The Himalayas have always held a special place in the hearts of our household. Growing up, the dream to explore those mighty mountains was fanned by bedside stories and books with grainy black and white photos that still seemed brimming with scenic beauty.
With such dreams incubating in our hearts, it is no surprise that any holiday to us meant a Himalayan holiday.
Last year, when discussions around the tradition of yearly trips slowly progressed in the family WhatsApp group, vetoing all other options, my sister and I again voted for the Himalayas.
The decision made, tickets booked, bags packed, and hearts abound with enthusiasm, we waited. From the low-lying sandy shores of Kerala to Chandigarh and then forward to Himachal Pradesh.
We had a destination in mind. A lake of legends and mystery, a lake steeped in mysticism and surrounded by natural beauty, a lake called Prashar Lake.
Parashar Lake is located in the Mandi district of Himachal Pradesh. Mythologically, the lake is said to have been created by Sage Parashar when he struck the ground with his dhandha or rod. It seemed, in another story, the Pandavas had something to do with its formation. As with most natural structures in our land, the stories of Pandavas having played a part in its formation shouldn't surprise anyone.
As we made our way forward from Kullu through winding ghat roads, cutting through sleepy villages, the snowcapped, sky-high peaks loomed majestically in the distance and beckoned us forward.
The IIT Mandi on the way seemed sleepy, like just another village hamlet. The River Beas slowly curved through the valley with huge boulders in its plains that whispered of past devastating floods and landslides.
As the sun set in a golden hue and the chill slowly crept in, we arrived at Suhara village, close to Prashar.
Perched precariously on the mountainside with cold winds cutting through its windows, the homestay looked picturesque. The piping hot chai served by the hotel staff warmed us up, and we slowly settled in.
Early the next morning, while deodar and pine trees drooped heavy with morning dew and the mist slowly receded, we started our journey. The road was pleasant with morning songs of mountain birds. Herds of goats wandered lazily. And we slowly climbed our way to Prashar.
With the proud peaks of Dhauladhar standing tall like sentinels around, their heads steady in meditation, we finally looked down at the small valley with grassy slopes leading down to a lake of crystal water.
A tourist paraglides in Himachal Pradesh, with the Dauladhar peaks in the background
A veritable haven nestled among the mountains. In the middle of the lake floated an island, a small meadow of grass that moved around the lake throughout the year. The wind blew its own symphony on the green, grassy mountainside. The prayer flags fluttered in harmony.
The temple nearby seemed part of the landscape. We slowly made our way down, occasionally stopping to take in the view. The chill in the air was long forgotten. The temple was three-tiered with pagoda-like architecture. The temple dedicated to Sage Prashar was built in the 13th to 14th century. Its walls and sanctum spoke of its antiquity. A meditative calm pervaded the atmosphere.
We sat for some time in silence on the cold wooden bench nearby. The wind raised gentle waves on the lake. The round floating island seemed a thing of marvel. A wonder of nature woven with invisible stories of epics and gazed upon by hundreds of eyes in various stages of exaltation. We slowly went around the muddy path around the lake.
Like many of our Himalayan treks, a lonely dog accompanied us, showing us the way and glad to receive affection and any snacks in return. The view from the surrounding hills looked alluring. A short climb revealed a magnificent view. We clicked a few photos to share with our friends and family. Surely, the whole world should discover this offbeat gem.
In winter, the entire lake would freeze over with pristine white sheets of snow covering it. In spring, lush green meadows of grass adorned the valley. At other times, the valley glowed with shades in between. Having spent a couple of peaceful hours at the lake, we slowly climbed back up. The early morning trek left us famished.
A few miles down the hill stood a small shack that functioned as a tea stall. And of course, there were Maggi noodles, the staple of such trips. As we slurped down hot, tasty noodles, the rising sun painted the distant mountains and slowly revealed the stunning layers upon layers of peaks that nature had drawn like some gifted child.
With a strong desire to see the lake in its various forms, we made a pact to visit this place again. In that profound silence and under the solemn gaze of the mighty peaks of our land, life seemed easier, better, and a little bit lighter.
The writer is a pathologist based in Wayanad, Kerala.
