TWO POEMS

REV. ROY GREENWOOD

1949

(The year I first sighted Trisul from the Kuari pass route)

The upward path towards Gwaldam was soft
With sand.
Pine trees crowded together near the crest offering
Shade for the traveller.

On the ridge Nash's bungalow stood alone in a
Clearing
Views from the verandah seemed on a clear
Day
To touch the fringes of Heaven.

The day had been hazy; nothing could be seen
Beyond
Nearby trees and valleys.
Then, the full moon rose in majestic
Silence
Scattering mist
Piercing holes through black branches
Of deodars.

A mountain gradually became visible
With
Such illuminated white brilliance
That
Its splendour caused forest
Birds and animals of the night to be
Hushed.

We mortals stood in frozen awe
As
More and more
Higher and higher
Trisul's whiteness
Reached for the stars.

What would this magnificent peak look like
Nearby?
By day-light?

Three days later after plunging into deep valleys
With
Good river crossing; precarious crossings

Winding over wooded and bare ridges
Until
Reaching the village of Wan
Tucked
Into a horseshoe of wooded slopes and
Terraces.

An old Shikari, complete with an ancient
Rifle
Offered to be a guide.

Taking me in early morning light above the
Tree-line
To a frosty, flower strewn kharak

There Sahib!

There it was!
The
Western face of Trisul.

There it was! Huge, towering above our heads.

It was immense! Immense and incredibly beautiful.

Occasional bird-song broke happily on the silence
In which
We both stood.

Buttressed by vast rock walls.
Tier upon tier of sheer polished ice Cliffs of black rock
Gleaming white snow
Triple peaks crowing the ridge.

Behold; the Trident of Shiva.

1951

(This poem is dedicated to the memory of the late Jack Gibson who invited me-a novice- to join his expedition of 1950. Extending and imparting to me his mountaineering skills and enthusiasm)

With eagle eye we scanned the fearsome depths
Of the Rishi Gorge'
Six thousand feet below, the Rishi Ganga flowed
As a silver thread.

Thrown upward by the walls of the Curtain Ridge
The ceaseless sound
Of the river in its fierce passage reached
Our ears.

Rounding the shepherd's thin footpath to Durashi
We eagerly
Looked for the first glimpse of the
Magnificence
Bestowed on the shaping of Nanda Devi.

Loveliest Dibrugheta, "horizontal oasis"
Amid "vertical confusion"
Knee deep in flowers, flanked by silver birch

Upward through rhododendrons after bridging
The Rishi

Across Bethatoli Glacier, along the crest of
The moraine
Of Trisuli Glacier.

An exquisite Base Camp with smooth grass,
A small stream
Some discarded tins from a previous expedition
With
Above
The sheer white cliffs of Devistan, more
Glorious
By moonlight.

Camp One, the sad extreme limit for two of
The party.
Camp Two the well placed home for four.

Four towards the summit
The steep flank
Of Trisul rising above and beyond us.

Resting gave opportunity for breathing to be
Eased
To
Measure progress as nearby peaks sank
Below us.

Three towards the summit
After a Sherpa asked to return
To Camp Two.

Forward
Upward.

Led by the sturdy legs of a veteran Sherpa
Who urged us on by the rope.

An immediate revival of energy surged to express
Our joy
As we stood firmly on the Tip of the Trident of Trisul
23^rd June 1951.

The sweep of the summit exactly as described and
Photographed
By Tom Longstaff on the 7^th June 1907.

Had the layer of cloud around and below us been
Solid
We could have strolled across to Nepal and Tibet
Pausing
To admire at close hand the array of spectacular
Peaks
About us.

With exuberance we pointed our feet
Skywards
As India performed a headstand and Europe
A handstand.

At Camp Two a Sherpa yak stew warded off
The
Cold of the night.

Bird sang, our waiting colleagues embraced us
Joyfully
Back at Base Camp.

As we sat around a juniper fire under the stars
Recounting our adventures
We had no idea that our small, economic and
Happy expedition
Would in years to come be appraised as the
Beginning
Of mountain climbing
As
A sport for Indians.

Postscript;

If this is so
Then we greatly rejoice that so many
Indians, men, women, young people
Have made their way across the
Flatlands
Of the Plains
To eagerly enter the 1500 mile long
Range
Of the Himalaya.

Magnificent mountains;
Unsurpassed.

Fulfilment comes with praise
To God
From seeing, living, perceiving
The glory
Of Creation.

If every ounce of energy demanded
By climbing
Could be directed
Towards
Respecting, protecting
This fragile environment

If we hold lasting gratitude
For friends who walked
And
climbed with us
Our pilgrimage
In the Himalaya has touched holy ground.

 

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