All language subtitles for Daughter Of The Mountains

NARRATOR: Nowhere else on Earth

are the natural and the spiritual worlds
so intertwined as in India.

This is a place where fire and air,

animals and trees,

mountains and rivers
are revered as gods.

One of the most powerful of these
natural deities is the river Ganges.

She is a water goddess, who blesses
the many faces of northern India

in a thousand different ways.

For millennia, she has brought shape
and life to a parched land

and provided sustenance
for both body and soul

to the countless millions who have lived
and worshipped along her banks.

All around her, the great cycles
of birth, death and re-birth

are endlessly played out.

And flowing through these natural
and spiritual worlds is the Ganges,

India's river of life.

India has many sacred rivers

but it's the Ganga, or Ganges, that lies
at the very heart of the subcontinent.

To reach its delta on the shores
of the Bay of Bengal

the river has flowed for 1,500 miles

across northern India's
hot and crowded plains.

But the Ganges starts life
in a very different realm.

Cold and imposing, the high peaks
of the Himalaya have another name,

Dev Bhoomi, the Land of the Gods.

It's here that the Ganges is born.

The source of the Ganges
is a place of great significance.

But where,
amongst these remote peaks and glaciers,

does India's most venerated river
really begin?

In this mystical landscape,

divining the origin is as much
a test of faith as of geography.

Ancient temples honour four streams
as the sacred sources of the Ganges.

But which is the true source
of the great river?

By winter's end,
the answer is as elusive

as the Himalaya's most secretive hunter.

The snow leopard is a fabulous,
ghostly presence in this frigid world.

Only a few now haunt the slopes,

tracking bharal, or blue sheep,
through the remotest valleys.

After months of hardship,

even an old goat carcass can mean
the difference between life and death.

And not just for scavengers,
like crows and jackals.

But by the end of April,
this icy world is set to change.

As spring creeps up into the mountains,

temples and villages abandoned
for the winter start to thaw.

And so does the Ganges.

Released from the grip of winter,

water begins to flow again
for the first time in months.

In turn, these streams
set other journeys in motion.

These pilgrims are climbing towards
the first sacred source of the Ganges.

They carry with them an effigy of Shiva,

destined for its summer home
in the village of Kedarnath,

3,500 metres up in the Himalayas.

Unoccupied for the wintry months,

this thousand-year-old temple
is about to reopen.

Pikas get a rude awakening
from their long hibernation.

Kedarnath is a hard four-day climb
from the low villages,

and the procession's arrival
is a cause for great celebration.

In just a few days, the whole valley
is magically transformed

as the countercurrents
of water and people

ebb and flow across the slopes.

Through the short summer season, this
lonely outpost will become the focus

for hundreds of thousands of pilgrims
from all over India.

But while Kedarnath is revered
as a sacred source,

in truth, there are many streams that
begin far deeper into the mountains.

And all of them
have a long journey ahead,

before finally becoming
part of the Ganges far below.

And at these lower altitudes,
spring has already arrived.

As the strengthening sun warms the land,

lammergeiers soar
on the rising thermals.

They scour the forested valleys,

effortlessly covering 25 miles or more
each day in their search for food.

Lifted on wings three metres across,

the lammergeier is one of
the world's largest birds of prey.

Not that this intimidates
the local crows.

Despite their imposing size,

they survive largely
by scavenging on old bones.

The solitary youngster
must spend several months

perched precariously on the nest's ledge

before finally being ready to follow
its parents into the thin mountain air.

Bathed in spring sunshine, the valleys
of the foothills are bursting with life.

Water-loving birds,
like redstarts and forktails,

are busy attending
to their hungry nestlings.

These lower slopes
were once cloaked in rich forest.

Now this woodland is confined
to just a few protected valleys.

The dominant tree here is the deodar.

These 60-metre giants are known locally
as the Tree of the Gods,

an appropriate home for one of India's
most divine creatures.

Langurs are revered as
the earthly warriors of Hanuman,

the monkey god.

After a winter surviving on
a meagre diet of bark and dead leaves,

the spring greenery brings
an appetising change.

These mountain monkeys have occasionally
been seen wandering the highest slopes,

which may have given rise
to the legends of the Yeti.

In these magical forests, it seems
natural that mythical beasts and gods

could be embodied in the same creature.

And at the heart of this awakening world

is the growing presence of Ganga,
the river goddess.

With each passing day,

the spring meltwater surges down
towards the plains.

In the lower reaches
of the mountain rivers,

Himalayan mahseer are gathering.

The world's largest carp, these powerful
fish cruise the rivers with the seasons,

migrating between spawning grounds
in mountain torrents

and these more placid lowland waters.

But today these are perilous journeys

as poaching takes a heavy toll
on their numbers.

One of the few sanctuaries
now left to them

are the ceremonial steps, or ghats,
at riverside temples.

