Amarnath Yatra 2013

Indian Army welcomes the Yatris

I first tried to visit Amarnath in 2010 but could not, as the police stopped us from entering the Kashmir Valley, saying the weather was bad and driving in the high mountains was impossible. Later, we learned the real problem was locals from Anantnag and the Kashmir Valley attacking pilgrims. We were shocked and saddened to hear that we were not allowed to travel freely in our own country and that people from our own land hated us. After that incident, I promised myself not to go to Kashmir until the India-Pakistan and Kashmir issue were resolved. But the very next year, I took a road trip to Leh via the Kashmir Valley, talked with people, and learned a lot.

Indian Army welcomes the Yatris

Viccky, Chintu, Driver and I (Left to right)

That experience changed my view and motivated me to plan another trip to better understand the people living there, their issues, and problems. My friends were planning a trip to Amarnath this June, and I immediately joined with excitement and hope to learn and experience more of Kashmir. The Supreme Court of India was very strict about the number of visitors and their health conditions. It mandated health checkups and proper registration for every pilgrim, because more than 250 people had died during the Yatra in 2012. Due to ecological concerns about the Amarnath glacier, the court also limited daily visitors to 7,500.

Baltal Basecamp

We registered and underwent health checkups in Varanasi. The process was maddening, filled with bureaucracy and typical government officer behavior. The health check included three tests: a general blood test, an orthopedic test, and a rather mysterious naked body examination. I call it mysterious because the doctor never explained why he needed to see me naked. Anyway, the blood test was fine, but the orthopedic doctor was so busy on his phone that he just stamped the certificate without a proper checkup.

Baltal Basecamp

Rates for tents

The naked body test was quite funny. People of all ages came out of the doctor’s room laughing or frustrated. My experience was similar. The doctor asked me to stand ten meters away, take off my pants, and cough. When I asked what it was for, he angrily told me to do it without explanation. I guess it was to check for hernia. After getting the health certificate, we went to the Punjab National Bank, authorized by the Amarnath Shrine Board, to complete the registration by paying Rs. 30. We wanted to start the Yatra from Pahalgam checkpoint but it was already full for several days, so we got permission from Baltal, the alternative. Most people prefer Pahalgam because the route to Amarnath cave from Baltal is very steep. We started our journey from Varanasi by train to Jammu and stayed overnight to rest after the 28-hour trip. We planned to reach Baltal base camp the next day.

Rates for tents

Beautiful nature

There was heavy presence of police and army throughout Jammu and Kashmir—quite normal there. We were stopped multiple times on the way to Baltal, had to show our registration certificates and bags checked. Nearing the base camp, our vehicle was stopped at an Army camp along with around 200 others. Nobody knew why we were delayed. Finally, a polite Army man explained that locals from Anantnag were attacking pilgrims’ vehicles, so additional security was needed. After two hours, the fleet was allowed to continue, guarded by the Indian Army until we passed the sensitive area.

River

Pilgrims on the way to the Holy cave

We were stopped again about 70 km from base camp and spent the night at another Army camp, where a huge langar was set up by someone from Lucknow. They provided free food, hot water, blankets, and other services for pilgrims. I was impressed by the kindness even though I didn’t eat because the line was long. We rented a small tent for Rs. 700 and spent the night, wary of the 4–5 restrooms for some 5,000 people. We left early the next morning.

Pilgrims on the way to the Holy cave

I near to the Holy cave

We arrived at Baltal around 8 AM intending to start trekking immediately, but our registration was valid only from July 3rd, and we arrived on the 1st. Though others said the date didn’t matter as long as you had a registration certificate, all court orders were strict and rules followed strictly this year. Our attempts to get permission to start early failed, so we looked for langar accommodation nearby, luckily finding one run by someone from Varanasi. The langar offered us free sleeping arrangements, hot food, hot water, and clean private washrooms—a great relief. We spent the day exploring langars, meeting people, and tasting various foods.

I near to the Holy cave

Super crowded near the cave

The next morning, two of our heavier friends had difficulties walking in the high altitude. They opted for helicopter services to reduce the journey by 6 km, which I had never tried before and decided to join. At 7 AM, we arrived at the helicopter station, but the ticketing process was chaotic and took 7 hours since the staff used registers and no computers. Finally, we boarded a short 7–8 minute helicopter ride to Panchtarni, 6 km past the cave on the other side (toward Pahalgam).

