Trekking

Tuliyan Marag: Kashmir’s Own Paradise

A trip to Pahalgam is incomplete without a trek to its deep, gorgeous forests. And it can be the most dangerous yet satisfying experience you will have.

Photographs: Moushumi Sharma and Sunit Kual

The popular trek involves horse-riding through winding mountain trails. I was reluctant at first, as I don’t like riding animals. But I soon learnt there was no way to do the trek other than on horseback, as there was no road connectivity facilitating the use of vehicles. This, we reckoned, was good in a way, as cars teeming with tourists would have only spoiled the pristine beauty of the place and would have done more harm than good to the environment.

I was a bit apprehensive about the whole trek, as I had never sat on a horse before, but my more adventurous husband (who did horse-riding in school and knew the ABC of it) made it sound like child’s play, and I decided to let go of my fears and trust him. After all, how often do you keep visiting a place like Kashmir?

Chacha was 70 years old, but he was fitter than most young people and could climb the entire mountain without effort.

The trek involves six pit stops, the last being Tuliyan Lake. Now, this lake is apparently a glacial lake with deep blue waters surrounded by snowy mountains and is a sight to behold. However, to reach the lake is no easy task, as we would later find out. Sunit and I both got a horse each, and we were accompanied by two horsemen. One was relatively young, must have been in his late 20s. He took charge of Sunit’s horse. My horseman was a 70-something year old man, who told us that he has been doing this work for the past 30 years. He looked old, with white hair and beard dotting his wrinkled face, but as we progressed in our trek, we concluded that his fitness and agility could put a young man to shame. We addressed him as Chacha.

We started the trek at 10.30am. The weather was favourable, the skies being bright and sunny, although we did spot puffs of clouds. Our horsemen, however, told us not to get our hopes too high. “Bumbai ka fashion aur Kashmir ka mausam kabhi bhi badal sakta hai (The fashion of Mumbai and the weather of Kashmir can change any time),” they said. We laughed at the joke.

We crossed the first five viewpoints one by one and did not stop for long, as our ultimate destination was Tuliyan Lake. We saw tourists up our way until Baisaran Valley, which is a huge green meadow. Chacha told us that we would stop here for a bit while returning, as he stole a glance at the skies. Rain clouds were beginning to form overhead, playing hide-and-seek with the summer sun.

Baisaran Valley was a pitstop for us, and we were mesmerised by the greenery. It had started to rain when we reached, but that again was magical.

Tuliyan Lake is situated about 11 kilometres from Baisaran Valley. As we made our way further into the forest, the setting changed drastically. Other tourists disappeared behind us in a dot, and the pine trees that lined up the valley grew taller and thicker.

The towering pine trees added a hauntingly beautiful touch to the forest.

I was starting to feel a little nervous around this point: it was just the four of us deep inside the forest, and our two horses. Not another soul in sight! Chacha told us that tourists usually trekked up to Baisaran Valley and only the more adventurous and fit ones trek up to the lake. Which also meant that beyond this point, we were most likely on our own.

We passed by a group of Gujjars on our way, who were huddled around a fire and enjoying their meal. Gujjars are a nomadic shepherding tribe in Jammu and Kashmir. They stay up in the mountains during summer and move down to the valley to escape the harsh winter. They signalled us to stop and join them. We acknowledged their warm gesture with a smile and continued upwards.

If the absence of humans was not eerie enough in this hauntingly beautiful setting, the dangerous terrain more than made up for it.

This was the first time I had gone so deep into a forest, and honestly, I was scared.

For one, I have never ventured so deep inside a forest, that too on horseback. Second, there was no road. We were literally climbing up a steep, rocky mountain with no visible path. And when I say rocky, I am talking BIG rocks! Every two minutes or so, my heart skipped a beat, as I was confident that my horse would miss a step and we would both tumble all the way down. In the distance, I could hear the gushing waters of the Lidder River, which flows through Pahalgam. The visuals of us falling down the hill and ending up in the river kept flashing in my mind, and my eyes were focused on nothing but the next step. It would be an accurate description to say that by the time we had covered 4–5 kilometres from Baisaran, my worried face resembled that of an overripe mango beaten to pulp! We still had another 5–6 kilometres to cover!

