Kufri (Part 2): Over 400 Steps Later

At the very top of Kufri stood the Deshu Mata Temple, a quiet little shrine dedicated to Maa Durga, tucked among deodar trees and overlooking the mountains. Quiet, simple… and placed in a location that made you question your life choices on the way up, because to get there, you had to climb around 400 steps. My parents took one look and immediately decided they were absolutely not doing that—especially since we were planning to go to Jakhu Temple later. My wife, initially optimistic, made it about 150–200 steps before reality kicked in. I could practically hear her lungs saying,
“Please don’t do this to me.” She turned back. Fair enough. But me? No chance I was turning back. So I carried on.
Step after step, passing aunties, kids, and grown adults all breathing heavily, some already sitting to the side reconsidering their decisions. Every now and then, I’d do a short burst because stopping somehow made it worse. At one point, I started recording myself, and honestly, I looked like I was about to pass out. Heavy breathing, slightly regretting life, but still moving. As I climbed, I found myself encouraging people around me like we were all part of some shared survival mission.
“Nearly there.”
“You’ve got this.” Meanwhile, I had absolutely no idea how far “there” actually was. People coming down became my only source of hope. I’d ask,
“How much further?” One guy looked at me and said,
“You’re not even halfway.”
He lied.
I was, but he followed it up with, “It’s worth it,” so I carried on. Eventually, after what felt like a personal endurance test, I caught a glimpse of the top, the temple roof just peeking through. That was it. Final push. I stopped pacing myself and just ran the rest of the way up. At that point, it wasn’t even about the view anymore—it was about proving I could finish it.

I made it to the top and the first thing I did wasn’t even go to the temple because it would have been rude to walk in still trying to catch my breath. I went straight to the edge. The view… it was on another level. From up there, everything opened up in a way that almost didn’t feel real. A winding path curved gently along the ridge below, like it had been carefully drawn into the mountain rather than built. Tall pine trees stood scattered across the slopes, breaking up the golden-brown terrain, while beyond them layer after layer of mountains stretched endlessly into the distance. Each ridge faded into the next, turning from deep greens and browns into soft blues and greys as they disappeared into the horizon. It felt like you could see forever. The sky was perfectly clear, with just a few clouds hanging lazily above, and the sheer scale of it all made everything below seem so small, so quiet. Standing there, slightly out of breath, I just paused. This was higher, wider, better. Completely worth it. After catching my breath (barely), I made my way back towards the Deshu Mata Temple. I stood at the bottom of the small staircase leading inside, trying to figure out what exactly I was meant to do. I didn’t want to just walk in and get it wrong. As I hesitated, a kid came out, so I asked him what it was like inside.He told me about the temple and then looked at me like,
“You’ve climbed all this way… and you’re not going in?” So I took off my shoes and stepped inside. The temple itself was small and simple, built with wood and stone, blending quietly into the surroundings rather than standing out. It had that traditional hill-temple feel—low ceilings, earthy tones, and a calm presence rather than anything grand or overwhelming. There was a simple steel plate at the front where I placed a 50 rupee note. A man sitting inside handed me prashaad. Inside, the temple was peaceful and minimal, centred around the local deity Deshu Mata, with other familiar Hindu figures like present as well. I stood there for a moment, took it in, and quietly looked around before stepping out.
Simple, peaceful—and after that climb, fully earned.

As I headed back down, I found myself stopping every few minutes just to take it all in again. It was only on the way down that I properly realised how high I had actually climbed. What felt like “just a few steps” on the way up now looked like a full on mission carved into the mountainside. The aunties I had passed earlier were still there, exactly where I’d left them, hands on knees, breathing like they’d just completed a marathon. We exchanged a few knowing smiles. No words needed. We all understood the struggle. As I got closer to the bottom, I spotted my parents and my wife exactly where I’d left them, sat comfortably on a bench, fully recovered, as if they hadn’t just rejected the idea of climbing 400 steps. At my wife’s feet was a dog, who had clearly made himself at home. Apparently, all it took was one innocent paw on her foot and he’d secured a full meal. Her soft spot for dogs is unmatched, honestly, they can probably sense it. It balances out well though, considering my weakness for cats. I handed out some of the Prashaad I’d brought down, and for a moment we just stood there quietly. Then I turned back to look up towards the temple… and couldn’t see a thing. The stairs had completely disappeared into the trees, hidden like they were never there in the first place. It almost felt strange knowing I’d just come from up there.

Next up, Jakhu Temple.

This image is from Bhaktibharat website