The Valley of Flowers 

A Trek to the Bhiundhar Valley, Garhwal

(1996)

    To the southeast of the shrine of Badrinath, in the Garhwal, is a small village named Bhiundhar.1  Frank Smythe and his team, which included Eric Shipton and R.L. Holdsworth, had climbed Kamet (7756 m) in 1931. Like true explorers they decided to return by a high pass instead of the usual trade route. They crossed Bhiundhar pass (5150 m) and descended into the north Bhiundhar valley. Like many valleys in Garhwal this one was in full bloom. With its wide meadows and seemingly endless loveliness it must have seemed like paradise after the hostile and barren slopes of Kamet.

To us the Bhyundar Valley will always remain the Valley of Flowers. It is a place of escape for those wearied of modern civilisation. . . . . True, it would be necessary to descend in winter to warmer and less snowy levels, but for half a year the lover of beauty and solitude could find peace in the Valley of Flowers. He would discover joy and laughter in the meadows; the stars would be his nightly canopy; he would watch the slow passing of the clouds; he would share the sunset and dawn with God.

  Beyond the hills, nations might fly at one another’s throats; Mussolini’s rise and fall; anarchy and revolution rot the nations; but in the Valley of Flowers the only strife would be that of the elements, the only sounds the wind in the flowers, the voice of the stream, and the rumble of the avalanches.

  Peace and contentment were ours as we sat around the camp fire. Felt rather than seen were the peaks about us. A million stars eyed us. The voice of the mountain torrent lulled us to sleep.2 

    Smythe wrote eloquently about his time in this valley in two books, Kamet Conquered and The Valley of Flowers. Thus was a legend born. This sleepy obscure valley today holds a special place in Himalayan folklore. Most pilgrims visiting the shrine at Badrinath take a detour to this valley, now a ‘National Park’.

    In 1996 we travelled by road from Haridwar to Joshimath (276 km) to Govindghat (18 km). September 1st saw two of us trudging our way up from Govindghat (1800 m) to Ghangria (3080 m; 13 km). There were many tea-stalls on the way. And innumerable pilgrims who made colourful companions under the grey skies. Bhiundhar village was half way up on this route. Originally this village was near a huge cave, hence named Bhiu—cave, dhar—place. Despite the heavy rush of visitors little seemed to have changed for these villagers. Roads were bad, the houses primitive, neglect and decay reigned everywhere. Tetrapacks, aluminium foils, bottles, plastic and other garbage littered the path. The route to the well-known place of pilgrimage of the Sikhs, Hemkund, also lay along this trail and it bore heavy traffic.

    Hindus have been visiting this lovely lake, called Lokpal, at 4150 m, for centuries. It was believed to be the place where Laxman (the younger brother of Ram, in the epic Ramayana) had meditated. His other name was Lokpal, the ‘protector of the masses’. In the holy script of the Sikhs, Dasham Granth, Guru Govind Singh mentioned a lake with seven peaks surrounding it as a place where he had meditated in his past life. Scholar Bhai Bir Singh of Amritsar decided to search for such a place. In 1932, he visited Badrinath. He observed many Hindu pilgrims climbing up the Bhiundhar valley to Lokpal. When he returned in 1936 he made further inquiries and reached this lake, which did lie at the foot of seven peaks. It was marked on the map as Saptashringi. He declared this to be the lake where Guru Govind Singh had obtained nirvana in his past life and decided to build a Gurudwara there. Havildar Sohan Singh, who was deputed to this task in 1939, built a small place next to the ancient Laxman temple. This was expanded in 1974 with wide footpath leading to it. It was christened ‘Hemkund’ which means lake of solace. Since such a place was mentioned in their scriptures, Hemkund became an important place of worship for the Sikhs. It is 6 km and almost 1000 m above Ghangria.

    The Valley of Flowers is about 8 km from Ghangria. As we entered it, a vast meadow stretched before us. With the backdrop of Rataban and other snow-covered peaks bordering it, it was an enchanting sight. Flowers bloom here from August to October and the flora, a wide variety of which has been catalogued by Smythe in his books, changes every few days. Sheer magic!

