Towards the Within

by Reece Willis

  At the bus station, we met a guy called Eli. Cropped black hair and goatee beard, he was roughly the same age as us, enjoying some freedom after two years' national service in Israel. His neatly pressed clothes, structure and organisation about his kit certainly gave the impression he'd experienced a form of military life.

  'Ah you are travelling to Leh also?' Kurt asked as he strapped our luggage to the roof.

  Eli checked the last of his things, clipped his pack shut and hoisted it up to him, 'Yes. I plan to do some trekking while I'm there. You are trekking too?'

  'No. We are just visiting, taking it easy, you know?'

  'How long do you plan to stay?'

  'Two months maybe.' Dismay dawned as he said this. Leh would be the last new place in India I would see.

  Eli bagged a window next to Kurt. I got the window opposite, the seat next to mine empty. The remainder of the bus was occupied by Kullu and Ladakhi folk.

  The first hour was relatively plain sailing. From Manali we climbed a land of giants, corkscrewing higher around every bend leaving villages tiny below us, pine forests dwindling away. The roads became more unforgiving and we were thankful our driver knew what he was doing. Aside from recent rock fall and glacial streams sluicing down the slopes taking with them broken sections of tarmac, the weather was taking a turn for the worse and a thick fog was closing in fast, bringing traffic to a sudden standstill.

  For what seemed forever we edged along, bumper to bumper, heavy snow setting in, blizzard state, hitting the bus at all angles and blotting out any remaining views. Soon, black triangles emerged up ahead and we came into a clearing surrounded by mountains, a handful of battered tents clinging on for dear life.

  'We are at Rohtang La,' Kurt shouted as we stepped into the thick of it. Against the wind and stinging snow, we made it to the nearest tent and stooped inside.

  'Come, make yourself comfortable,' said an old Kullu man. He adjusted his pillbox cap to a tilt, got up and attended to a kettle on a stove, leaving two young Indian men sat beside him huddled in thick yak fur coats. 'Tea for all, yes?' We nodded. 'Good good, sit sit,' he said and pointed to a log against the wall of the tent. The men opposite nodded, said they were on vacation and asked the usual questions.

  'Not much of a holiday for you guys, huh?' I said.

  'Oh, no sir, it is being quite the reverse. We are loving this mountain adventure. We have never felt cold such as this or seen snow before for that matter.' They grinned, immense pleasure written upon their faces. 'You see we are from the golden city of Jaisalmer, deep in the Thar Desert. All year round, very hot.'

  Halfway through our chai, I took a peak outside. The snow was lessening, but still intent on grounding us for a while. The old man trickled more tea into our glasses while the wind rippled the leather sheets at our backs.

  'This is why Rohtang Pass is known as the Pile of Bodies,' Eli remarked. 'Many lives have been lost over the years trying to cross. It is good to wait a little longer. It looks like it will soon pass.'

  An hour slipped by before the thick curtain of cloud drew back to reveal a clear sky. A blinding white sun shone down upon the Pir Panjal Range, causing the ice lanes trailing its slopes to glitter. We gave our thanks for the tea for which the old man refused payment and boarded the bus, moving away from the predominantly Hindu region of Kullu and ascending towards the Buddhist Lahaul and Spiti valleys.

  From the southern side of the pass, the Beas began its descent into Manali, while on the northern side the Chandra River flowed westward. Slow going over several miles of recent snowfall, we advanced carefully through the thick slush, walled in by ice either side until eventually the land levelled out, the white attenuated and elongated shadows raced over a vast semi-arid desert against a horizon of sandy snow streaked peaks.

  The three of us checked in our passports briefly with a bored looking police officer who sat behind a desk outside his brown tent noting down our details should we have an accident or go missing, before moving on again through a dusty grey of scree and boulder strewn slopes.

  Kurt was lost in thought. I was beginning to think there was more behind this than just leaving Manali, but there was no prising any further information from him. Eli was taking nearly as many pictures as me and every now and then he would look around, as if to confirm what he was seeing was for real. Kurt didn’t have a camera with him. He believed that if he took pictures, it would be the photographs he would remember and not the events of his trip. I understood where he was coming from, but I couldn’t lay that much trust in my memory.

  From the tiny village of Keylong we travelled onwards and upwards to Jispa; the mountains more rugged, the road more treacherous. It was being rebuilt in places by a huddle of hooded ghosts; road workers from the east of the country who made their money working through months of harsh conditions.

  Late afternoon handed over to early evening by the time we arrived in Darcha. Eli, Kurt and I registered our passports again at a checkpoint and rented a two-man tent for the night, while the other passengers chose their seats on the bus as a bed. We got our heads down swiftly so we would be ready for the early rise. Bitterly cold, I was the only one without a sleeping bag – Aiden locking the one I had away with my backpack in Delhi somewhere.

