I
had trained, packed and prepared for 15,000 Ft ASL. It was the magic of Rupin
Pass that beckoned me to cross over its ridges.
The
trip started in Dehra Dun. This was the second time I was coming back to the
Doon valley, having come here for the Kedarkanta trek in 2007 in the month of
May, a full month before the present trip and it was hot and dirty to say the
least. There was a certain charm about the place in 2007 and in 2014 the weather
and the place itself resembled some over populated place on the plains, of course
back then the ‘city’ was not a capital of a state and now it didn't feel like a
valley in the Himalayas. A steep price paid by nature for a measly gain for one
species.
The
first overnight stop to Rupin pass was at a tiny hamlet Dhaula in Uttrakhand,
which was in the middle of everything nice. Mountains on 3 sides, Tons river
flowing by on one side with a beautiful bridge over the river visible from the
over reach of the village. This also was where the road ended, literally. It’s
almost a given, ‘where the road ends, trek begins.’
The
drive from Dun to Dhaula itself is a journey worth undertaking almost
independent of the trek. Once out of the ‘city’, the roads grow narrower, the
hold of nature stronger and air chillier. We passed through Mussoorie, without as much as a pause for a single click, a very
famous hill station that people throng to and I didn't even make an effort to pick
up the camera, If Mussoorie were a person, she would have been offended for sure.
We
passed through many villages on the way, our course running almost parallel to
the river Tons or Tamsa. There is a
theory as per which Tons is supposed to be the long lost Saraswati. Millennia
ago, she ran parallel to Yamuna and then due to tectonic changes, her course
altered and she merged with Yamuna, becoming her tributary. She meets Yamuna near Dehra Dun and drains in more
water into Yamuna than Yamuna herself brings. The greenish tinge of the river
Tons is very soothing to look at as she meanders her way through the mountains,
widening her width at times as she moves along at a saintly gait and then
narrowing down at places and rushing along complaining as more water gushes into narrower space.
We
ascended and then descended many mountains, always coming back to meet Tons at
the valley. We saw picture card perfect terraced farms on the opposite
mountain faces with tiny hamlets bordering the farms. It looked as if the crop had been colour
coordinated, it looked so pretty, and tiny houses that sat like guardians on
the edge of the farms. We passed by
Purola where sweet lassi made of fresh curd, ‘imported from the plains’ coconut burfi and a refined
flour ‘matri’ made my lunch.
We
entered the precincts of the Govind Pasu Wildlife Sanctuary of Uttrakhand and passed
by Naitwar, which is famous for a temple dedicated to Karna, the eldest of
Kunti’s sons. A detour from an old friend, lovely town of Sankri, which had been the base camp for the
Kedarkanta trek, lovely Deodar tree lined roads later after a 10 hour see-saw
ride we reached the ‘end of road’. A crossing of the bridge and an uphill climb
brought us to Dhaula, where humans shared the place with high altitude
preferring Eurasian Blackbirds and Crested Kingfishers.
The 2 rooms on the 1st floor vacated for us had photos of Gods pasted around the circumference of the room, intervened in places by photos of Bollywood demigods. A short walk from here to fill up our bottles brought us to a bridge where the river Rupin thundered down a few feet through a gashing hole that the pressure of the water had carved out for itself. A little time spent packing, unpacking and wondering where some of the essential rouge items had disappeared to and we were all set for the trek the next day. The bit of spare time in the day light was spent sharing 'chaklis' with our village neighbours and with the horses as they strengthened up for carrying our bags the next day. A few us watched enthralled as a Crested Kingfisher whose mate had flown off a distance sat 10 feet from us on a Deodar branch and sang to his mate, but unable to impress a return, flew off to join her. The first time ever I saw a Crested Kingfisher and was almost inclined to believe that I was looking at a black and white Hoopoe. The pleasure of going to these places which is nowhere near anywhere is the unexpected that seizes your every moment if only one would keep the senses awake.
The next day we started our trek. The trek that day had a fair share of climbs, a glimpse of things to come, after all we were just at 6,000 Ft ASL and we had to get to 15,000 Ft ASL in 6 days time. The day started hazy and soon enough a light drizzle was about us, but we could still see enough of the villages and the cultivated patches on the opposite side to admire it. I passed by an old lady who wanted medicine for tummy ache but since most of us were just carrying a day pack, we didn't have any tablets on us, when I told her that, she wanted the jade pendent I was wearing. It saddened me, what had ‘civilisation’ done to the people of the mountain, of what use would the jade be to her?