There was no defined path to trek. We were left at the mercy of the earth. And there was no other human in sight… Eerie!

My husband, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy every moment, with occasional, ‘Ooh what beauty’ or ‘I have never seen such a beautiful forest in my life’ remarks. Even my horses seemed pretty confident. If they could talk and if they could see the coward mouse I had become by then, they would have probably told me casually, “Don’t worry mate, we have got this. We are trained for this kind of climb. Just chill!” My only solace, perhaps, was the presence of Chacha and his partner, who, I kept repeating to myself as a consolation, must be trekking up and down on a daily basis with tourists.

Our horses did good. Sunit’s was a true black beauty.

To make matters worse, the sky above was gradually becoming overcast, and the bright blue which greeted us in the morning was slowly turning into a dark grey. The trek would become more challenging if it started to rain. Luckily for us, it did not. After every steep curve, I hoped desperately for the sight of some plain, but it was a long wait. We made our way up slow and steady.

At around 1.30pm, we finally reached what is called Tuliyan Marag. This is the base camp for trekkers going up to the lake. The beauty was breathtaking! There were rocky mountains all around us, with some bits covered in snow.

Pictures cannot do justice to this piece of paradise. You need to witness it to believe it :)

In the distance, numerous sheep continued to graze, oblivious to our presence. A couple of horses lazily chewed the mountain grass. What was striking was the absence of other people. It was just the four of us, which is what perhaps made Marag all the more magical. We sat on a rock nearby and soaked in the beauty of the place, too spellbound to make the next move.

Most of the area was covered in snow. Thankfully, the temperature wasn’t freezing, so we could do without woollens.

After clicking a few pictures, we sat by a stream that originated from the lake at the top. The water, needless to say, was ice cold!

Tuliyan Lake being a glacial lake, the water that flowed from it was ice cold. Nevertheless, we enjoyed splashing each other.

Chacha pointed to a place in the distance, and said that the lake was beyond that point, which was easily another hour’s trek, or more, from our location. We looked up at the sky. It had started to drizzle, and there was a good chance that it would soon turn into a downpour. If that happened, we would be stuck: Either we had to wait out the rain, or we would have to navigate the muddy and slippery path downhill, which was perhaps more dangerous than climbing up. We decided it would be wise to start back. “We will save the trek to the lake for the next time,” Sunit said cheekily. “No thank you!” I thought to myself, and smiled.

I was a teeny bit more relaxed now, knowing that we were making our way back and thinking that going downhill would be easier and quicker. I was wrong. It had started raining moderately by now, and we had to put on our jackets and hoodies.

We didn’t want to leave the place, but we had to make our way downhill before the drizzle turned into a downpour, in which case, we would have been stuck in a forest.

As we feared, the path had become quite slippery and, many a times, our horses missed a step and lost their balance. Chacha’s wisdom and experience came to our rescue. He instructed us to get off our horses at certain places where he thought it would be difficult for the beasts to navigate with humans on back. For some part of the journey, we continued this way. After some time, the rain had stopped, and the sun appeared out of nowhere. Chacha again reminded us of Mumbai’s fashion and Kashmir’s weather, and we all had a good laugh.

Chacha’s honest conversations kept our spirits high throughout the dangerous trek, and we were glad to have him by our side.

We chatted our way down. Chacha spoke of his family, of his profession. He also told us that the forests had bears and leopards prowling, and anyone could spot them, depending on their fate. He told us how the Gujjars kept huge, fierce dogs as pets to guard their sheep from wild animals. At some points, when all of us were quiet and had nothing to say, Chacha would break into a Kashmiri folk song, puncturing the drop-dead silence of the forest. We did not understand the words, but the beauty of the moment — Kashmiri lyrics reverberating through a silent forest — was captured in our hearts forever. Even today, whenever we think of the trek and close our eyes, we are taken back to the deep forests of Pahalgam and can almost hear Chacha’s voice speaking to us.

This was undoubtedly the most challenging trek I have done so far, and I am glad we all made it back alive in one piece. But every bit was worth it!

I will let the pictures do rest of the talking.