Here, they grow huge on handouts
from priests and worshippers.

The largest might be a metre long
and weigh over 50 kilos.

But in these increasingly
crowded valleys,

they have to share these sacred waters
as the tributaries of the Ganges

are having ever greater demands
placed upon them.

Villagers use every stream
pouring down from the mountains

to irrigate tier upon tier of terraces
carved into the precipitous slopes.

Winter-sown crops, like barley and
millet, quickly ripen in the strong sun.

And come May, it's not just
the villagers reaping the benefits.

Even as the crops are being cut,

troops of macaques
are waiting in the wings

ready to mop up
any overlooked ears and seeds.

Despite appearances,
time is of the essence.

Almost as soon as the crop
has been gathered,

these tiny fields are ploughed,
then flooded and planted with rice

to be harvested in the autumn.

This intensive farming is only possible

because of the huge quantities of
meltwater flooding down from the peaks.

This predictable and plentiful
supply of water

is the Ganges' first great gift
to northern India.

Without it, the entire region
would be a wasteland.

Small wonder that for millennia

this gift has been seen as a blessing
from the mountain gods,

and the river itself
revered as a goddess,

possessed of abundant
supernatural powers.

(PRIEST CHANTING)

By May, the mountains
are bathed in summer heat,

and the first rush of meltwater
is beginning to subside.

Shepherds drift their flocks up through
the forests towards the summer pastures.

Their guard dogs wear metal collars,

vital protection against the lethal bite
of the most feared forest predator.

Today, leopards thrive around
these mountain pastures,

attracted by the goats
and the chance of an easy kill.

And these goat herds have brought
other changes to the hills.

Voracious and indiscriminate eaters,

their grazing dramatically slows
the regeneration of the forests.

Rhododendrons are one of the few plants
that appear immune to this onslaught.

And by June, they are in full bloom.

Migrating butterflies fuel up
at the brilliant flowers,

while rose finches, tits and warblers

feed on other insects
attracted to the flowers.

These tangles of rhododendron
and the higher mountain meadows

are home to one of the most
secretive creatures of the Himalayas.

Musk deer are shy and retiring,
and for very good reasons.

They tend to emerge at dawn and dusk

to feed on the lichens
which festoon these forest hideaways.

The males' tusks have more to do
with fighting than with browsing.

But what really sets them apart
are the musk glands under their tails.

Musk is highly prized
by the perfume industry

and in traditional medicine,

so these tiny deer
have been hunted for centuries.

Although now protected,

thousands are still illegally killed
in the Himalayas every year.

Despite the idyllic surroundings,
life in these high valleys is tough.

Casualties don't go unnoticed for long.

A lammergeier is first on the scene.

It won't be alone for long.

Plucky crows push to get in on the act.

But they're not the main threat.

Griffin vultures home in on the carcass
from miles away.

And once the discovery has been made,
others won't be far behind.

The solitary lammergeier
doesn't have a chance

among these aggressive
and noisy scavengers.

It must step aside and wait for scraps.

But it's the returning shepherds
with their dogs

that settle the dispute
once and for all.

Forty miles and several valleys
to the west of Kedarnath

is the village of Yamunotri,

the second sacred source of the Ganges.

(TEMPLE BELL RINGING)

In reality, this temple marks
the starting point

of the Ganga's sister river, the Yamuna,

and is not in any sense
the true source of the Ganges.

But this stream and temple
is still hugely significant for Hindus.

Before paying their respects,
pilgrims must take a ritual bath

in the natural hot springs
beneath the temple.

Devotees cook rice, as an offering
to their river goddess.

But the real significance of Yamunotri

is what these steaming
sulphurous pools say

about the deep and violent origins
of the Himalaya.

Origins that stretch back
into the mists of time.

For 70 million years, India has been
drifting slowly northwards

and ploughing its way into Asia.

The land caught between
the two converging continents

has been squeezed and folded upwards

to form the Himalaya,
a 1,500 mile long crumple zone.

And they are still rising
by about 5 millimetres a year.

As the mountains continue to grow,

the meltwater rivers must carve
their way deeper into the rocks.

But thawing glaciers and melting snow
are not the only sources of water

that feed the Ganges.

As the Indian summer progresses,

these mountain streams are about to get
a very welcome top-up.

Mountains create their own weather,

and in the biggest range in the world,
this can have a devastating intensity.

Sudden storms pepper the hills
with hail,

returning the summer meadows
to a brief wintry white.

Yet even as the summer begins
to deteriorate,

pilgrims are still making journeys
across the mountains.

Many are heading deep into the hills,
to Badrinath,

the third of the sacred sources
of the Ganges.

(TEMPLE BELLS RINGING)

Close to the Tibetan border,

the brightly coloured temple
is over 500 years old.

But the site's religious significance
goes back much further.

