Let me start this journey from where every adventure in the hills begins. Rishikesh.
Sitting right at the foothills of the mighty Himalayas, this little city has been the starting point for almost every major route heading deeper into Uttarakhand for centuries.
Whether you are heading to the sacred Char Dham temples, the snow covered peaks of Kedarnath, or the quiet valleys of the Garhwal hills, you will pass through Rishikesh first.
It is where the plains end and the mountains begin, literally. The mighty Ganga flows through this town fresh from the glaciers above, and ancient ashrams line its banks where sages have meditated for thousands of years. The Beatles once came here looking for peace and put it on the world map, but long before them, pilgrims and wanderers already knew this truth.
Every road into the divine hills of Uttarakhand starts right here. So naturally, this is where our story begins too. Come, let me take you with me.
Now before we go any further, there is something you need to know about this place. Uttarakhand is not just any mountain state.
People call it Dev Bhoomi, which simply means the Land of Gods. And it earned that name honestly. Almost every river, every peak, every forest here has a story tied to Lord Shiva or the Pandavas from the Mahabharata.
Shiva is believed to have chosen these very mountains as his home, meditating in the high glaciers of Kailash and Kedarnath. The Pandavas, after the great war of Kurukshetra, are said to have walked through these exact hills on their final journey to the heavens. Locals will tell you that the temples here were not built by kings or architects but by the Pandavas themselves during that last walk.
People call it Dev Bhoomi, which simply means the Land of Gods. And it earned that name honestly. Almost every river, every peak, every forest here has a story tied to Lord Shiva or the Pandavas from the Mahabharata.
Shiva is believed to have chosen these very mountains as his home, meditating in the high glaciers of Kailash and Kedarnath. The Pandavas, after the great war of Kurukshetra, are said to have walked through these exact hills on their final journey to the heavens. Locals will tell you that the temples here were not built by kings or architects but by the Pandavas themselves during that last walk.
Every village has a tale, every trail has a legend. Keep this in the back of your mind as we go deeper into these mountains, because trust me, these stories are going to show up again and again on this journey.
Now here is something nobody tells you before your first mountain trip, but you will notice it almost immediately. Dogs. Somewhere along the trail, a dog will quietly appear beside you and just start walking with you. No reason. No invitation. They just show up and stay. In the Himalayan villages, people do not find this strange at all. In fact, they see it as a blessing. There is an old belief among the mountain communities that these dogs are guardians of travellers, sent by the mountains themselves to watch over you on your path. Some locals in Nepal, Tibet, and Himachal say these dogs are messengers of the gods, spirit guides in fur coats making sure you do not lose your way.
There is even a saying you will hear if you spend enough time in these hills. "If a dog walks with you, the mountain blesses your path." And if you remember what I told you about Uttarakhand being the land of gods, this starts making a lot more sense. So when a furry friend joins you on the trail, do not shoo them away. The mountains might just be looking out for you.
There is even a saying you will hear if you spend enough time in these hills. "If a dog walks with you, the mountain blesses your path." And if you remember what I told you about Uttarakhand being the land of gods, this starts making a lot more sense. So when a furry friend joins you on the trail, do not shoo them away. The mountains might just be looking out for you.
Before we leave Rishikesh, there is one thing you absolutely cannot miss. Every single evening, as the sun dips behind the mountains, the banks of the Ganga come alive with fire, chants, and the sound of temple bells. This is the Ganga Aarti, and it has been happening here every day without a break for as long as anyone can remember.
But why every single day? To understand that, you need to know who Ganga really is. And trust me, there is not just one story. There are many. In one telling, Ganga is the daughter of Lord Brahma himself, born from his kamandala when he was washing the feet of Vamana, the dwarf incarnation of Lord Vishnu. In the Valmiki Ramayana, she is the daughter of King Himavat and Queen Menaka, and the sister of Parvati, Lord Shiva's own consort. The Vishnu Purana says she was created from the sweat of Lord Vishnu's feet. Every scripture has its own version, but they all agree on one thing. Ganga is divine. She is not just a river. She is a goddess.
Now among all these stories, the most famous one comes from the Ramayana Bal Kand, narrated by Brahma Rishi Vishwamitra himself. It goes like this. King Sagar, the ruler of Ayodhya and an ancestor of Lord Rama, decided to perform the Ashwamedha Yagna, a great horse sacrifice, to prove his power. This made Indra, the king of the gods, jealous. So Indra stole the horse and tied it near the ashram of Sage Kapila deep in the forest. King Sagar sent his 60,000 sons to find it. When they found the horse near the meditating sage, they assumed he had stolen it and began insulting him, disturbing his deep meditation. The furious sage opened his eyes and with the yogic fire in his gaze, burnt all 60,000 princes to ash in an instant. When King Sagar's grandson Anshuman finally found the heap of ash and the sage, he fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness. Sage Kapila, pleased by his humility, told him there was only one way to free the souls of the fallen princes. Bring the holy Ganga down from the heavens, for only her waters could wash away their sins and grant them salvation. Anshuman tried. His son Dilip tried after him. Both failed. It was Dilip's son Bhagiratha who finally performed such intense and dedicated penance that Lord Brahma himself was moved and granted Ganga permission to descend to earth.
