky to have a glimpse inside. The shrine
is actually not an idol, but a set of stones, believed to be holy and found in a holy place. I am not
quite so sure about the history behind it.
There were hardly ten-fifteen people present, all tired from the physical exertion of the climb,
waiting for the priests. Soon, the priests of the temple came, opened the “dwars”, burned incense,
and a small yagya with ghee and a little wood, a little distance outside the opened doors. It was
difficult for them to get the holy fire burning, given the extremely windy scene. The devotees
offered their prayers - some brought rice grains, some money and some just agarbatti. What struck
me the most was the silence around - everyone almost whispered, not wanting to break the
tranquility or disturb the symphony of the winds.
The view from the top, all around the balcony is incredible. Sunni can be seen far far below, Sutlej
a sinewy vein moving across the valley, the adjacent and faraway mountains merging with the
skies at a distance. The source of our journey was obscured by so many intermediate hills. I felt
incredible peace - this is how religion should be, personal and away from mobs, with the absence
of sounds encouraging one to look within. The proximity of nature liberates one - harmony with
self is inevitable; to come so far with so less support, can only bring one nearer to a higher power,
be it within ourselves or external. My thoughts revolved around this as we scrambled down,
exhaustion creeping into my exhausted body.
As we completed the seemingly endless descent to Panetu, despite being exhausted beyond
imagination, I felt exhilarated. Not religious by nature, I could not place the reason for such
feelings, but I could not deny them either. After the physically demanding journey upwards, on
standing in the temple on top of the world, I had felt an unknown inexplicable power - of faith
couple with untainted nature. That experience cannot be described; is has become a cherished part
of my memories.
