The Summit Within

Each morning, I wake up to a sharp, slashing pain in my throat. As my senses sharpen, the harsh realization sets in—I’m neither in the mountains nor the meadows. Instead, I am enveloped by the weight of this unfamiliar world. A life with GAD had taken a more aggressive form this year, with panic attacks becoming frequent, almost hourly visitors. Once the epitome of joy, I never imagined vulnerability would strip me so bare. Losing my grandfather to Parkinson's and my dad being posted away, plunged me into an abyss where moving forward seemed an insurmountable challenge. Everything that could go wrong, did. My imbecilic self thought the only way out was to end it all, just to feel a fleeting moment of relief. Everything I tried to hold onto just slipped away, leaving me in a place I didn’t recognize. I found myself grieving the lost remnants of my inner child, the joy and innocence that once defined me. Through psychotherapy, I managed to survive the daily grind, but true healing remained elusive. That’s when I made a promise to myself: I would embark on a trek I had been delaying for the last three years, knowing that only in nature’s embrace could I find the peace I desperately sought. After considering various agencies, we finally decided on IndiaHikes, though unbeknownst to me at the time, became the very catalyst for my metamorphic journey.

As a nature enthusiast, I’ve always been spellbound by its beauty. I remember how, as a child, I would drift to sleep wondering about the mysteries of evolution, fascinated by the world in ways I can’t describe. When we left Rishikesh for Sari, the journey was accompanied by songs for Shiva. The beauty that unfolded around me made me bow my head to the supreme energy, because the magnificence of it all felt too good to be true. Devprayag, Ukhimath, Byasi, Rudraprayag—each place we passed had the most mesmerizing scenery I’d ever laid eyes on. I kept picturing how breathtaking DC must appear from that lofty altitude. 

On each day of the trek, I could barely sleep, not wanting to miss a single moment of the stunning vistas unfolding before me. I don’t remember the last time I was this optimistic and engaged in something. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly content just to be alive. I don’t think people understand how deeply I feel about things.

At Jhandi Top, I remember tears streaming down my face, overwhelmed by an unexpected surge of happiness. The only thing I said was, “Shailey, chin up, the war is over.” I was deeply indebted to the universe for not allowing me to end my life over something trivial. (TW) If I had, I would never have experienced the divine energy that held my hand and guided me to the most wondrous place on Earth: the Himalayas. At that point I often wondered how I could help those lost in darkness, burdened by their suffering and on the brink of giving up on life. If only I could show them the beauty of life beyond the pain, that even in the most desolate moments, there is hope. I wish I could be the one to remind them that they are not alone and all it takes is someone to walk beside them, guiding them through the storm only if you’re brave enough to ask for help.

In the deep meadows, I felt like I was in a trance, walking through pure serenity. It unlocked feelings and emotions I didn’t even know existed, almost as if I were living through a sequel to "Inside Out" where anxiety no longer had the power to take control. Adulthood, I’ve come to realize, is a constant process of losing and finding oneself, over and over again—and I felt it in every fiber of my being. I used to bow my head constantly, but whenever I looked up, I could see why this miraculous journey was worth every bit of effort. The grandeur of the surroundings took my breath away! It made me question, "How could the god who created such magnificence create a speck like me?"

I remember the rhythmic “rat-a-tat-tat” of a woodpecker, the crunching of maple leaves beneath my feet, the soft, dappled sunlight casting its glow, and the distant flow of water. My senses shifted as if the sound awakened a quiet longing within me to be closer to its source. On the last day, despite my slip disc, I managed to reach Tungnath within the allotted time, though something stopped me from continuing beyond that. I stayed alone at Tungnath, feeling numb. It was as if Shiva himself stood with me, telling me not to punish myself anymore. The pain I endured on summit day—reaching Tungnath, feeling as though my spine might crumble at any moment—was beyond words. The trekkers who were behind me continued on to Chandrashila but I couldn’t pull myself away from the energy that enveloped me there. Even now, thinking about it gives me goosebumps. I watched the sunrise from Tungnath, and Mt. Chaukhamba looked like a bride dressed in dazzling light—stunning.