We stopped at a even tinier hamlet where the lady of the house served us hot tea in long brass glasses made on a wood stove. The tea drinkers savoured the hot tea having come out of a damp patch. As the tea warmed the inside, the clouds parted to warm the outside. The rain gears packed, we continued to trek passing through some glorious sights, a near vertical mountain face with sheep grazing on it, a majestic Himalayan Griffin that hovered above and huge trees that made me wonder what they were. Our path also took us close to a thick Deodar forest, which we had been told was to be our refueling point but we bypassed it to quench our hunger some place else.
En
route we met a few villagers going about their daily affairs and covering
distances that we would have covered in 2 days in just a few hours. Some were friendly, some a little distant. One of the ladies I met was especially chatty and I had a very pleasant conversation
with her. She had gone to visit her mother and was now going back to her
husband’s home. Her mother had cooked breakfast and her mother-in-law would
cook the dinner, she probably didn't realise she was luckier than many of her
city counterparts. We walked a KM together sharing tit-bits from each other’s
life. It doesn't take too much for 2 people from 2 different places to strike a
conversation if only one has a little inclination and interest to compare
notes.
As
we neared the village Sewa, the last village in Uttrakhand on the border of
Himachal Pradesh, the quintessential single layered white rose bushes greeted
us with its lovely hue and fragrance. The children also greeted us with
requests for chocolates. We trekkers are ‘outsiders,’ why had we meddled with
their life style? The entire path was littered with chewing gum packets. Why had the fig chewing people taken to chewing something which had no benefits
at all? Or did they feel the need to look ‘hep’ chewing the gum?
We reached the Sewa village and a short climb brought us to a 2 storied building that was to be our rest point for the night. After lunch, followed immediately by some flavoured drink followed by pakoda and tea, we assembled in the open space for some ‘fun and learn.’ The ‘how to pack your trek bag’ left most of us astounded, the message was clear, take an hour to pack your bag and feel easy on the trek or pack as you will and feel the burden of the back-pack every step of the way. An easy decision but a tuff choice.
The
local lads entertained us with cricket played with a ball made of cloth. A hard
core of tightly wrapped cloth and a top layer of red cloth neatly stitched with
white thread. An environment friendly, cruelty free, economical alternate to
the leather and cork balls, which brings us to another pertinent question, why do we feel they are missing out something in life playing with the
local hand-made ball? Why do we feel sorry for the villagers for improvising
and making-do with local items? And another question to ponder upon, why even
the trekkers supposedly inclined towards nature not understand this simple fact? What is
called for on treks with regards to the local populace is empathy not sympathy. We go there seeking something that is lost in cities we come from, who should be
sympathizing with whom? Let’s not feel patronizing to the extent of having
those hand-made balls replaced with rubber and leather balls that will last
long after civilization is gone, nor let us be condescending to the extent of
thinking they are no better than animals to live in houses like those and to
play with balls like those. Harsh words but bitter truth. By the way, those balls were a mix of precise engineering and
art, each ball weighed exactly 100 grams.
Another
night spent in a room full of posters of Gods and the ‘demis’, the proportion
of demigods to the Gods increasing by almost the same proportion as that of the
number of houses in Sewa to number of houses in Dhaula. More people, more the
need for entertainment or more the need to comply with the crowd?
A highlight of our trip to the village was a visit to the village temple. The temple made of Deodar logs interlaced with slate stones was an impressive structure. It had the trophies won by the village cricket team over the years and was adorned with coins that people had pushed into the crevices. The idol of the goddess is circulated between the various village temples, each village hosting the goddess for a year. An ingenious system of keeping comradeship between the villages alive in the remote mountain region.
The next day we set across for the village of Bauta across the border in Himachal Pradesh. The trek path went through remote forest, so remote that even the chewing gum wrappers became scare and so quiet that it felt like we were in another world. We walked parallel to river Rupin, whose flow defined the boundary between the 2 states.
As we moved closer to our destination for the day, we moved along from mountain to mountain, coming down to the valley, following the course of the river upstream as we walked with a good friend for a while sharing secrets only to part way again, as we ascended.