But Ganga, feeling insulted at being sent down, decided to come crashing with her full force, ready to sweep away everything in her path. Bhagiratha knew the earth could not survive that. So he prayed to Lord Shiva, who calmly caught the mighty river in his matted locks and released her gently onto the land. That is how Ganga came to earth. That is why Shiva is called Gangadhar, the one who holds Ganga.
That sacrifice, that divine journey from heaven to earth, is what the aarti honors every single evening. And it is not just Rishikesh. In 1997, the tradition of a grand daily Ganga Aarti began at Dashashwamedh Ghat in Varanasi, one of the most ancient and magnificent ghats on the banks of the Ganga. A ghat, by the way, is simply a flight of steps leading down to a river. Dashashwamedh literally means the sacrifice of ten horses, because according to legend, Lord Brahma himself organized a great Yagna at this very spot to recall Lord Shiva from exile. So whether it is Rishikesh or Varanasi, every evening when the flames rise and the chants fill the air, it is the same ancient thank you being offered to the river that chose to leave heaven and flow among us. Standing there on the ghats, watching the flames dance on the water while hundreds of voices chant together, trust me, even if you are not religious, something inside you goes still. I stood there that evening and honestly, leaving felt harder than I expected.
Now since we are talking about the Ganga, let me tell you something beautiful about how she is actually born. The Ganga as you see her in Rishikesh is not just one river. She is the coming together of two rivers called Alaknanda and Bhagirathi.
The Bhagirathi starts from the Gaumukh glacier up at the snout of the Gangotri glacier, while the Alaknanda begins from the Satopanth glacier near Badrinath.
These two rivers travel hundreds of kilometers through deep valleys and narrow gorges, and they finally meet at a place called Devprayag. That is where the Ganga officially gets her name. But here is the really fascinating part. Before reaching Devprayag, the Alaknanda collects four other sacred rivers along the way, and each of these meeting points is called a Prayag.
Together they are known as the Panch Prayag, the five sacred confluences of Uttarakhand. It starts with Vishnuprayag where the Alaknanda meets the Dhauliganga, then Nandprayag where she meets the Nandakini, followed by Karnaprayag where the Pindar river joins in, then Rudraprayag where the mighty Mandakini flowing down from Kedarnath merges with her, and finally Devprayag where the Bhagirathi and Alaknanda become one and the Ganga is born.
If you ever get the chance to stand at any of these confluences, you will actually see two different colored waters merging into each other right before your eyes. It is one of those sights that stays with you long after you leave. Every drop of Ganga water that touched your feet in Rishikesh has traveled through all five of these sacred meetings. Think about that for a moment.
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Now that is the mythological side of things. By modern geography, the Ganga's actual source is the Gangotri glacier up at around 13,000 feet(specifically at Gaumukh), where the Bhagirathi begins her journey. She only officially earns the name Ganga3 much further down at Devprayag, where the Bhagirathi and Alaknanda finally come together.
But leave I did, because the mountains were calling. From Rishikesh, I began the long winding drive towards a tiny village called Sari, tucked away in the Rudraprayag district about 200 kilometers into the hills. The drive took about six hours through some of the most winding roads you will ever see, but the views along the way made every sharp turn worth it. Remember the Panch Prayag I told you about earlier? I got to witness two of them with my own eyes on this drive. First came Devprayag, the sacred spot where the Alaknanda and Bhagirathi rivers merge and the Ganga officially gets her name. Watching two rivers of different colors become one right in front of you is something that hits differently in person. Further along the road came Rudraprayag, where the Mandakini flowing down from the holy Kedarnath temple meets the Alaknanda. Both confluences were breathtaking, but I will be honest with you, there was a sadness to it too. The rivers were flowing at their lowest capacity. These are rivers that once roared through these valleys without ever running dry, and now they looked tired, almost fragile. Our local guide pointed at the bare brown mountains around us and said something that stuck with me. He said there used to be a time when this entire valley would be covered in snow at this time of the year, but now it is bone dry. The glaciers are receding, the snowfall is less every year, and the rivers are paying the price. Standing there looking at those thinning waters, I could not help but worry about what these mountains will look like twenty years from now. It is a thought that stayed heavy in my chest for the rest of the drive.