The story of Deoriatal Lake, the dog who accompanied us to the summit justified the myth of Yudhishthir I heard at Tungnath, and the miraculous views—all of these brought me closer to God. I recall the ache of not reaching the summit while it was within my grasp, the weight of my slipped disc pain pressing me to fight harder. Yet, when Umarji spoke, gently suggesting that perhaps Shiva needed more time with me, something within me softened. I released my disappointment, letting go of the struggle, and surrendered to the quiet grace of acceptance, no longer resisting the flow of things as they were.

The cherry on top was the remarkable group of trekmates I had. Their wisdom and unwavering support gave me the strength to move forward. Our conversations felt timeless, each word opening a new door into their lives, too precious to end. Umar Ji asked each of us to share how we felt at the end of the day, and each story touched me deeply. I resonated with every one of them, and their words marked a turning point for all of us. It brought us closer together, and I owe much of that to umarji—he is truly stellar at what he does, and I cannot emphasize that enough as mere words can never encapsulate the depth of the remarkable soul he is. My beloved Sheen and Kshiti, the heart of my being, made this trek an odyssey of gratitude and boundless joy. From Naveen Ji’s whimsical ‘porcupine’ moniker to Umar Ji’s presence, whose soul-stirring playlist reflected our shared musical pulse, to birdwatching with Devji, and constantly marveling at the love between Beena Ji and Mohan Ji, Ansa’s motivation and positivity alongside Mubaraka Ji and Rashida Ji’s motherly affection—each fleeting moment was saturated with warmth, keeping my spirit alive in ways beyond words. The kindness of my fellow trekkers, always watching over me, made this experience something I’ll carry in my heart forever. They taught me how to give love even in the toughest times, because these are the moments that test your core. My path is now defined by a quiet, soft love for what is, what was, and what will be.

I remember calling my dad at midnight, gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face, telling him, “Dad, this has healed me. I never want to go back to that eyesore of a city again. Please, I can’t bear that shallow life anymore!” His concern was palpable, as he fears I might never return next time due to my deep connection to the mountains. The way I’ve transformed—from the grip of anxiety to the calm I now carry—has got everyone saying, “Beta, you should go on a trek every trimester!” (It makes my dad uneasy, haha.)

This journey has changed the trajectory of my life. It feels like a rebirth—crazy coinkydinks, as I turn 21. All my anxiety, my fear of the future, and my palpitations faded, as if I’d just stepped away from them. I’ve discovered a new void within, and strangely, it feels like a blessing. Yet, an unsettling silence persists, one that unsettles me as I drift into aloofness from the mountains. I’ve surrendered to the flow of life, and with that surrender comes profound liberation. I now know there is a higher power that loves me, and I will hold onto that. I’ve realized that death is inevitable, and I’ve found the courage to embrace it warmly when it comes—returning to the universe what it has lent me. I am simply happy to experience life, no longer passing judgment on others, recognizing that they, too, are like random trees along the trail of life, each nurtured in different forms and shaped by their own experiences.

This journey was about embracing the power to create my own narrative. I once thought my purpose was already drawn out, but this trek redefined what it meant for me. Being closer to the mountains will now be the foundation of that purpose. Looking at the everlasting flowers, I’ve come to understand the significance of our existence—a far cry from my earlier rejection of it.

Each night, I surrender to slumber, my mind adrift in the cryptic woods where the night whispers my name. In their quietude, I am reminded of paths unwalked and the latent magic within. I yearn for the mountains, holding on to the hope that their transformative power will continue to change lives, as it has indelibly changed mine. In their boundless expanse, I left a part of myself—one that completes me—and now I seek it, yearning for the moment when our paths will entwine once more.

I would like to sign this off with Anaïs Nin’s,
“Touched bottom again, decided to liberate myself.
We are never trapped unless we choose to be.”