Chapter 1
The snowy peaks and rugged mountain terrain of the Himalayas stretch endlessly, their slopes occasionally softened by patches of green grass amidst the rocky floor.
On the way to Yulla Kanda, the highest Krishna temple in the world, nestled in the Kinnaur district of Himachal Pradesh, every step feels like part of a spiritual journey. Pilgrims and trekkers alike seek the solitude of these heights or the divine blessings of Lord Krishna.
During our trek from the base camp, we paused for a brief rest. Sitting at that altitude, where the mountains stand barren—like the Yogis of the Himalayas, detached from worldly desires—there was an undeniable stillness in the air. We lit a camp stove, savoring the warmth of freshly brewed coffee made with the ingredients we carried. Alongside, we unwrapped parathas brought from the base camp, their familiar taste grounding us amid the vast, untamed wilderness.
The experience of sipping freshly brewed coffee and savoring parathas against the backdrop of the towering, snow-clad Himalayan peaks was beyond words—an otherworldly satisfaction.
At that altitude, apart from us, there was only one companion: a furry, four-legged friend. He wagged his tail and paced around us, as if reassuring us that he was there to guide the way. While we were bundled up in heavy jackets and layers of warm clothing, he stood unfazed by the biting cold, his fine golden fur his only shield. He sat a short distance away, gazing at us with quiet solemnity before turning his eyes to the vast, rugged landscape, as though contemplating the very essence of the mountains.
After spending a while in that serene company, we resumed our journey. As we made our way forward, about halfway along the trail, we spotted a lone figure approaching—a local man, making his way back from the temple. He paused upon seeing us, his eyes studying us with quiet curiosity.
We asked him about the path ahead and the conditions at the temple. With the same quiet stillness as the mountains around us, he replied that the trail was a bit tricky due to the heavy snow. But then, with a knowing smile, he added, "Once you reach there, you will forget all the struggles it took to get here."
Before continuing on his way, he left us with one final thought: "If it rains when you reach the temple, consider yourself very lucky."
The serenity of the place was slowly drawing me into its magical embrace, bit by bit. As we trekked further, we arrived at a small yet enchanting lake known as Bheem Tal. Though more of a pond in size, its crystal-clear water mirrored the sky and mountains so perfectly that it felt as if we had stepped into a realm beyond our own.
Despite my husband's gentle warning not to wander too far from the trail, I couldn’t resist the silent pull of the Tal. Something about it called to me, luring me closer.