A wrong path chosen and we took a longer route through villages, getting to see how as villages came closer the presence of polythene increased. The waste lying like a sleeping dragon, strengthening with every addition, bidding it’s time to raise it’s head and strike. There was also a path for the used water to flow down, the underbelly of the village.
We passed by another village temple, women working in their wheat fields, how I wished to break my trek there, lend them a hand, live their life at least for a day, but time, path and my trek lead beckoned me to move on.
We were now a good 200 feet from the river and ascending, all the while walking on a narrow motorable path cut out into the mountain parallel to the river. A snow clad far-off mountain seemed like a bridge between the mountain we were on and the mountain on the other side of the river. We passed by a beautiful water falls, where many of us rested and shared a sweet lime, an abandoned stone structure where we posed for photos and a flock of sheep that grazed on the mountain. Every few steps gave us a different angle of the river, there were certain places from where we could see the length of the river down stream, deep into the far away mountains. Then began our ascent through an almost vertical face of the mountain. It was a lung challenging climb in the afternoon on a narrow winding path. At 3/4th of the way, a calf began to follow us, we stood aside to let him pass and comically when we stopped to let him pass, he would put his head down to eat. There were 4-5 kids sitting at the top of the mountain and shouting. We assumed it was their calf, as we got closer to them, they even came down and chased the calf up the mountain only for us to eventually realise that the calf wasn't theirs.
At the top of the mountain was the village Bauta. We passed by a beautiful 2 storied house, where cows housed on the ground floor peeped out of their huge windows. Our house for the day had a field adjacent to it with a local food grain of reddish leaves interlaced with green potato leaves which looked like a carpet that beckoned us to sit down on it.
We spent the evening going around the village, meeting the villagers, passing by granaries the size of a garage with lovely locks on them, the local shop where the shopkeeper showed us the ubiquitous 'ball-in-progress', the villagers involved in their everyday activities - women going about their work, a couple of them carrying heavy stones on their back while kitting a sweater for the winter as they walked on, an old lady grinding the feared 'bichoo booti', the stinging 'scorpion herb' to feed the cows and many were about with their little one's in the evening, chatting and catching up with other ladies of the village, of course our presence there was also a source of excitement for them. Men were conspicuous by their absence, many we were told were on the mountains collecting medicinal herbs that sold for handsome amount of money, well supplementing their income.
We spent time with a person who patiently answered our questions about the ways of the villagers, how they stocked up for winter when they would be snowed out for a good 3 months at the very least, how they helped one another with the house construction and repairs, how lack of medical facilities was a challenge. So many things that we just take for granted in the cities came by the hard way. Every piece of stone and wood that went into the house was collected from the forest, transported over their own backs, every blade of grass for the cows, collected from the mountains in huge baskets.
We made our way back to our house munching fresh peas that a villager gave us by handfuls from her farm.
That was my last day en route Rupin. The next day I had to retrace my steps back to the motorable road down the steep decline, past the calf still guarding the approach to the village.
We took a Himachal transport bus, passing small villages, carrying twice the number of people it should have been carrying especially given the narrow roads but the jourrney was beautiful, lovely snow clad mountains all along, Deodar forests with rhododendrons, through to the top at 12,300 Ft ASL passing Chanshal pass (Chanshal peak is the highest peak in Shimla district) with lovely mountains visible all around and with beautiful white snow lying intermittently that the fellow passengers on the bus gorged on. Then down the mountain to the valley passing by various rivers. Our 7 hour journey ended in the town of Rohru at 5,100 Ft ASL on the river Pabbar, a tributary of Tons. Rohru is known for its quality apples. A walk in the evening to the river where a lovely swinging wooden bridge made up the passage for the villagers connecting the 2 sides of the river. The town was a small place in the lap of Himalayas but the activity all around was a mimic of the city. The waste being burnt by the municipality right on the river bed, sewage being drained into the river, garbage dumped into the river over the bridge on the road. How long before nature gave up her fight?