Animal gods carved into its facade
are a reminder

of just how intertwined the natural and
spiritual worlds are in Hindu beliefs.

Surrounded by some
of India's highest peaks,

Badrinath attracts
the worst of the weather

and some of the most
determined pilgrims.

Those who can, walk.

Those who can't are carried.

The pull of these remote shrines
is powerful.

To visit the sacred sources brings
great blessings upon the pilgrims,

helping speed their journey
to a better life.

But once again, as with
the first two sacred sources,

this fierce torrent cannot be seen
as the primary source of the Ganges,

at least not geographically.

The river at Badrinath is fed by
thousands of rain-swollen streams,

tumbling down from some of
the most remote

and awe-inspiring corners
of the Himalayas.

Dominating the scene is Nanda Devi,
India's second-highest peak.

Regarded as a goddess in her own right,
she shelters the Bhiundhar valley,

one of the most magical places in India.

Covered in snow for much of the year,

the valley is transformed
during the short summer

into a botanical wonderland,

the Valley of Flowers.

Who could not believe
that this is a blessed place?

Every day, clouds wash over
these high meadows,

coaxing new blooms
from the rich glacial soils.

Over 600 plant species
have been found here.

And by the end of July, Himalayan Balsam
cloaks the valley in pink.

Through the short summer season,
the valley is abuzz with activity.

Male monal pheasants
are getting a little overheated

trying to attract a mate.

And in the warm air, newly emerged
insects gather in mating swarms.

But for others, life in the valley
is more relaxed.

Goral are small goat antelopes,

perfectly suited to life
on the rugged, grassy hillsides.

Small family groups must
make the most of the rich grazing

before the summer ends.

The profusion of meadow flowers
provides the local hill people

with one of their
most treasured harvests.

In these remote valleys, virtually
everything has to be home-grown.

Watered by mountain streams
and warmed by the late summer sun,

the village terraces
are bursting with new life.

It feels like a high-altitude
Garden of Eden.

But harsh realities are never far away.

In just two months, this village and
hundreds like it across the high valleys

will be abandoned for the winter.

And even the summer nights
hold an unwelcome chill.

After dark, the village takes on
a siege mentality.

Stock is brought in, dogs are chained

and doors are bolted.

The villagers close themselves off
from some very unwelcome visitors.

Asiatic black bears
weigh as much as a man,

and late summer is the time for them
to make the most of the season's bounty

as they stock up for the coming winter.

(DOGS BARKING)

The village terraces are irresistible.

And it's not just bears on the prowl.

Foxes take their pick
of the fallen apples.

And in the shadows, an even more
sinister presence is lurking.

Although the leopards are mainly
attracted to the village dogs,

they have a darker side
and are not above attacking people.

This isn't new.

These valleys have often
been plagued by man-eaters.

In the 1920s, one male leopard killed
at least 126 people,

many of them pilgrims
en route to the high temples.

Today, such events
are unlikely to be repeated.

The old foot trails have been
largely replaced by roads,

which means thousands of pilgrims
can now easily reach

even the remotest of mountain shrines.

And this one, the last of the four
sacred sources of the Ganges,

is the busiest and most important temple
of them all.

This is Gangotri,

the place where Hindus believe
the Ganges first appeared on Earth.

As a goddess, Ganga originally
watered the gardens of heaven,

but her purifying powers
were needed on Earth

to cleanse the ashes of the dead.

Ganga agreed to come to the aid
of humankind

but the impact of her descent
would have destroyed the Earth.

So another god, Shiva, intervened.

At Gangotri, he caught
the falling river in his hair,

cushioning her arrival
and channelling the flow

into thousands of lesser streams.

The spectacular waterfall here
is a very earthly reminder

of that tumultuous descent.

But even Gangotri can't be
the true source either.

The river here is already wide
and powerful,

fed by one of the Himalaya's
largest glaciers higher up the valley.

Just a few hundred years ago,
that same glacier filled this valley,

reaching right down to the village.

Now, in the face of rising temperatures,
it's retreated over 12 miles.

Only the most determined
make the final journey up valley

to the farthest extremity of the river.

Their destination is Gaumukh,
the Cow's Mouth,

an ice cave from which flows
a milky stream.

This cold and lonely place is considered
by many to be the source of the Ganges.

For most pilgrims,
it's a fleeting visit,

just time for a few prayers
and a ritual bath in the frigid waters.

Yet even here,
it's faith rather than geography

that is defining the source.

Higher still, up above the glacier,
there is more running water.

If the source of a river is the point
farthest from the sea,

then it's here,
in the meadows of Tapovan,

that the spiritual
and geographic origins of the Ganges

finally come together.

Surrounded and protected
by the mountain gods,

nowhere could be more fitting as
the birthplace of India's holiest river.

Few visit this wild place.

Only the hardiest sadhus, or holy men,

come to pay their respects
at the very heart of the Hindu world.

