<p>The most convenient route to reach my native village, Khand, in mountainous Uttarakhand is via Devprayag, about three hours of road travel from Rishikesh. Travelling up to this point is fine. Uncertainty looms over the next 26-kilometre track after crossing the Ganga. The absence of bus service on this route disheartens prospective visitors attuned to cosy urban life. Many car owners settled in cities avoid plying their vehicles to their native villages because of rugged, bumpy roads, especially in the rainy season. Of this 26-kilometre track, the initial 16-km proper road is motorable, that is, up to Vyas Ghat, the confluence of the Ganga and Nayaar rivers, and the seat of Maharshi Ved Vyas, known to have scripted the Puranas. Just beyond, there is a bifurcation; the main pucca road leads to Satpuli town. Lorries accommodate passengers at fair rates. For our village, we take the lonesome right turn, walking or dragging ourselves, to cover the remaining 10 km, unless we are lucky to chance upon jeeps, which is a rare privilege. The entire 26-kilometre length is a boon to nature lovers. Throughout, one moves along the Ganga, flowing sometime turbulently and sometime lingering serenely as if in a pensive mood.</p>.<p>One wintry morning 12 years ago, I was all alone at Devprayag to attend a grih pravesh (house warming) ceremony in my village. I never pass up a chance to visit my village. Well, first I explored if any vehicles would be available. After some reckoning, a dhaba manager said such chances were rather bleak that day. I hung my bag on the back and proceeded to traverse the entire 26 km length on foot. A vehicle in my direction, if any, shall pick me up, as is the norm on hilly roads.</p>.<p>I hardly covered a kilometre when I heard the sound of a vehicle reverberate in the Umraas hills. Soon, a police jeep was in view; it slowed down and halted in front of me. The young police officer with three stars asked my destination. Stunned, the man in uniform commented, “It is 10 km further from Vyas Ghat; how come at this age you dare to proceed like this?”</p>.<p class="bodytext">Pointing to my legs, I said, “These and my heart imbue me with all the energy I require to go wherever I so want.” I added, “That place is, after all, my own native village.” Overtly moved by my confidence, he offered to accompany me up to Vyas Ghat. It took us just a few minutes to become friendly. He said he was an SHO in Devprayag, now on an errand. The 30 minutes we were together went by in a flash. Before we bid adieu, he shared with me his contact details and invited me to visit him whenever I was around Devprayag.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The police officer was a godsend. When I think of Devprayag, I fondly recall the man in uniform.</p>
<p>The most convenient route to reach my native village, Khand, in mountainous Uttarakhand is via Devprayag, about three hours of road travel from Rishikesh. Travelling up to this point is fine. Uncertainty looms over the next 26-kilometre track after crossing the Ganga. The absence of bus service on this route disheartens prospective visitors attuned to cosy urban life. Many car owners settled in cities avoid plying their vehicles to their native villages because of rugged, bumpy roads, especially in the rainy season. Of this 26-kilometre track, the initial 16-km proper road is motorable, that is, up to Vyas Ghat, the confluence of the Ganga and Nayaar rivers, and the seat of Maharshi Ved Vyas, known to have scripted the Puranas. Just beyond, there is a bifurcation; the main pucca road leads to Satpuli town. Lorries accommodate passengers at fair rates. For our village, we take the lonesome right turn, walking or dragging ourselves, to cover the remaining 10 km, unless we are lucky to chance upon jeeps, which is a rare privilege. The entire 26-kilometre length is a boon to nature lovers. Throughout, one moves along the Ganga, flowing sometime turbulently and sometime lingering serenely as if in a pensive mood.</p>.<p>One wintry morning 12 years ago, I was all alone at Devprayag to attend a grih pravesh (house warming) ceremony in my village. I never pass up a chance to visit my village. Well, first I explored if any vehicles would be available. After some reckoning, a dhaba manager said such chances were rather bleak that day. I hung my bag on the back and proceeded to traverse the entire 26 km length on foot. A vehicle in my direction, if any, shall pick me up, as is the norm on hilly roads.</p>.<p>I hardly covered a kilometre when I heard the sound of a vehicle reverberate in the Umraas hills. Soon, a police jeep was in view; it slowed down and halted in front of me. The young police officer with three stars asked my destination. Stunned, the man in uniform commented, “It is 10 km further from Vyas Ghat; how come at this age you dare to proceed like this?”</p>.<p class="bodytext">Pointing to my legs, I said, “These and my heart imbue me with all the energy I require to go wherever I so want.” I added, “That place is, after all, my own native village.” Overtly moved by my confidence, he offered to accompany me up to Vyas Ghat. It took us just a few minutes to become friendly. He said he was an SHO in Devprayag, now on an errand. The 30 minutes we were together went by in a flash. Before we bid adieu, he shared with me his contact details and invited me to visit him whenever I was around Devprayag.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The police officer was a godsend. When I think of Devprayag, I fondly recall the man in uniform.</p>