The next day another journey on a state road transport bus brought us to Rampur Bushar, at above 3,300 Ft ASL in Shimla district on the banks of river Sutlej. Bushar was a principality under the British rule and in 1948 joined the Indian union. A town with lovely buildings, a legacy of the English occupation, couple of old temples, legacy of Mahabharata times, built by the Pandawas on their exile. The temple of Narasimha, the Lion headed man, an incarnation of Vishnu, was being renovated and not being under the Archaeological society of India (ASI) the villagers took up the renovation to redo the entire wooden structure of pillars and ceiling all around the sanctum sanctorum. This would have never happened under ASI with their policy of preserving monuments as they find it. A bit of street food, a bit of shopping for the local wool coats and we left the place the next day for a place recommended by a restaurant owner. Rampur and the surrounding area, as does the entire region has a lot of hydro electric projects, probably as ill-planned and stressing the environment as the ones in Uttrakhand which caused such damage just a year ago in 2013.
Another lovely journey in a state transport bus of about 3 hours for just 30 Kms brought us to a tiny town of Bagipul in the Kullu district. A local SUV hired from here for the 11 km journey up the mountain to Sarahan - Baga Sarahan at Rs 700 made its lonesome journey which would have impressed any trekker returning from a trek to a beautiful un-touched place, so beautiful was this journey. If you are a traveler, I highly recommend this place at 7,500 Ft ASL for a beautiful holiday in the midst of unspoilt greenery. A huge, beautiful meadow on one side surrounded by rising mountains and the town of Sarahan on the other side. The journey was worth it just to sit down in the meadow watching the cows grazing blissfully. There are just a couple of buses plying to the village other than a van carrying milk from the place to the villages below. There is a lovely school at the edge of the meadow, all the children of nearby villages trek up the mountain to reach the school. And surprisingly there is a basic but nice guest house as well, reason enough to spend a couple of days at the very least. There is also a beautiful PWD guest house, but if you don't have the permission letter to stay there, don't bother with it.
The details of the private guest house:
Mr Narotlam Singh Dogra
We were now a good 200 feet from the river and ascending, all the while walking on a narrow motorable path cut out into the mountain parallel to the river. A snow clad far-off mountain seemed like a bridge between the mountain we were on and the mountain on the other side of the river. We passed by a beautiful water falls, where many of us rested and shared a sweet lime, an abandoned stone structure where we posed for photos and a flock of sheep that grazed on the mountain. Every few steps gave us a different angle of the river, there were certain places from where we could see the length of the river down stream, deep into the far away mountains. Then began our ascent through an almost vertical face of the mountain. It was a lung challenging climb in the afternoon on a narrow winding path. At 3/4th of the way, a calf began to follow us, we stood aside to let him pass and comically when we stopped to let him pass, he would put his head down to eat. There were 4-5 kids sitting at the top of the mountain and shouting. We assumed it was their calf, as we got closer to them, they even came down and chased the calf up the mountain only for us to eventually realise that the calf wasn't theirs.
At the top of the mountain was the village Bauta. We passed by a beautiful 2 storied house, where cows housed on the ground floor peeped out of their huge windows. Our house for the day had a field adjacent to it with a local food grain of reddish leaves interlaced with green potato leaves which looked like a carpet that beckoned us to sit down on it.
We spent the evening going around the village, meeting the villagers, passing by granaries the size of a garage with lovely locks on them, the local shop where the shopkeeper showed us the ubiquitous 'ball-in-progress', the villagers involved in their everyday activities - women going about their work, a couple of them carrying heavy stones on their back while kitting a sweater for the winter as they walked on, an old lady grinding the feared 'bichoo booti', the stinging 'scorpion herb' to feed the cows and many were about with their little one's in the evening, chatting and catching up with other ladies of the village, of course our presence there was also a source of excitement for them. Men were conspicuous by their absence, many we were told were on the mountains collecting medicinal herbs that sold for handsome amount of money, well supplementing their income.
We spent time with a person who patiently answered our questions about the ways of the villagers, how they stocked up for winter when they would be snowed out for a good 3 months at the very least, how they helped one another with the house construction and repairs, how lack of medical facilities was a challenge. So many things that we just take for granted in the cities came by the hard way. Every piece of stone and wood that went into the house was collected from the forest, transported over their own backs, every blade of grass for the cows, collected from the mountains in huge baskets.
We made our way back to our house munching fresh peas that a villager gave us by handfuls from her farm.
That was my last day en route Rupin. The next day I had to retrace my steps back to the motorable road down the steep decline, past the calf still guarding the approach to the village.
