The trees seemed to have a strange hold on me and I suddenly recalled the words of legendary writer Ruskin Bond, who said, “But the trees seemed to know me.
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A little stream gurgling by the side completed the blissful picture. It was made more enchanting by an abundance of birds which rent the air with their calls, resulting in a beautiful symphony. The trees, a kind of cedar, one of the two main identities of Jageshwar, grew luxuriously on river banks, hill sides and valleys.Įarly in the morning, with the light barely filtering through the thick growth, the area had a distinct mystery to it. But once the bustle of Almora dropped behind, I was suddenly in the midst of an unusually thick forest of deodhar trees, rising majestically into the sky, silhouetted against the blue. It quickly became apparent that in the hills of Kumaon, winding roads, dips and crests, gently gurgling streams, tantalising glimpses of Himalayan peaks, tiny hamlets and villages with houses perched precariously on hill sides and dotted with brightly coloured temples, was a constant leitmotif. The next day, I headed towards Jageshwar. On the way back, I couldn’t help but step into the Kilmora shop run by an NGO which stocked handicrafts, hand-woven, handknitted and handmade products such as soaps, scrubs, pastes and chutneys. There was a century-old post office and tiny old bungalows, while a few of the locals were clustered near a tea stall, steaming cups of the brew in their hands as they exchanged gossip.
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Leading down from the temple steps, the little town of Muketeshwar was in itself a lovely place with a distinctive colonial feel. Presently though, the temple has a white marble Shivaling and is surrounded by other deities of the Hindu pantheon. According to local lore, it is believed that the temple came up on location of a celestial battle between a demon and a goddess. Nearby, a lengthy set of stone stairs led to the Mukteshwar temple. But it was the promontory with many rocks jutting out at weird angles and stunning views of the peaks and valleys around that had me mesmerised, even though a gaggle of youngsters was bent on testing their vocal chords as they attempted rock climbing and rappelling. More enthralling was Chauli ki Jali, a rocky formation next to the temple associated with many myths. I headed to the eponymous 350-year-old Shiva temple on a rocky peak. Located at an altitude of more than 7,500 feet, Mukteshwar lay in the midst of fruit orchards and lush greenery comprising thick coniferous forests, oaks and rhododendrons and stunning views of snow-capped Himalayan peaks. As the sun rose and banished some of the chill, I stepped out to get a feel of Mukteshwar. But also ephemeral a few minutes later a thick cloud cover descended over the peaks and it was as if what I had seen was just a vision in a dream. It was a jaw-dropping moment to say the least. A hazy curtain hid the Nanda Devi but I could clearly see other Himalayan peaks, especially the Panchchuli group, a cluster of five mountains all rising to over 20,500 feet.