Why Did I Hesitate to Visit Kedarnath After Braving Bihar's Floods?

A Journey Through Memories

I began writing my third travelogue installment, but the excitement wasn't the same as before. The first piece was vibrant, the second less so, and now, with this third one, the enthusiasm had dwindled further. "This will be the last entry," I told myself, and stopped writing.

Stretching my legs, I reminisced freely while drafting my travel memories. Yet, here I was, squeezed into the backseat of a crowded Sumo, feeling restless. "Tata bye-bye," I muttered in my mind as we left Kathmandu. How did this phrase even originate? Perhaps from passengers waving goodbye from Tata vehicles? I amused myself with this thought.

Tata vehicles are so ubiquitous in Nepal that they’ve become synonymous with transportation itself, like "Vaseline" for petroleum jelly or "Mobil" for lubricants. The Tata brand is a masterclass in Indian marketing brilliance, and there are countless such examples.

The Sumo’s Dictatorship and My Restless Mind

The Sumo was packed, ten of us, including the driver. Everyone had their own itinerary, but once inside, the Sumo dictated ours. Wherever it stopped, we had to get out for tea, snacks, or meals. The Sumo had its own agenda, while my mind wandered unpredictably.

You could argue, "The mind is as stable as it is unstable." But to be that stable, one would have to be a Buddha, "Appa Deepo Bhava" (Be your own light). I’m far from that level. If I were, would I even be writing this? Writing itself is worldly, a form of desire, and publishing? Even more so.

Wanderlust and Kedarnath’s Unanswered Call

My mind is restless, uneasy. Is this unease good or bad? That’s for you to ponder.

"This time, I’ll go to Goa. Sip cold beer by the sea, bask in the sun. Maybe Kashmir? Or Chennai and Kanyakumari? Definitely Mumbai. And Dharmashala. Haridwar is a must. But Kedarnath? Maybe not this time."

A few days ago, my daughter Aditi flew to Dhangadhi right after her +2 finals, then traveled by private car via Mahendranagar to Kedarnath. She even rode a horse there and visited the temple twice, once in the evening and again at dawn. Her phone wallpaper still shows a breathtaking photo of Kedarnath’s snow-capped peaks.

I, too, had planned to go with her but backed out at the last moment. My heart wasn’t in it. This time, the thought of going didn’t even cross my mind. Was it seasonal psychology? Or the floods in Bihar that didn’t quite scare me?

The Mystery of Kedarnath’s Pull

I had braved Bihar’s floods, yet I hesitated to visit Kedarnath. Why? I had no answer. Perhaps Kedarnath didn’t call me this time. When will it? Who knows?

The legend that Kedarnath’s head is enshrined in Nepal’s Doleshwor (Bhaktapur) has long fascinated devotees. But my deep longing for Kedarnath only truly ignited after watching the film "Kedarnath."

Sushant Singh Rajput and the Kedarnath Connection

Sushant Singh Rajput, whose mysterious death shocked the nation, starred in "Kedarnath." I had watched all his films during the pandemic, from "MS Dhoni: The Untold Story" to "Chhichhore," along with his interviews. But "Kedarnath" stayed with me.

A rising Bollywood star, Sushant’s sudden death felt like an unsolved mystery, a suspense thriller with no closure. Yet, it was through him that my fascination with Kedarnath grew.

"How can calamity strike before the gods themselves? Why do they remain silent? How is love purer than religion? Where and how does life end?" These questions linger in "Kedarnath."

Guru Purnima and Nostalgic Detours

It was Guru Purnima. As we crossed Tribhuvan University’s gate, I reflected on my academic journey, all my degrees bore its stamp, yet I felt no pride. My pride lay in travel memories, in moments shared with people, mountains, and monuments.

I silently paid tribute to my teachers, Dhannajaya Sir, who praised my writing; Rohit Sir, who admired my wit; Vijay Sir, who once shaved my head in class; and Angur Miss, who touched my forehead with affection. I smiled, recalling Chandani Miss, serious yet playful.

Most of all, I remembered "Budho Sir." I don’t recall his exact name or position, headmaster or principal? But that year under his care remains etched in my mind like an ancient inscription.

He wasn’t tall but appeared so. His crisp shirts and polished shoes left an impression. His speech was a mix of Nepali, Hindi, and English, a linguistic cocktail from Darjeeling or West Bengal.

Did he love me? I’m not sure. But I remember the sting of his thin cane on my fingers, my eyes welling up. And I remember his kindness, how he cleaned my hands afterward, how he bathed me, soap suds reaching my scalp.

He disciplined me, but he also cared. I want to keep those memories just as they were—raw and real.

Floods, Journeys, and Unfinished Melodies

Recent floods had ravaged the Trishuli River, destroying the Miteri Bridge at Rasuwagadhi. News headlines screamed of devastation as rescue efforts continued.

Amid this, I was leaving the country.

We passed Chobhar, where Kathmandu’s civilization myth begins—and headed toward Taudaha. The morning sun glittered on the water, a mesmerizing sight.

A year ago, I’d walked from Chobhar to Taudaha with a birdwatching group. For the first time, I saw birds differently, their migrations mirroring my own journey to India and back.

The Shape of Kathmandu and Unrealized Dreams

Kathmandu Valley, ringed by hills, can’t be seen in its entirety from any single vantage point—except, perhaps, from the sky. But Taudaha, they say, mirrors Kathmandu’s shape.

I’ve been there often, imagining its economic potential. Once, my brother and I even scouted land near Bosan, dreaming of profits. Instead, we invested in Masinet, on Kathmandu’s far west. Who knows what the future holds?

Farewells and the Anxiety of Mothers

As we left the capital, fog chased us briefly before vanishing. I, too, was stepping away from routine life. Yet, the farther I went, the more I missed my family. Memories are travel companions, sweeter when you’re alone.

A Nepali boy ahead said, "It’s raining, floods are coming. My dad warned me, but I left anyway."
His friend replied, "Don’t dwell on it. On journeys, forget everything."

But how could I? My diary kept pace with my heartbeat, thoughts of mothers worrying: "Will my child eat on time? Are they safe?"

Mothers are bundles of anxiety. Those without mothers carry a different void, one that never fills.

The Fear of the Unknown

Every coming moment is unknown, and the unknown is fear itself. What fears lie ahead? Stay tuned for Chapter Four.