Rupkund, or ‘the Lake of Form’, is on the route of the Royal Pilgrimage, a sacred journey into the high Himalayas dedicated to the mountain Goddess Nanda Devi. The three week, 164 mile trek is embarked upon only once every twelve years. Pilgrims, many barefoot,  trek through high windswept mountain passes, cross fast flowing swollen rivers and negotiate steep vertiginous paths to reach Rupkund on the penultimate day. It is a most desolate, mysterious and eerie place.

At over 16,000ft with heavy rain falling and mist reducing visibility to no more than ten feet at times, pilgrims staggered over the rocky scree down to the lake.   On its fringes lie hundreds of well preserved human bones and other objects such as old leather sandals and metal weapons, daggers and swords. The bones, according to carbon dating, are between six and eight hundred years old but nobody is sure who these people were or how or why they all died. One theory is that a raja and his retinue were taking part in this pilgrimage when their progress was impaired by foul weather. They took shelter in this remote lake filled depression but for whatever reason were never able to leave. Local legend has it that the king and his family flagrantly defied the strict rules of the pilgrimage and thus suffered the pitiless retribution of the Goddess Nanda.

I had been at the Lake side for about half an hour quietly despairing at the atrocious conditions and slowly coming to terms with the prospect of leaving this place without capturing anything remotely meaningful.  With the mist, the fine but persistent drizzle and the light fading fast there appeared to be no alternative but to move on. Just as I contemplated this rather depressing thought the mist lifted for a brief moment to reveal the sadhu, a candle in front of him, praying to the Mountain Goddess and her consort Lord Shiva for the ancient ghostly souls that dwell in this place.