    As we walked on the pilgrim trail, we met an old man. In fact we had read about him, and were looking out for him anyway. He was Nanda Singh Chauhan of Bhiundhar village, a historian. Aged 82, he walked up to Ghangria everyday to chat with his friends. He narrated stories, told us of his involvement in the history of this valley and his associations with legendary visitors.

    After his first brief visit in 1931, Smythe had returned to the valley in 1937 and stayed for four months. Each week botanical specimens were collected and sent to Joshimath from where they would begin a long journey to Edinburgh. A hot-house was created in the Botanical Garden of Edinburgh and these flowers and seeds were nurtured there. Nanda Singh and other villagers carried these specimens to the post office. He vividly remembered ‘Dr Smythe’ as a pucca British Sahib and talked fondly about him.

    ‘The Sahibs had a very comfortable and huge camp for months together. Supplies used to arrive from Ranikhet regularly and everything was well organised.’

    Not surprising, I thought, for Smythe was known for his taste for the good things in life.

Most mountaineers have, I think, an affection for ‘ruggedness’—for toughness at all times; a pride in indifference to discomfort and in a capacity to endure all conditions. Frank (Smythe) would have none of this. In face of tradition, and sometimes of ridicule, he preached his faith in ‘be comfortable while you can, then stick it when you must’. So at the beginning of an expedition we would behold an apparently unmuscular, soft and almost paunchy Capuan, appreciative of the lush hospitality of the Planters’ Club at Darjeeling and blandly unconscious of such a thing as training. But we saw a different Frank Smythe once we were at the base camp.3 

    But of course Smythe dismissed any suggestions of too much comfort in this valley.

To my mind, the acme of mental and spiritual discomfort would be to live in some super-luxury hotel in the Valley of Flowers. Happiness is best achieved by adapting ourselves to the standards of our environment.

  In Garhwal, I met true civilisation, for I found contentment and happiness. I saw life that is not enslaved by the time-factor, that is not obsessed by the idea that happiness is dependent on money and materials. I had never before realised until I camped in the Valley of Flowers how much happiness there is in simple living and simple things.4 

    There was talk of building a helipad and a hut in the valley when a former Prime Minister of India had decided to visit the valley. Luckily wiser counsel prevailed, as the P.M. did not find the time to do so!

    The Valley of Flowers had another claim to fame: Smythe in 1937 had ‘discovered’ the foot prints of a Yeti.

But when I came up to the tracks I saw the imprint of a huge naked foot, apparently of a biped, and in stride closely resembling our own tracks. What was it? I was very interested, and at once proceeded to take some photographs. I was engaged in this work when the porters joined me. It was at once evident when they saw the tracks that they were frightened. Wangdi was first to speak.

  “Bad Manshi!” he said, and then “Mirka!” And in case I still did not understand, “Kang Admi (Snowman).”

  They were unanimous that the Snowman walked with his toes behind him and the impressions at the heel were in reality the front toes.

  In order to descend the face, the beast had made a series of intricate traverses and had zig-zagged down a series of ridges and gullies. An expert mountaineer could not have made a better route, and to accomplish it without an ice-axe would have been both difficult and dangerous, whilst the unroped descent of a crevassed snow-covered glacier must be accounted as unjustifiable. Obviously the “Snowman” was well qualified for membership of the Himalayan Club.5 

    He took prints, made affidavits and prepared to shoot the beast upon his return. But the report from England declared it to be the foot prints of a bear. Thank God for that. The Himalayan Club would have had a most unusual member on its rolls.

    The place was visited in 1862 by Col. Edmund Smith. In 1907 T.G. Longstaff with Arnold Mumm and Charles G. Bruce passed through this valley. But it took Frank Smythe’s scientific eye and philosopher’s heart to recognise it as the Valley of Flowers. Many have since then passed through the high passes of this valley and literally thousands visit it every year.

