A small village in Uttarakhand remains so far my biggest discovery. Mori, a quaint hamlet in Sandhra Valley, far far away from the blinding city life. It was a fourteen-hour long journey from the capital that took us to this mind numbingly beautiful place.
The drive to Mori was breathtaking. Quite clearly a trailer of what was to come. Clear blue skies interrupted by fluffy clouds in parts and a river called Tonk ushered us into this little beauty. Naked and overpowering black mountains to stare at for hours, not a glimpse of mankind for kilometers expect an occasional shepherd, and Lucky Ali playing in loop. We drove through one of the tallest pine trees on a road that would suddenly twist and turn, just like a restless fish.
We take pride in being called travellers and not tourists, and so what delighted us most was that Mori had no designated tourist spots. This also meant that all the discoveries were, and would be solely ours.
Confirming nature’s address on a half torn map pulled out carefully from the dashboard, we knew we were in the right place. Literally and instinctively. And then began a series of experiences so fascinating, they’re vivid even now, just like last night’s dream.
Whimsically and spontaneously, we landed in this faraway heaven without a moment planned. Little wonder that we did not get a single hotel to stay in, not because they were booked, but because there were none. Pretending to be photojournalists, we got permission to stay in a government outhouse (with no electricity) all for Rs 200 per night. Holding our heart in our mouths, we spent two nights in between the howling of wild animals (as told to us).
The two days that followed saw us wide eyed and soaking every bit of the slow moving time in Mori. No experience in this place repeated itself, and every moment was overflowing with extraordinarily big and small experiences, pleasant surprises. Like the feeble bridge we crossed many a times since it was the only way to get to our outhouse, or the deep and intense river Tonk moistening white sand banks, flanked by tall trees, taller mountains. Like the innocently mischievous 4 school kids with red and dry cheeks who hopped onto our car and kept us entertained with a pahari song, or the 2 shockingly nonchalant village women who signalled one boy among us to come along with her late one evening.
When we crossed curious eyes, wild turkeys strolling down and wrinkles that we could willingly trade our youth for, we realised that in a place like this, even a simple walk down the market was going to be unforgettable and overwhelming.
It is in one of these markets that we rubbed shoulders with a middle aged beautiful pahari woman. She pointed towards a mammoth cliff that stood right opposite her tin-roofed shop like a guard. In all her innocence, told us that the villagers called it the elephant hill. And a huge cobra is said to be hiding behind it, a mystery according to her ‘photographers from TV and big big magazines who come here’ have not been able to solve. That was the beauty of Mori, it never fell short of our expectations.
Eyes witnessed what they had never seen before. Nature’s art class as if never got over in this smaller version of the heaven. Red and blue and purple butterflies flirting with unusually beautiful flowers. And vast fresh greens dominating even the big blue sky.
What’s worth mentioning is that the absence of necessities, even though conspicuous, was not felt by any of us. We floated around with no network on our phones, relied only on the sole STD booth at the end of the market, travelled 15 kilometers to get to the petrol pump, and were happy not having a remote to control. Perhaps because other things took precedence and it was more gratifying waking up to the roaring sound of a river flowing just like the three of us. Or fearfully walking across the bridge to get to the main road five times a day. Or for that matter, walking barefoot on fresh grass holding a hot cup of tea.
As anticipated, the days at Mori came to an end soon. But I’m glad about two things I brought from this charming village - a thin silver bangle and the desire to go back someday.
