Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 6: Bwaldar to Mudh

I Continue From Here: Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 5: Pushtirang to Bwaldar 

Day 06: Bwaldar (4,080 m / 13,400 ft) to Mudh (3,800 m / 12,500 ft) - 11km/ and drive to Kaza - 50km/2H

9-July -2026

In the morning, Chandni's trekking pole was finally found. It turned out that the three boys who had pitched their tents next to ours had taken it. She confronted them, and they had no choice but to return it. Later, I learnt that something similar had happened to Neel. One of those boys had casually picked up a trekking pole lying beside the trail and only returned it after being explicitly asked. I was genuinely shocked that such people existed among trekkers. Trekking communities are generally known for being considerate, trustworthy, and supportive of fellow trekkers.

Akshay collected everyone's contribution for the tip we wanted to give the staff. We managed to gather around ₹11,000. During the final briefing that morning, he handed over the amount. Akshay is a shrewd person. He mentioned that on a previous trek, some guide had allegedly not distributed the entire tip among the support staff. So, while handing over the money, he announced the total amount in front of everyone, ensuring complete transparency. Pankaj, however, politely requested that the money be handed directly to the head chef, immediately distancing himself from any possible suspicion regarding its distribution. It reminded me how easily we tend to let one impression colour our entire opinion of a person. It is an unfair thing to do. I was genuinely happy to see Pankaj pass that unspoken test, completely unaware that he was being judged in that moment.

I particularly liked what Sahil said before we parted ways. He told us that every one of us had undergone a transformation during the trek. We had become more adaptable, more resilient, and had learnt valuable survival skills. He urged us to carry those lessons back into our daily lives. If we came across someone at work or within our family who was struggling to cope with life, we should try to help them using what we had learnt here. I thought it was a remarkably mature thought.

If you read that carefully, you will understand what he was getting at. He did not want the knowledge we acquire to turn into arrogance, indifference, or a sense of superiority. Instead, he wanted that knowledge—and the transformation it brings—to humble us, making us more empathetic and compassionate towards the world around us. I admired him deeply for saying something like that so naturally and spontaneously.

Before breakfast, as we were gathered inside the dining tent, Akshay and Ajith Mathew shared some of Shah Rukh's funniest observations from the trek.

By the way, Shah Rukh is from Alappuzha (Alleppey), Kerala. Having completed his studies, he is now preparing for the Kerala State Civil Services examination. Throughout the trek, he travelled entirely by public transport, and it was fascinating to see the spirit of adventure with which he approached it. He had taken a bus to Kafnu at the start of the trek and, the very next day after it ended, was already on another bus to Manali—well before the rest of us had begun our journey back. From Delhi, he continued his journey home on a long train ride to Kerala.

Although quiet by nature, Shah Rukh was remarkably observant and had a wonderful sense of humour. His jokes, often inspired by little things he noticed around him, were subtle but clever. Since I understand a bit of Malayalam, I was able to follow some of the conversations among the Malayali group, and it was delightful to hear them laughing together over his observations.

After a hearty breakfast of poori, sheera, and channa masala, we prepared for our final day's trek. It was drizzling outside. Pankaj waited for a while, hoping the rain would ease, but when it showed no signs of stopping, we set off anyway.

While we waited near the tents, Kush and I got into a conversation. He told me how his mobile phone had been snatched at the Delhi railway station. It contained all the photographs from his trip, and he felt terrible about losing them. To make matters worse, the police had been largely unhelpful. His story immediately reminded me of the dacoit incident when my phone was stolen. I shared my experience with him.

As we walked, I narrated the entire incident in greater detail—how the police had initially troubled us instead of helping us, and how I refused to back down until they finally arrested the entire group responsible. It was one of those incidents that had taught me the importance of standing one's ground.

Our conversation later drifted towards the language issue in Karnataka, particularly in Mysore and Bengaluru. Having experienced something similar during the crime incident in Ratnagiri fort, I could relate to his dilemma and empathise with him.

Chandni had joined us by then, and before long our discussion shifted towards education. Both of us had studied at Kendriya Vidyalaya, and we found ourselves tracing our inclusive nature and liberal outlook to the education we had received there. We were both non-believers in organised religion and held remarkably similar views on society, politics, education, and the way children should be taught. Chandni remarked—and I completely agreed—that we rarely had to explain our thoughts to each other because we instinctively understood the intentions behind them. We seemed to have arrived at similar conclusions through similar life experiences. Personally, talking to her felt like talking to a kindred spirit. I would genuinely enjoy working alongside someone like her and exchanging many more such thoughts and perspectives about the world.

It drizzled throughout the day, and we kept our ponchos on the entire time. By then, however, the rain no longer bothered us. I walked as slowly as possible with my two new friends—Chandni and Kush—talking continuously until we finally reached Mudh village. This was our last opportunity to immerse ourselves in the breathtaking beauty of the valley before returning to civilisation, and I wanted to savour every moment of it. Besides, there were simply too many conversations waiting to happen—caste, politics, reservation, gender bias, adolescence, education, and much more. Time passed effortlessly. I neither noticed the distance nor the fatigue until we arrived at the final stretch of the trail—a short but steep climb leading into Mudh village.

There were several stream crossings along the way. Initially, we carefully searched for rocks to keep our shoes dry, but after the second crossing we simply gave up. Our shoes were already soaked, so there was no point worrying anymore. Near the village, the rain had turned the trail into slippery sludge, making the final climb rather difficult and leaving our shoes completely caked in mud.