Ganga
Devprayag: Origin of ganga
Rudraprayag: Origin of Mandakini
But then we arrived at Sari, and the heaviness lifted a little. Sari is a 400 year old village sitting at around 6,500 feet, right in the heart of Uttarakhand. The name Sari comes from the Hindi word meaning everywhere, because no matter which direction you look, all you see are fields. Wheat fields, paddy terraces, apple and peach orchards, all prettily laid out across the hillside as if someone arranged them just for you to admire. The boundaries of these fields are lined with bright colored rhododendrons and oak trees, giving you a taste of what is waiting for you on the trek ahead. There are about 150 houses here, mostly cemented with many doors and windows, and if you look carefully you will even spot a few abandoned rock houses that are over a hundred years old. Ask any local about them and they will happily tell you how the houses have changed over the years. If you reach Sari while the sun is still out, do yourself a favor and walk around the village a bit. The views are gorgeous and you even get your very first glimpse of the Chandrashila summit from here. But do not expect shops or markets. Sari is quiet, quaint, completely uncommercialized, and the villagers simply go about their daily lives of farming and rearing livestock. If you have forgotten any trekking gear, there is nowhere to buy it here. So come prepared. This is not a tourist town. This is a village that has been living at its own gentle pace for four centuries, and honestly, after that long emotional drive through the thinning rivers and bare mountains, that slow pace is exactly the kind of medicine you need.
Oh and one more thing before we move on. Sari has one of the least light polluted skies you will ever find. With no city glow for miles and a new moon hiding in the darkness, the night sky here puts on a show that will leave you speechless. If you are into astrophotography, this place is an absolute paradise. Every star, every constellation, the milky way itself, all of it just pours across the sky like someone spilled a jar of glitter over the mountains. We will see some of my clicks from that night soon, but for now just imagine lying on a cold mountain night, looking straight up, and seeing more stars than you ever thought existed. This one is from Sari, and trust me, the sky did not disappoint.
Now before we start walking, let me tell you what we are actually here to do.
You see, most people who want to reach Chandrashila take the easy route. They drive straight to Chopta and do a quick 4 hour trek up and back in a single day.
But as our guide put it perfectly, we are not tourists, we are trekkers. So we took the 6 day route. Day one was the long drive from Rishikesh to Sari.
Day two, we trek from Sari to Deoriatal.
Day three takes us from Deoriatal to Syalmi via Rohini Bugyal.
Day four, we push from Syalmi to Baniya Kund.
Day five is the big one, Baniya Kund all the way up to Chandrashila summit at 12,083 feet via the sacred Tungnath temple, and then a drive back down from Chopta to Sari.
Day six, the drive back to Rishikesh.
Six days through forests, meadows, ancient temples, and some of the highest peaks you will ever stand on. That is the plan.
So now that you know where we are headed, lace up your boots because this is where the real adventure begins. The trek starts right from the heart of Sari village. You climb a few stone stairs, wave goodbye to the village life behind you, and step onto a well defined rocky trail that starts climbing almost immediately.
It is steep, I will not lie, but the views make up for every heavy breath. As you look back, the vast farmlands of Sari spread out below you like a green patchwork quilt. About 45 minutes in, the trail eases up a bit and the forest opens. This is where things get exciting because if you look across the valley, you can actually spot the summit of Chandrashila and sitting just below it, the holy Tungnath temple. You might need binoculars to catch it, but knowing it is right there watching over you is something else.
Trek Distance: 4.1 km | Trek Duration: 2.5 hours | Altitude Gain: 6,560 ft to 7,810 ft
The trail then winds up along a mountain ridge and after about 20 to 30 minutes of steady climbing, you reach a beautiful open meadow called Ropini Bugyal. Stop here. Breathe. Turn around. Because standing right behind you is the magnificent Mt Chaukhamba in all its glory. This is your first real face to face moment with the high Himalayas on this trek, and trust me, no photo can do it justice. From Ropini, the trail dips into a gorgeous forest of rhododendron and maple trees. If you are here in the right season, these trees are on fire with red and pink blooms. Ten more minutes of walking brings you to a second viewpoint at around 7,434 feet where Sari has completely disappeared behind you and the Ukhimath valley opens up on the other side.
After a small rest at a mini barren meadow, we started our ascent again towards camp one. And this is where I learned a lesson that stuck with me long after the trek ended. Our guides Mohit and Naveen kept repeating one word. Matu Matu. In the local tongue, it simply means take it slow, go gently. Do not rush the mountains, they said. Take one step at a time. Do not ever race to be the first one up there. As long as you maintain your own pace, that is all the mountain asks of you. One step at a time. And you know what, in this busy world where everyone is rushing to get somewhere, it felt really good to be slow for once.