These mountain slopes feed
the true headwaters of the Ganges.

A thin covering of grasses attracts
blue sheep, or bharal, down to graze.

Their phantom-like predator follows.

At over 4,000 metres, the summer heat
keeps the streams running by day,

but at night, most freeze over.

This daily round of freeze and thaw

prises rocks away
from the unstable slopes.

These landslips expose
just what the bharal are looking for.

They're still shedding
their thick winter coats.

In doing so, they lose minerals

which must be replaced
if they are to stay healthy.

Freshly exposed saltlicks
are sought out,

no matter what the danger.

For the unwary, these isolated meadows
become a final resting place.

Hindus believe the source of the Ganges

is a crossing point between
heaven and Earth.

By late summer, there's a very powerful
meteorological reminder

of that mythological connection.

The monsoon has arrived.

These torrential storms contribute over
half the total annual flow of the river

in just a few weeks.

A destructive power is unleashed
across the Himalaya,

one that echoes the descent of Ganga
from the heavens.

All this mud and rock,
wrestled out of the mountains,

is destined to become the river's
second great gift to northern India.

Over 2 billion tons of sediment
is spread over the plains each year

by the monsoon floods,

creating and replenishing
the most fertile soils on Earth.

Right across the mountains,

the floodwaters
carve their way southwards.

On this tumultuous descent,
streams merge and tributaries unite.

Each confluence, or prayag,
is an auspicious place to worship,

marking points where Ganga's waters,

once dispersed by the locks of Shiva,
are reunited.

The most important of all
is at Devprayag.

But bathing here during the monsoon
is a life-threatening devotion.

Devprayag is significant
for other reasons, too.

The rivers that meet here
are known only by their local names,

the Alaknanda and the Baghirathi.

But downstream from this promontory,

the larger river is officially called
the Ganga for the first time.

The river may have reached
the gentler foothills,

but there's life in her yet.

This region is known as
the Shivalik hills.

These are the ancient remnants of
mountains much older than the Himalaya,

rock the powerful Ganges has been
wearing down for millions of years.

Now the river's character
begins to change.

The rapids become separated
by increasingly longer stretches

of deeper, more placid water.

The first large towns
begin to appear on her banks.

The 120-metre long
Lakshman Jhula footbridge

spans the Ganges
at the town of Rishikesh.

Every day, thousands pass
back and forth,

going about their daily business.

Although not everyone uses
the more conventional route.

The chaos of the bridge is ripe
for exploitation,

and the resident macaques know just how
to work it to their advantage.

They miss little,

and there's nothing subtle
about their tactics.

If begging doesn't work,
direct action usually does.

They may not have the same protection
of more sacred animals,

but Hinduism has
a fundamental respect for all life.

And so they are tolerated.

Their antics just an accepted,

if annoying, part of everyday life
around the town.

The Rishikesh macaques span two worlds.

With one foot in the Shivalik forests
and the other in the urban jungle,

they are one of the many creatures
that have adjusted well to modern life.

But just as the pace of life
in the foothills is quickening,

the river begins to slow.

As the gradient slackens,
the Ganges and her tributaries

begin to wander across
an ever widening valley.

The animals of the high Himalaya
have been left far behind,

and the river gathers
a new cast of players,

animals better able to use the slower,
deeper water of the main channel.

Forests now cloak the banks,

providing sanctuary for some of
India's most distinctive animals.

Some will be intimately connected
with the Ganges

for the rest of her long journey
to the sea.

A few are thriving.

Others now have only a tenuous foothold
along the river.

For the moment, smooth-coated otters
can still enjoy carefree fishing

in the foothill streams.

But for how much longer is hard to tell.

As people press in on all sides,

these creatures must find their way
in an increasingly crowded world.

Still only 150 miles from
its true source above Gangotri,

the Ganges finally bursts
from the last line of hills

out onto the plains.

Haridwar is one of
the holiest places in India,

drawing Hindu pilgrims
from all over the subcontinent

to celebrate and worship
their divine river goddess.

Every evening, devotees gather
on the temple steps

to take part in a mass festival
of light, or aari, in her honour.

In many ways, Haridwar is where
the Ganges really begins.

Upstream she is
a wild and elusive river,

her sources shrouded
in myth and mystery.

Only at Haridwar are those
mountain torrents finally drawn together

into one potent, powerful river
that truly befits her godly status.

Now the Ganges enters a very different,
very human world

in which her sacred waters
must now clean cities,

irrigate vast fields,

and nourish the bodies,
as well as the spirits,

of over half a billion people.

These nightly gatherings are just
a taste of what is to come,

as the Ganges embarks on the next stage
of her epic journey to the sea.

At Haridwar, the Daughter of
the Mountains has grown up

to become Ganga Ma, Mother Ganges,

India's river of life.