A scrumptious lunch awaited us at Mudh. The dal was so rich and flavourful that it reminded me how much we had been missing good food. Our kitchen staff on the trek had done a wonderful job within the limitations of camping conditions, but naturally they could not prepare meals like this.

As we ate, our ponchos, jackets, and shoes were hung outside to dry. The villagers of Mudh seemed warm and welcoming. Many of them were of Tibetan origin. The women smiled warmly as they passed by. I instantly fell in love with the place.

After lunch, we drove towards Kaza. Inside the tempo traveller, Chandni, Dev, Vivan, and I discussed films. Dev was determined to convince me to watch Durandhar. I had avoided it for several reasons. Firstly, I have gradually lost interest in films and hardly watch them anymore. Secondly, I had heard a great deal about the film being propaganda. Dev's recommendation, however, came from a much simpler place. He merely wanted me to watch it as a film, nothing more. We exchanged several other movie recommendations. Chandni and I also discussed whether it was possible to separate an artist from their art while talking about Woody Allen, whom we both seemed to admire as a filmmaker but had our doubts on his personal character based on what has been disclosed thus far. 

Along the way, there were a few small rockfalls. Our guides, along with Dhaval, stepped out to clear the road. One of the tempo travellers also suffered a puncture, forcing us to stop while the tyre was replaced. After roughly two hours of driving, we finally reached Kaza.

At Kaza, we were allotted our rooms. After freshening up, we assembled in the reception area for the debriefing session. Everyone received a certificate for completing the trek, and one by one we shared our experiences. I thanked the guides and especially Pankaj for helping me overcome my fear of glissading.

As everyone spoke, I realised how deeply the trek had affected each one of us. Bhaskar Sir, who had remained mostly quiet throughout the journey, suddenly had so much to share. Ajith Patel was, as always, effortlessly funny. Divyesh, who usually dislikes such sessions, spoke beautifully. Chandni devoted a few thoughtful lines to every individual in the group, and her reflections alone lasted nearly thirty minutes. I thoroughly enjoyed listening to her. Her command over language was impressive, but what impressed me even more were her keen observations about each person's personality.

During his talk, Pankaj recounted an incident from a trek he had co-led to Gaumukh Tapovan. A trekker had fallen seriously ill at high altitude, and his oxygen saturation had dropped drastically. The team spent the entire night by his side, trying to figure out how to handle the situation. Whenever he was given supplemental oxygen, his condition improved, but the moment the supply was withdrawn, it deteriorated again.

The following morning, they carried him back to Gangotri and then rushed him to the nearest town. Eventually, he had to be shifted to a larger hospital for further treatment. The team stayed with him until he had recovered. When the hospital bill came to around ₹25,000, however, the man refused to reimburse them. He dismissed the matter, saying it was their problem, and simply walked away.

That story cleared the air for me.

All this while, I had been observing Pankaj as though I were analysing a character from a work of literature, the way I used to during my Master's. This single anecdote confirmed my impression, mentioned in the previous post, that his cynicism did not arise in a vacuum—it had been shaped by personal experience. It is society that makes us who we are.

As I write this, I cannot help but notice our helplessness, our lack of control over the very thoughts and attitudes that gradually come to define us.

When it came to feedback, I reminded Pankaj about the issue of toilet cleanliness and suggested that the team monitor it more regularly. Some people offered suggestions; others chose to let things pass.

Finally, it was Akshay's turn. He gave Pankaj honest but direct feedback. He told him that he seemed to have a contradictory personality. On one hand, he inspired and motivated people. On the other, he often discouraged them through his lack of approachability and his tendency towards negativity. Although Akshay expressed it as politely as possible, I could see that the feedback affected Pankaj deeply.

That evening, despite the smile Pankaj wore on his face, I sensed that the positive transformation I had observed in him over the previous few days had begun to fade beneath the emotions of embarrassment and hurt, especially because the feedback had been delivered in front of the very team he led.

The following morning, Pankaj never came downstairs to see us off. It was obvious that he was still upset. Akshay and I briefly discussed the incident. I told him that I completely agreed with his observations and that he had conveyed them with remarkable politeness. Yet I also felt that Pankaj had been hurt largely because the criticism was offered publicly, in front of his subordinates. It was personal feedback rather than a general one, and perhaps it would have been more effective had it been shared privately.

I felt a little sad. During the course of the trek, I had genuinely begun to appreciate the gradual changes I saw in Pankaj. It seemed, however, that this one incident had undone much of that progress. Even so, I remain hopeful. Once he has processed the disappointment and reflected upon it, I believe he will see things more clearly and continue to grow. I sincerely hope I meet Pankaj again someday and witness those changes for myself.

As a teacher, I have always found immense satisfaction in observing my students evolve over the years. Changing one's outlook towards life is perhaps the most meaningful transformation a person can undergo. Pankaj has his flaws, just as all of us do. But how many of us are truly willing to acknowledge them, introspect honestly, and change?

That night, Abhi, Ajith, Bhaskar Sir, and I walked to Deyzor Café for dinner. Steven, Shahrukh, and Chandni joined us. Unfortunately, the café was fully booked, and despite we attempting to make use of Steven's "white man privilege", we couldn't get a table. So we headed to Café Piti instead where the others had gathered. 

We tried some local dishes—Ema Datshi, the famous spicy Bhutanese cheese curry, and Aloo Fing with black fungus. The food was mediocre. I disliked the fact that it was a little too heavy on refined flour. We also tried a sea buckthorn drink and finished with dessert. We stayed there until the café closed around 10 p.m.

That night, after five days of sleeping in a sleeping bag, I finally slept soundly on a comfortable bed.

Trek Highlights:

To Be Continued...