by GAURAV PUNJ
‘For all you know, no one is even trying to clear the truck. It’s my last time in India for sure, if I ever get out of this place.’ ‘Don’t worry, no one has an agenda to keep you guys here. Not that you contribute much to the local economy. You are always haggling over room and food cost.’
Oh boy! Little off the topic, but it wasn’t the most sensible argument to begin with.
‘The army has been lying to us for two days.’ ‘Why would they lie, you can clearly make out they are constantly working. You guys have not done your research or what before coming to Ladakh? It is not Goa. It’s a tough place and these kind of things can and do happen here. All of us are in the same situation, but we are not panicking.’ The Chennai girls were on fire.
Perhaps the foreigners didn’t expect all of us to gang up on them like this, and decided to retreat and keep their feelings to themselves.
‘How can they say anything against our army?’ Upasana was furious. And the overall mood was not different from this. Altitude-induced, foreigner-triggered patriotism at 4500m. Maybe not; maybe it’s just that the army is one entity that brings out the feeling of nationalism in all of us; the altitude just made us very vocal about it. The altitude and the blatantly unfair accusations. Tension simmered inside the dhaba for the rest of the afternoon.
Meanwhile we also started getting hourly updates about the road situation. At 2 p.m., the news came that the truck has finally been straightened and was now getting towed to a safe and broad part of the road. Not an easy task once again. Tashi came to us and told us to remain together and be ready to run to the car as there would be a major rush towards the road. The seriousness with which he said this would have made us laugh if not for our own state of mind. Instead, we pulled our stuff closer to us, tied our shoelaces (just kidding), and were all set.
The final rush
Minutes ticked by. Everyone on high alert. People thinking twice even before going to pee. Drivers shuttling back and forth between the dhaba and the control room. Checking their tyres. Turning steering wheels toward the road. Tense stuff. Couple of false alarms with people rushing out from the dhaba only to be sent back in. It was unbelievable. Our only aim in life was to cross over to Leh.
And then, ‘Khul gaya, jaldi aao’. The mad race started. People pretended to be in a movie as they jumped over tables to get out of the dhaba and ran like crazy to their respective cars. Then ran back to collect the bag that had slipped from their back. Cars honking. People getting into wrong cars – they all looked similar. Cars driving off while people were still getting in. Drivers screaming at the cars in front that were blocking them because their passengers had not yet come. Dust flying everywhere. No Hollywood or Indian movie could have captured that craziness.
And then, the calm. Everyone overwhelmed. Cars moving along in a single file, and not much to be done now except hope they keep moving. (A photograph clicked in the dark on page iv in the inserts.) An army jeep was in front of the caravan of about fifty cars, setting the pace. We reached North Pullu at about 5:30 p.m. and saw a bunch of exhausted-looking soldiers, the ones who had spent the last three days clearing the road, with their JCBs and the recovery cranes. They were sitting by the side of the road, having a cup of tea, smiling and waving to us. I am sure all of us felt good about taking their side in the argument earlier in the day.
As we crawled on, we faced a new problem. It was getting dark and we were still an hour away from the top – and the descent into Leh yet to be made. As the sun goes down, frost appears on the road and it becomes very slippery: every Himalayan driver’s nightmare. Again, we’d underestimated the army. At every tricky spot on the route, there were a bunch of soldiers positioned to help the vehicles pass by. They had powerful lights and tools to guide each vehicle around the corner. They then messaged the next station that so many vehicles have crossed and are approaching them. It was super stuff.
As we looked back we could see the lights of the caravan stretching for over 2 km. Soon we passed the old, harmless-looking truck, the culprit if we could call it that. The over-enthu driver had tried to cross the pass late in the evening, skidded and was lucky to survive.
By the time we reached the top of Khardung La, it was almost 8 p.m. – the regular closing time is 6 p.m. At the top there wasn’t the usual enthusiasm to take photos or buy souvenirs; in fact we barely stopped for a breather before we pressed on. The descent turned out to be much easier since the road was in better condition here. Tashi relaxed as well and began playing his Himesh Reshamiya CD. And we could finally appreciate the haunting beauty of the snow-covered mountains under a full moon, the tough, unforgiving terrain through which the road passed, the lights of Leh in the distance twinkling like the stars above us, the absolute stillness and majesty of Ladakh.
***
Raju, the Guide
Short mein bole toh, Ladakh is not your regular hill station, go there well prepared.
More reading
Some easily available books and guides that I have managed to read and gained from (there are many books on Ladakh; these are just the ones I have on my bookshelf right now):
Title
Category
Author
Remarks
A Journey in Ladakh (1983)
Travel and spirituality
Andrew Harvey
Account of the author’s travels in Ladakh, with an open mind and a keen eye.
Trekking in Ladakh – a Trailblazer guide (Updated in 2004)
Guidebook
Charlie Loram
Easily the best guide to trekking anywhere in Ladakh, especially because of the detailed maps.
Ladakh Adventure and The Snow Leopard Adventure (2013)
Adventure fiction for young adults
Deepak Dalal
Thoroughly enjoyable way to find out about Ladakh.