Super crowded near the cave

The walk to the cave was steep and the large number of ponies competing for passage was overwhelming. Many ponies caused dust and dirt, which somewhat ruined the experience, but the nature—the clean rivers, waterfalls, mountains, snow, green valleys, and lakes—was magnificent. I walked through snow in several places along the route. At the cave, the line was huge—I waited about 3 hours to get inside. People in line talked about the holy pigeons, some saying the real holy pigeon is white, others that they are always paired. I saw at least 10 pigeons.

The black is not clay, its dirty snow

Security everywhere

I was excited to see the Shivalingam, but initially couldn’t spot it due to the snow inside the cave. Others pointed out a 4-foot tall piece of snow as the lingam, with other pieces representing Ganesha and Parvati. I paid my respect and left the cave. During the continuous rain and without shoes or food since morning, I felt dizzy and confused with symptoms of hypothermia—something new for me.

Beautiful nature

Inside a langar

I found a langar offering hot kheer, which felt like heaven. I felt better after eating. We decided to leave the cave area and walk back as far as possible. Our plan to reach Seshnag by night failed as the Indian Army closed the Panchtarni exit by 7 PM. We rented a tent and spent the night there. The next day, we walked back and reached Seshnag by noon. Although we could have gone faster, we took our time to enjoy nature and converse with people.

Snow everywhere

Three of us stayed overnight in Seshnag while the rest proceeded to Pahalgam, arriving by evening. A family friend, Mr. Amarpal Sharma, a member of the UP State Assembly, runs a langar at Seshnag where we stayed comfortably with private tents and washrooms. I wanted to visit Seshnag Lake, but though many stop to rest, few actually go near it. When we did, we experienced hostility—the few locals there started throwing stones and hurling abuses, some even exposing themselves to provoke us. These were mostly pony owners who make their living by renting out ponies to pilgrims. Similar or worse behavior was noticed elsewhere in the valley.

HImalayas

A dead pony in the lake

The environment suffers badly due to a lack of regulations. Snow turned black along the entire route from pollution, and camps discharged sewage and waste directly into rivers and ponds. Sheshnag had 100–200 camps with an estimated 4,000–5,000 people daily, all contributing to pollution. Locals said that 10–15 years ago, when pilgrimage numbers were lower, they used lake water for drinking but now avoid it due to contamination. This dire lack of waste management is seen across all pilgrims’ camps, a sad sign for such a sacred place.

A dead ponny in the lake

It only looks clean, it has sewage in it

The camp owners share our concern and have sought government help, but none has come. Without action, the glaciers may not survive long—and without them, Amarnath itself cannot exist, as the lingam is made of snow.

HImalayas

Indian Army temple

For me, the greatest human feeling is harmony with those around us, and the worst is disharmony or hatred. Despite multiple visits to Kashmir, this was my first to Amarnath. I have realized the people of Kashmir generally dislike outsiders. Various groups have different demands—some want to join Pakistan, some seek independence, others dislike non-Muslim pilgrims, and some aim to convert others to Islam.

Sheshnag Lake

Water everywhere

This movement is so strong there’s little space for outsiders; they hate visitors. I could not enjoy because locals avoided interaction unless to sell or beg for cigarettes or candy. Poverty in Kashmir is severe; groups beg for chewing gum if you chew it, or ask for food from pilgrim camps. Otherwise, they have no interest in outsiders. If social harmony could be established, the valley’s fortunes might change in just one tourist season.

It only looks clean, it has sewage in it

A waterfall

Kashmir is a paradise for Indians, but my experience makes not many recommend or return. Tourism could bring huge income, solving many problems, but bad perceptions spread by militants and locals hinder respect for tourists. This is unfortunate, and Kashmir must overcome it or remain poor, violent, illiterate, and unstable for many years. The great poet Amir Khusro described Kashmir’s beauty thus:
“Agar firdaus bar ru-ye zamin ast, Hamin ast o hamin ast o hamin ast.”
(“If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.”). Despite all, nature was beautiful, and the experience was once in a lifetime. I hope someday there will be peace and prosperity in Kashmir, and people will be proud of their Indian identity, like citizens everywhere.

Bharat Mata ki Jai, भारत माता की जय

Bharat Mata ki Jai, भारत माता की जय

Kashmir Issue

My Journey to Jammu & Kashmir

I returned from a trip to Jammu & Kashmir a few days ago. Although I couldn’t complete my pilgrimage—since the police stopped us from entering the Kashmir Valley due to bad weather and ongoing violence—I have no regrets. I still had the chance to talk with locals and members of the Indian Army about one of the biggest social issues in India: the Kashmir conflict and the tensions between Hindus and Muslims.