We took a Himachal transport bus, passing small villages, carrying twice the number of people it should have been carrying especially given the narrow roads but the jourrney was beautiful, lovely snow clad mountains all along, Deodar forests with rhododendrons, through to the top at 12,300 Ft ASL passing Chanshal pass (Chanshal peak is the highest peak in Shimla district) with lovely mountains visible all around and with beautiful white snow lying intermittently that the fellow passengers on the bus gorged on. Then down the mountain to the valley passing by various rivers. Our 7 hour journey ended in the town of Rohru at 5,100 Ft ASL on the river Pabbar, a tributary of Tons. Rohru is known for its quality apples. A walk in the evening to the river where a lovely swinging wooden bridge made up the passage for the villagers connecting the 2 sides of the river. The town was a small place in the lap of Himalayas but the activity all around was a mimic of the city. The waste being burnt by the municipality right on the river bed, sewage being drained into the river, garbage dumped into the river over the bridge on the road. How long before nature gave up her fight?
The next day another journey on a state road transport bus brought us to Rampur Bushar, at above 3,300 Ft ASL in Shimla district on the banks of river Sutlej. Bushar was a principality under the British rule and in 1948 joined the Indian union. A town with lovely buildings, a legacy of the English occupation, couple of old temples, legacy of Mahabharata times, built by the Pandawas on their exile. The temple of Narasimha, the Lion headed man, an incarnation of Vishnu, was being renovated and not being under the Archaeological society of India (ASI) the villagers took up the renovation to redo the entire wooden structure of pillars and ceiling all around the sanctum sanctorum. This would have never happened under ASI with their policy of preserving monuments as they find it. A bit of street food, a bit of shopping for the local wool coats and we left the place the next day for a place recommended by a restaurant owner. Rampur and the surrounding area, as does the entire region has a lot of hydro electric projects, probably as ill-planned and stressing the environment as the ones in Uttrakhand which caused such damage just a year ago in 2013.
Another lovely journey in a state transport bus of about 3 hours for just 30 Kms brought us to a tiny town of Bagipul in the Kullu district. A local SUV hired from here for the 11 km journey up the mountain to Sarahan - Baga Sarahan at Rs 700 made its lonesome journey which would have impressed any trekker returning from a trek to a beautiful un-touched place, so beautiful was this journey. If you are a traveler, I highly recommend this place at 7,500 Ft ASL for a beautiful holiday in the midst of unspoilt greenery. A huge, beautiful meadow on one side surrounded by rising mountains and the town of Sarahan on the other side. The journey was worth it just to sit down in the meadow watching the cows grazing blissfully. There are just a couple of buses plying to the village other than a van carrying milk from the place to the villages below. There is a lovely school at the edge of the meadow, all the children of nearby villages trek up the mountain to reach the school. And surprisingly there is a basic but nice guest house as well, reason enough to spend a couple of days at the very least. There is also a beautiful PWD guest house, but if you don't have the permission letter to stay there, don't bother with it.
The details of the private guest house:
Mr Narotlam Singh Dogra
VOP
Baga Sarahan, Bagipul, Tehsil
Nirmand,District
Kullu, Himachal Pradesh 172002.
You can contact Mr Dogra on 9459748873,
9816048741 or 9418478104.
This place is also very close to the Great Himalayan National Park, which in June 2014 was listed as a UNESCO world heritage site. A trek up the mountain on the meadow would bring one to Gushaini which is one of the entrances to the park. A road connecting Gushaini to Sarahan is on the cards.
From the Jharani matha temple in the meadow, past huge trees that dwarfed everything except the mountain around, through fields of wheat, garlic and onions and the houses huddled together at the other end brought us to another lovely temple in the village.
We left the place with a heavy heart to spend a day in Shimla, a long journey via Rampur. The road from Rampur to Shimla is much wider being the national highway No. 22, which connects all the way to Tibet, beyond Rampur. Still a distance of just 125 Kms took over 5 hours. Every turn, brought us upon a different view, of valleys with rivers, farms on the slopes, towering mountains blanketed by deciduous trees, each demanding a photo to be taken. Having spent so many days on the mountains in no way curtailed the temptation of clicking another photo and then yet another. Mid way, we passed Narkhonda pass at 8,885 Ft ASL which reminded me of my missed tryst with another pass. Surrounded by the Shivalik range and in the middle of Apple territory, which reaps in a total income of Rs 30,000 Million today all thanks to an American, Mr Satyananda Stokes who in 1916 brought in a variety of apple suitable for the climate of the region from US and thereby brought economic independence to a whole region long before the country gained independence, the cause for which he threw his weight behind. Do google up Mr. Stokes' life story. There are many a cherry tree visible from the road as many Apple farmers are shifting to Cherry farming which brings in quick money.