    Tragedy befell a member of the Himalayan Club here in 1991. Firdaus Talyerkhan from Bombay was a reputed lawyer full of wit and charm. While trekking with friends he intended to descend to the Valley of Flowers from Bhiundhar Khal. As he was standing on the pass, alone and unroped, a crevasse gave way beneath his feet. He fell in it and was wedged in the ice between the walls of the crevasse. His companions tried to rescue him by different modes for a few hours, then went down towards Gamsali, leaving him alive in the crevasse. When they returned, expectedly, he was dead. His body was abstracted after almost two years when the crevasse widened naturally. Locals remember the incident and attribute it to supernatural forces in this valley.

    We arrived to a place called ‘Bamani Dhaur’ (cave of Brahmin) somewhere in the middle of the valley. Legend says that a Brahmin once sat here telling visitors their fortunes and drawing their horoscope charts (‘kundali’). This he did by observing shadows on the long meadow across the river. At what time and on which day the shadow was to be observed depended on the date of birth of the person. This meadow was therefore called ‘Sri Kundalisen’.

    A little ahead of Bamani Dhaur was a small meadow where stood the grave of Joan Margaret Legge. Inspired by Frank Smythe’s work here, the Botanical Garden of Edinburgh deputed her to spend a few months in the Valley of Flowers. She arrived in Ranikhet and met the local representative of the Himalayan Club, Mr. Brown. With porters she trekked across the lower foothills, reached Joshimath and finally Govindghat on 25 June 1939. Nanda Singh Chauhan accompanied her as a guide from Ranikhet. She walked up slowly, collecting samples along the way. On 4 July she went up the slopes towards Khulia Garva, slipped and fell. She died instantly. The porters brought down the body. They and the villagers from Bhiundhar informed the local magistrate at Joshimath and Chamoli. A police thanedar was deputed to visit the site. He ordered all the villagers to gather in the valley and made a panchnama. Some villagers stayed with the body while a report was sent by wireless to Ranikhet and England. Legge’s sister requested that the body be buried in the valley. All the items she carried and collected were listed and sent to England and a small grave was built where she lay. Her sister visited the site the following year. She erected a small memorial for Legge which stands there till today. It has an inscription:

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills

From whence cometh my help.6 

    Since this grave is the only point of reference in the valley most visitors who reach till here believe, rather erroneously, that it was Legge who discovered the Valley of Flowers. Maybe a memorial to Frank Smythe should be built as well, for it was he who introduced Himalayan flowers to the world. This is what he wrote about the last day spent in the valley.

Beauty, health, good comradeship, peace, all these had been mine in the Valley of Flowers. For a while I had lived simply and happily and I like to think, indeed I know, that those about me had been happy too.

  So I spent some of my last hours in the Valley of Flowers, seated by the camp fire, until the flames died down and stars brightened beyond hill-tops; and all about me was the serenity of God.7 

    It was drizzling on our return. A party, including a middle-aged housewife from Bombay, was on its way up. I tried to dissuade them from going up due to the inclement weather.

    ‘We have come a long, long way to see the flowers. We must see them. After all this is the Valley of Flowers.’ And like true pilgrims, they trudged on, unmindful of the hardships involved.

    This valley owes much to Frank Smythe. The catchy name he gave it stuck on. He made the place famous. Indians, non-mountaineers and even weekend trekkers find their way to this easily accessible place of glorious beauty. Outsiders, now know that there is more to the Himalaya than shrines and snow. Indeed, this valley is a celebration of the Himalayan flora.

Notes & References

1. Smythe called this village, the pass and the valley ‘Bhyundar’. On recent maps this has been changed to the correct Indian spelling, ‘Bhiundhar’.
2. Kamet Conquered by Frank Smythe, p. 252-53.
3. Hugh Ruttledge writing an obituary on Frank Smythe in the Himalayan Journal, Vol. XV, p. 102.
4. The Valley of Flowers by Frank Smythe, p. 90.
5. The Valley of Flowers by Frank Smythe, p. 147.
6. Inscription on Legge’s grave in the Valley of Flowers.
7. The Valley of Flowers by Frank Smythe, p. 286.