What else to do in Ladakh
Trekking – It’s currently one of the most popular trekking destinations in the Indian Himalaya, and rightly so. It is vast, it has innumerable trekking routes of all difficulty levels, there are very good local trekking agencies you can hire and weather is more predictable than in other parts of the Himalaya. Just don’t do the typical thing of going on the same two to three treks that most of the trekkers go on (Markha valley and Padum-Darcha). Spread out, there are so many options, just ask.
Car/bike riders – Well, Ladakh is at the top in this segment too. People buy bikes later, and dream of going to Ladakh first. It’s okay, I guess, as long as it’s done with the spirit of adventure and not wannabe machismo. Too many bikers crying and kicking their bikes have been spotted on the roads.
Chilling out – If you are looking for a quiet time in Leh, skip July and August and you will be well rewarded. Leh has managed to retain its coolness factor and some really hep cafés, eating places, etc. dot the market, the best ones just off the main streets.
Winter sports – Ah, the next big thing perhaps. Polo, ice skating and monastery festivals can make the bitterest winter fun.
Point to be noted
What’s up with this fascination of driving to Ladakh from the Manali side? Hello, if it’s fear that’s keeping you from Kashmir, you are a decade behind in time. But my guess is that you just don’t know better. Because everyone is going from Manali, so will you. Okay, there are two things here: a) The road from Srinagar to Leh via Kargil climbs at a much steadier rate, crucial for acclimatization and b) It is as stunning, wild, etc., etc., if not more than the Manali-Leh one. The way to Ladakh has always been through Kashmir. You can return via Manali, if you like. This will make
sure you don’t suffer on the 5000m passes on that road and can actually enjoy them.
Local service providers
Snow Leopard Conservancy runs a wide network of homestays in some of the most beautiful and accessible Ladakhi villages. You shouldn’t come back from Ladakh without staying in one. http://www.himalayan-homestays.com.
If you plan to trek or book homestays in Ladakh, I would recommend the Ladakh Women Travel Company, LWTC, a one of its kind all-women adventure travel agency. http://www.ladakhiwomenstravel.com.
For guesthouses in Leh, there are still a few left in Changspa area that are authentic family-run establishments, something Leh was famous for. Try Jigmet guesthouse, or just drop by and check out the many other small ones.
Story 3
The High of Kulu Valley
Hand-drawn maps for representation purpose only. Not to scale.
The setting
As you cross over the Rohtang Pass while returning from Ladakh to Manali, something dramatic happens. Well, everything in Himalaya is dramatic you could argue, but we are talking of top drawer dramatic here. As the road morphs into a path through slush and broken stones, you won’t be able to take your eyes off the stupendously green valley looming in front. Not the proper Kulu valley as yet, but the precursor to it. On both sides are green mountains, still very high mind you, and in the middle are small streams creating space for themselves, slowly but steadily. Come down further and you can see the valley opening up as if the mountains on both sides have been parted by the hands of God, the streams all joining to form a river, and the first signs of habitation. Soon the Solang stream also joins the river and the Beas roars ahead. Now if you look up, you will realize the uniqueness of this valley – it’s locked in by high mountains on three sides. If you were a king in times past you would look at it this way: abundant water, abundant cultivable land, natural protection from three sides. A big smile.
The Kulu valley stretches from the base of Rohtang Pass, through Manali, Kulu town and then to Mandi, further downstream. At some places the valley is a couple of kilometres wide, and these days most of this stretch is covered with apple orchards, the game changer in the Kulu economy. Not that other fruits are not cultivated, they very much are, but the apples dominate.
The stage
Now, as the king of this valley, you would want to keep a watch over the entire stretch, or as much of it as possible, so obviously your capital has to be a place somewhat higher up in the mountains, and not in the valley. Which is why Naggar came into being, and stayed as the valley’s capital city for centuries, and till very recently, before Manali became a tourist hub, it was the centre of the Kulu valley.
As a king, you would also build a castle for yourself, and you will build it in a way that it blends with the surroundings, use readily available wood and stone, and build it at the spot with the best view of the valley. The 16th century castle in Naggar stands till date, and since its renovation by HPTDC, is actually a very good place to stay and survey the valley below as kings would have done for ages.
We fell in love with Naggar when we first went there. It’s quiet and calm, so different from the hustle-bustle of Manali (we weren’t looking for hustle-bustle you see, we get enough of that in Mumbai), and the way it does justice to that oft-abused word – charming.
The cast
The kids playing basketball in Naggar square, the sadhu at the hidden shrine, the resident family in Thava, the Russian tourists and our group of eight.
The act: A path less travelled and the lost city
of Thava
‘New year in the Himalaya? In that cold? We’re on.’
And so, with Rajiv and Sarika on board, we were eight of us for the ‘New Year’s High’ trip. It was 2008. New Year’s Eve in Mumbai was getting monotonous; you were more likely to bring in the new year stuck in an endless traffic jam than in the truly fun, cool or crazy manner people aim for. So what better than to head towards the good old mountains, with the guaranteed space, peace, quiet and a certain level of craziness too.
