Guardian Angel
As I stepped off the road my feet sank perceptibly into the soft snow. It was the December of 83, I was about to turn nineteen and on my one of the earliest forays into the greater Himalaya. I wanted to seek solitude, a decent climb and my inner self; not necessarily in that order. It had been an unusually heavy winter with snow line starting well below Manali and coating everything within sight in a sweeping uninterrupted sheet of pure white. My quest lay above Manali, deep into the Beas Valley. All the villages and road side joints, bustling in the summer with tourist and odd-stuff sellers were now deserted. The road just ahead of Manali, that wound up towards the Rohtang Pass was submerged under heavy snow. No vehicular movement was possible neither deemed necessary. Buried deep within the snow, lurked empty gaps and dangers of which I had no clue and I wished to go alone. I wound up slowly along the road and then at a point left the curbs and plunged deep into the forest. On my bac...