And then, just when your legs start to question your life choices, the trail dips slightly downhill and the trees begin to part ways.
My eyes were glued to the ground at this point, tired, watching every step, just trying not to trip. But then something shimmered in the distance. I looked up. And there it was.
Deoriatal.
A crystal clear blue lake sitting quietly in the middle of a dense forest meadow, surrounded by tall tree lines on every side like a painting that someone forgot to frame. My breath stopped for a second. And then my eyes lifted just slightly above the lake and I saw it. The mighty Chaukhamba massif, all four peaks, perfectly reflected on the still water like a mirror placed there by the gods themselves. Every bit of body pain, every heavy breath, every moment I questioned why I signed up for this, all of it just washed away in an instant. The world outside was still moving, people were rushing, phones were buzzing, deadlines were piling up somewhere. But I was just sitting there. Speechless. Silent. Watching the peaks turn gold as the sun began to set behind them, and the lake caught every last drop of that golden light. I do not know how long I sat there. I did not care. Something shifted inside me at that moment.
The trek completely changed from that point. This was no longer just a walk in the mountains.
This was something else entirely.
This is where we camp tonight, and honestly, you will not want to be anywhere else in the world.
This was something else entirely.
This is where we camp tonight, and honestly, you will not want to be anywhere else in the world.
Mount Chaukhamba, Deoriatal Lake
Mount Chaukhamba, Deoriatal Lake
Now that you are standing at the edge of this beautiful emerald lake, let me tell you why this place is far more than just a pretty view. Remember when I told you that every corner of Uttarakhand has a story tied to the Pandavas? Well, here it is. After the great war of Kurukshetra, the five Pandava brothers and Draupadi were wandering through these very mountains during their exile.
The story goes that Draupadi was so thirsty she refused to move another inch until someone brought her water. Yudhishthira sent his brothers one by one to find some. They found this very lake, but the moment they tried to drink from it, a Yaksha disguised as a crane stopped them and said, "This water will turn to poison if you drink it without answering my questions." One by one, each brother ignored the warning, drank the water, and dropped dead on the spot. When Yudhishthira finally arrived and saw his brothers lying lifeless, he was furious. But unlike his brothers, he chose patience. He agreed to face the Yaksha. And if you have grown up watching the Mahabharata being aired on Doordarshan or read the book, you probably remember what came next.
The Yaksha threw 124 questions at Yudhishthira. Questions about dharma, about life, about truth. And Yudhishthira answered every single one. Pleased, the Yaksha offered to revive just one brother. Now think about this. You have four dead brothers and you can only save one. Most people would pick their strongest ally. But Yudhishthira chose Nakula. Why? Because Yudhishthira himself was a son of Kunti, and he wanted a son of his father's second wife Madri to also live. He chose fairness over personal need. He chose justice over survival. That answer moved the Yaksha so deeply that he revealed his true form. He was Yama, the god of death and dharma himself, and he was also Yudhishthira's father. Yama revived all the brothers right there on the banks of this lake. Even today, elderly priests in the nearby villages will point to five large stones on the eastern bank and tell you those are the seats where the five Pandavas once sat. You are literally standing on a page of the Mahabharata.
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But the Mahabharata is not the only story this lake holds. There is an old tale from the colonial days about a British forest officer named Captain H. R. Hutchinson who camped at Deoriatal in 1923 while surveying timber lines. The locals warned him not to light a campfire after sunset. They told him the devtas do not like smoke near their mirror. The captain laughed, lit a huge bonfire, and even pulled out his new Leica camera to photograph the reflections on the lake. That night, his Garhwali guide woke up to find the captain missing from his tent. They found his body the next morning near the water's edge, eyes wide open, staring into the lake with an expression of absolute terror frozen on his face. His camera was perfectly intact but every single negative was completely black, as if light itself had refused to be captured. And since then, many campers over the years have reported seeing a man in khaki shorts and a pith helmet walking along the lake at 3 in the morning, always stopping at the exact spot where Captain Hutchinson died, staring silently into the water. Now here is the thing you need to understand. In these mountains, the locals do not use the word ghost. That word does not exist in their world. If something moves in the dark, if something feels strange, they simply say the devtas are here, let us not disturb them. For them, the mountains, the lake, the trees, all of it is sacred. All of it is alive. They protect nature by calling it god. And they believe with all their heart that if you disturb nature, nature punishes you back. That is a story worth remembering long after you leave this place.
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