To cut a long story short, We left the 7,200 Ft ASL situated Shimla the very next day, the excess crowd over the weekend was definitely a factor in the decision. Next day, we journeyed to Solan, a district headquarters at a height of 5,200 Ft ASL, a quaint town very close to the Punjab, Haryana border. The couple of standouts of this place for me were the Soolani matha temple and the market place which came alive in the evening. It was almost like the whole town was gathered there for the evening, buying and bargaining everything from pickles, sweaters to cloths. Being one among the local crowd felt nice unlike the tourist bustle of Shimla that I hated. Solan is the 'mushroom city' of India having a lot of mushroom farms around as well as the Directorate of Mushroom Research. This place is also associated with Pandawas who stayed here on their exile.
The next day we boarded the Shimla-Kalka hill train and made our way out of the lovely Himachal Pradesh. There is even as of today only one thought in my mind as I recollect the beautiful place - this 'off the map' Himachal is far from over.
A Request: If you are the mineral water drinking, coke needing, comfort seeking holidaymaker, please strictly stay on the map.
The entire holiday I drank the water from the rivers, filled my water bottle from taps in public places, drank the water being served at restaurants and did not fall sick. The places off the map are still unpolluted despite everything. Let us not contribute to making it otherwise.
This place is also very close to the Great Himalayan National Park, which in June 2014 was listed as a UNESCO world heritage site. A trek up the mountain on the meadow would bring one to Gushaini which is one of the entrances to the park. A road connecting Gushaini to Sarahan is on the cards.
From the Jharani matha temple in the meadow, past huge trees that dwarfed everything except the mountain around, through fields of wheat, garlic and onions and the houses huddled together at the other end brought us to another lovely temple in the village.
We left the place with a heavy heart to spend a day in Shimla, a long journey via Rampur. The road from Rampur to Shimla is much wider being the national highway No. 22, which connects all the way to Tibet, beyond Rampur. Still a distance of just 125 Kms took over 5 hours. Every turn, brought us upon a different view, of valleys with rivers, farms on the slopes, towering mountains blanketed by deciduous trees, each demanding a photo to be taken. Having spent so many days on the mountains in no way curtailed the temptation of clicking another photo and then yet another. Mid way, we passed Narkhonda pass at 8,885 Ft ASL which reminded me of my missed tryst with another pass. Surrounded by the Shivalik range and in the middle of Apple territory, which reaps in a total income of Rs 30,000 Million today all thanks to an American, Mr Satyananda Stokes who in 1916 brought in a variety of apple suitable for the climate of the region from US and thereby brought economic independence to a whole region long before the country gained independence, the cause for which he threw his weight behind. Do google up Mr. Stokes' life story. There are many a cherry tree visible from the road as many Apple farmers are shifting to Cherry farming which brings in quick money.
To cut a long story short, We left the 7,200 Ft ASL situated Shimla the very next day, the excess crowd over the weekend was definitely a factor in the decision. Next day, we journeyed to Solan, a district headquarters at a height of 5,200 Ft ASL, a quaint town very close to the Punjab, Haryana border. The couple of standouts of this place for me were the Soolani matha temple and the market place which came alive in the evening. It was almost like the whole town was gathered there for the evening, buying and bargaining everything from pickles, sweaters to cloths. Being one among the local crowd felt nice unlike the tourist bustle of Shimla that I hated. Solan is the 'mushroom city' of India having a lot of mushroom farms around as well as the Directorate of Mushroom Research. This place is also associated with Pandawas who stayed here on their exile.
The next day we boarded the Shimla-Kalka hill train and made our way out of the lovely Himachal Pradesh. There is even as of today only one thought in my mind as I recollect the beautiful place - this 'off the map' Himachal is far from over.
A Request: If you are the mineral water drinking, coke needing, comfort seeking holidaymaker, please strictly stay on the map.
The entire holiday I drank the water from the rivers, filled my water bottle from taps in public places, drank the water being served at restaurants and did not fall sick. The places off the map are still unpolluted despite everything. Let us not contribute to making it otherwise.