My main purpose was to visit the Amarnath Temple, one of the holiest places on earth for Hindus. I had last been to Kashmir about ten years ago, at a time when the valley was beginning to recover and tourism was slowly returning. Back then, I saw no violence. Locals were happy and hopeful, welcoming visitors with warmth, as terrorism seemed to be on the decline. Since the economy of Kashmir depends heavily on tourism, peace was vital for them. But even a small spark of tension between India and Pakistan can bring the entire valley to a standstill.

This time, we reached Jammu by train and hired a taxi to Pahalgam, the base camp for the Amarnath Yatra. We left our hotel at around 10 a.m., full of excitement. But our journey was cut short—the police stopped us, citing bad weather, and refused to let us proceed. Our driver whispered that sometimes the police do this for no reason and suggested we speak to them. We tried, but they told us to wait. Nearby, I noticed an army check-post where some pilgrims were going inside. I decided to approach them too.

At the army office, our driver suggested we pretend we wanted to go to Katra instead of Amarnath. When I explained this to the officer, he told me he could only help if I had relatives in the army. Technically, I do—but I didn’t want to cause delay, so I said no. Fortunately, when he found out that I was from near Varanasi, he warmed up. He made it clear that the Indian Army never accepts bribes, but if I wanted to “understand how the J&K police function,” I could try offering them some money. He mentioned Rs. 500. He himself refused to intervene, since the army despises the J&K police for their corruption.

I was shocked, but at least it gave me a direction. We offered a police officer Rs. 300 per taxi, and he agreed. Just as we were about to proceed, another officer noticed us, turned aggressive, and the first officer also pretended to be angry. We were pushed back into line. While waiting, I struck up a conversation with another army man. What he told me disturbed me even more. He claimed that J&K no longer truly felt like a part of India, that even he didn’t know where it stood. He said the army was only there to protect people and added, bitterly, that if the army left even for a single day, the J&K police would “sell the entire region” to outsiders. According to him, the police were deeply corrupt and one of the main reasons terrorism still survived.

We spent ten hours waiting and were finally told to return and try again at 4 a.m. the next morning. When we did, the same thing happened—we were stopped again. As I stood in line, I met a young boy from Anantnag. He told me his family was too poor for him to study, so he sold hot water to pilgrims. Curious, I asked him if he had ever seen a terrorist. At first, he denied it, visibly uncomfortable. But after some time, he opened up. What he revealed broke my heart. Terrorists often came to his village and forced locals to host them. Families lived in fear—if they reported them to the army, they believed they would be killed sooner or later.

He said terrorists had even stayed in his house, and he felt powerless when they harassed his sister. Tears rolled down his face as he spoke. I was left speechless. He also told me about a friend’s family who had once hosted three militants. The army arrived for a routine ID check. When one soldier inside asked for ID, the terrorists opened fire and killed him. The army retaliated by blowing up the house, killing everyone inside. Locals protested against the army, but who was truly at fault? The terrorists, the army, or the helpless family? I still don’t know.

When I asked my driver what the people of Kashmir really wanted, his answer surprised me: “Neither India, nor Pakistan. They want independence.” I struggled to understand this. Independence would only mean poverty and isolation for years. In my view, staying with India is the most practical option—India has more resources, more opportunities, and a stronger future than Pakistan. But the driver disagreed. He said the army and politicians were the real problem, accusing soldiers of killing innocents and blaming America for all global tensions. I couldn’t accept that fully, but I realized how deep the resentment runs among the people.

Though I never reached Amarnath, my friends who went earlier shared chilling stories—kids on the streets shouting, “This is our land, not yours, you Indians,” and stone-pelting mobs attacking pilgrim vehicles. More than 200 cars were damaged. The hatred seemed to begin from such a young age. After four days in J&K, I returned with heavy questions in my heart. Why do people there see me, an Indian, as an outsider in my own country? Are we fighting for land, or for the rights of people who don’t even feel Indian? I don’t know if I have the right answers, but I do know this: Kashmir is India, and I hope one day the people of the valley can live in peace, free of terrorism, and once again welcome pilgrims and tourists with the spirit of Atithi Devo Bhava.

Peace.