Thanks to the rally driving by Jatin, we manage to catch up with the rest of the convoy at Tabo. We make a short halt for a tea and cream roll, and then we hit the road again. The road till Chango stays close to the river and is an easy drive. After Chango the road moves further away from the river and begins to climb up. The incline, though not excruciating, is steady and persistent. Right at the start of the climb our Gypsy is struggling to cope. There is almost no power delivery in second or third gear and so Jatin is having to drive in the first gear for long stretches. We keep a close watch on the steadily rising engine temperature. One hairpin turn follows another and it is harder and harder to climb. At one point we are overtaken by a truck which is not even breaking a sweat on the climb. We keep crawling up but eventually the engine temperature hits the red zone and there is no option but to stop. We take a short break as the engine cools and then the relentless crawl resumes. After what seems like an eternity, we finally reach Nako, which is our lunch halt. The convoy which was around 10 kms behind us when they started from Tabo arrives almost as soon as we park. Jatin and I have a quick lunch and then leave to stay ahead of the convoy. Now as the road slopes downwards again, we are back to speeding down recklessly.
A few kilometres on, the traffic is stalled as the mountain has reclaimed a section of the road. While the GREF warriors work hard to clear the road, we strike a conversation with a truck driver and 2 other bystanders. The truck driver has been driving on these roads for the last 4 years and he seems well informed. Watching the machines work their way through the rubble, the truck driver tells us the tale of Chotu. The 2 bystanders give a nod of recognition at the mention of that name. Chotu, whose real name no one really knows, was a short lanky man and a daredevil of a machine operator. A young lad of maybe 20 years old, he had mastered the art of operating different road clearing machines. He was often the first one to approach the site of a blockage when the dangers were still not completely known. Though of a tender age, men twice as old as him, looked up to him for expertise. The truck driver spoke of his conquests with a great sense of admiration, bordering on reverence. 2 months ago as he was working to clear the road, suddenly a whole section of the mountain face came down on Chotu’s machine and he met his fate. He paused for a minute and looked out in the distance at the machines working on the road. Then he says, “God knows how many lives this road has claimed. God knows how many more it will claim.” He looks at me, his face grim and solemn, “There are medals and memorials for soldiers. But what is there for these brave men beyond the paltry wage? We ride these roads, taking them for granted and we don’t even know their real names?“ Then, everyone fell silent. There was nothing more to say.