‘Just make friends with the cold,’ was my only instruction, which was misinterpreted by most on the group as a green signal to pack in woollens, jackets, mufflers, leg warmers, and what not. And so with suitcases the size of almirahs, we reached Naggar castle late one night in the last week of December.
Cut to next morning, a big breakfast table set up in the courtyard of the castle in bright sunshine, with a leafless tree in the middle, snow-covered range in front and the Kulu valley awash in winter colours stretched as far as one could see. Maybe a photo will help here; see the one on page v in the inserts. Trust me, a moment in the warmth of the winter sun is worth freezing your ass for hours. I don’t know how else to put it; it just makes you happy. And so, over hot paranthas, butter, omelettes and chai, a happy bunch discussed plans for the rest of the day.
‘Let’s start from the village and the temple of Gauri Shankar, then on to the beautiful temple of Tripura Sundari in the heart of Naggar, from there we’ll follow a trail through the forest to a hidden shrine and finally to the Krishna temple of Thava, about which I don’t know much. This should take us three hours max and we can then come back for lunch,’ I summarized.
There are roughly two kinds of temple architecture in the Kulu valley (and to a certain extent in the western Himalaya, barring the trans-Himalaya): the shila style and the pagoda style. The Gauri Shankar temple is a shila style temple, that is, it’s made of blocks of stone piled on top of each other and starting from a rectangular base it merges in a conical shape at the top. The temple has a courtyard laid out with the same blocks of stone in front and, as always, a lovely view.
The clear blue sky promised a long day of sunshine and we took our time ambling along the lanes of Naggar, passing the two-storey wooden homes where inhabitants idled on their porch, enjoying the sun and smiling at us. Some of these houses are a couple of hundred years old, and apart from being lovely to look at, are well insulated due to the exclusive use of wood and stone (not to mention earthquake proof because of the tiny gaps between stones or logs of wood). It’s such a pity that, everywhere in the Himalaya, the display of wealth means resorting to a brick and mortar home, like they see in the plains.
A little ahead we came across a bunch of kids playing, of all things, basketball. I have seen volleyball being played with gusto in almost every Himalayan village, but this was a first. We shot a couple, missed, were laughed at and given a demo of how it’s done. These kids were barely ten years old. Naggar basketball association, we named it, feeling very smart, and continued ahead.
Mid-way between Naggar castle and the Nicholas Roerich gallery is the centre-piece of Naggar, the Tripura Sundari temple. Overzealous government officials and wealthy locals have conspired to ‘modernize’ this temple and have built an ugly construction right in front, but thankfully the original structure survives, and viewed from the side, still presents a very pretty sight. It’s a pagoda-style temple, with three diminishing layers of the wooden roof rising above each other. Dedicated to the Goddess, the oldest and best sculptures are foolishly kept outside, and a new statue of Durga takes their place in the sanctum sanctorum. The engravings in stone and wood are unique, depicting the tantric origins of the temple. ‘Lucky we got to see all this before they decided to get rid of it altogether!’ I commented.
Standardizing the gods
A little rant is due about the mindless conversion of unique temples, especially in the Himalaya, dedicated to native devis, devtas, rocks, trees and other forms of nature, into mainstream Hinduism. The most pronounced standardization is in statues of native goddesses. No matter how fascinating her history and story specific to that region, it’s promptly replaced by a marble Durga, the same deity that you will see in almost every temple in north India. This is usually carried out by overzealous politicians or rich villagers to show off their ‘contribution’ or to imply that n
ow this temple has joined the big league. I mean, there won’t be a school for miles, but all temples must have marble statues. Very soon, the only surviving records of the famous Himalayan temples (forget about the less popular and smaller ones) will be in books written by a few enthusiastic scholars.
I was told to chill and a quick diversion to the German Bakery was proposed. Good idea. Not that we were tired or anything, but the coffee and cake were too tempting. It’s the relaxed nature of a Himalayan holiday I guess, that makes you savour the smallest things. We then returned past the castle and left the road to follow a narrow trail climbing up and into the forest. Within minutes it was as if we were in a different world altogether. It’s amazing how just a few metres of forest insulates you from the road, the noise, everything, and sucks you into a place where there is just you, the trail, the trees and bushes all around. And the only sounds are of you breathing, that of birds and sometimes of flowing water, which can be heard for miles. We were excited now; wilderness is infectious, you see.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, we came across a stream. On the opposite bank, which can be reached by a narrow log bridge, was the shrine of a rishi. The setting couldn’t have been better for the rishi to be away from the world, but still close enough, and meditate and do all those things that rishis do. We crossed over and climbed up to the temple, to find it locked. ‘Not that they were expecting us or anything,’ Zahir stated wisely. But after a quick search around the temple, we located the caretaker sadhu, who got really excited on seeing us, they love occasional company, all these dwellers in the uninhabited, and he literally ran down from his room to open the padlock. A quick peek inside was followed by a long gossip session with him, wherein he enlightened us on topics ranging from religion to politics to wildlife, everything. ‘Idhar sher aata hai?’ asked Sarika, keeping alive the tradition of at least one person in the group on every single trip asking this question, and giving the ‘expert’ an opportunity to indulge himself. ‘Bahut bada bagh aaya tha kuch din pehle, hum nahi darte.’