  Despite searching for sleep, it wasn't to be found. The two-man accommodation may have been the cheapest option, but it left very little room for breathing. Condensation was dripping on my face which froze if I didn’t wipe it away. There was next to no room to move and I was on the verge of wetting myself having tried to hold it until sunrise. At just gone 3am, I unzipped the tent and stepped out. I was in full flow, smiling at the relief that overcame me, when I stopped to the sound of rustling ahead. My eyes were still unaccustomed to the darkness, but I could just about make out the figure of something the size of a dog heading my way, grunting or maybe snarling at my presence. It was enough for me to move cautiously back into the tent and keep as still as possible as I listened for the slightest sound of movement from outside.

  26

  I awoke to the sound of rustling and nearly jumped out of my skin at the thought of the animal inside our tent.

  ‘Beast! Beast!’

  Confused and a little scared by all the shouting, Eli was the first to respond, ‘What the hell are you going on about?’

  I tried to explain what had happened this morning.

  ‘Probably a red fox,’ Kurt suggested. He dropped his voice to a lower, sinister tone, ‘Or maybe a snow leopard sniffing out fresh meat.’

  ‘That’s just great,’ I replied and headed to the unsavoury mud brick toilet, leaving behind laughter in the distance.

  The morning’s journey was broken only once by an overturned goods carrier in the road. As the bus shunted back and forth to pass, the incident was complicated by another bus trying to manoeuvre past at the same time. It had mounted the side of the road and tipped to one side on top of our bus, causing major problems.

  Kurt interrupted the sound of heaving gear changes, ‘We should be at the town of Zingzingbar soon. It is about 4300 metres so you may experience signs of altitude sickness.’

  When we reached Zingzingbar, the interior of the bus was silent. People were either sleeping or staring longingly from the window for the journey to end. Apart from a dull headache and a little shortness of breath, I was enjoying every second. Now and then, isolated Buddhist monasteries appeared, built into the slopes. I wondered how on earth anybody could reside there and how they survived the severely cold winters. As it was, the inside of the bus was like a refrigerator and this was the best time of year.

  Gradually the landscape continued to alter as we circled the mountains. The high snow walls either side of the highway were a dirty grey from passing exhausts and spray from the road. Through the mighty Zanskar Range and the crisp sweeping folds of Baralacha La, we steadily descended into Sarchu Plains where spectacular ochre rock formations rose from a stark desert in the sky.

  At a little brick hu
t by the side of the road in Sarchu we stopped for a while over a lunch of fried momos. Eli joined me for a cigarette as we looked out to the mountains.

  'Are you trekking with others, Eli?'

  'Maybe I will find a party once I arrive, but I hope to do it alone.'

  An icy wind rippled through a line of multi-coloured Tibetan prayer flags sending thoughts and prayers to the heavens above. 'That's brave of you. It's a bit barren out there.'

  Ahead lay an empty expanse stretching for miles, no sign of life to be seen. 'I will be kitted up well and my route is planned to coincide with villages along the way for a night's rest. And even places like this; there is life if you look hard enough. You see, there on the wall of that mountain.' He pointed but I saw nothing but rock.

  I turned to him, 'What am I looking for?'

  'Look there, you see, the goats.'

  Again, I saw nothing and wondered what was in that cigarette of his when something shuffled on the rock face. It was an adult goat and two unsure kids making their way down the crag.

  'Mother teaching them,' he laughed. 'If you know where to look you can find food and shelter.' They disappeared into an opening, maybe a cave or another path through the mountain.

  'I wouldn't have a clue what I was looking for. I guess your army training helps.'

  'That and my father's knowledge of the land. We enjoyed many camping trips when I was young. He taught me how to hunt and build shelter, much like the goats, yes?'

  It was strange to hear of a normal relationship between father and son. It was hard to picture such a permanent secure world as this. To me this was the stuff of fairy tales. I pondered in quiet thought as we made our way back to the bus bound for the Gata Loops – twenty-one hairpin bends fringed by the Zanskar Range.

  Feeling somewhat detached from my friends, I sat in silence gazing out at the changing landscape, gently unravelling something new and fresh to my eyes. I thought about the early morning hours in the back of the car travelling to Blackpool or Devon; mum in the passenger seat, dad driving; music from the eight-track filling gaps in their conversation – Glen Campbell or some love song sung by Eric Carmen or Bobby Goldsboro. A rare week once a year, I was allowed a reprieve in his regime. The only time he lifted some of the weight, allowing me the light air of freedom, almost treating me like a real son. But the end of the week would always be clouded by the thought of returning home, back to the prison of my sparse room.

  Behind a slow-moving convoy of coaches and goods carriers that created a thin pencil line trailing in the distance ahead, we traversed through Nakee La and Lachulung La coming out into the Morey Plains; a dramatic landscape of naturally chiselled formations created by the elements. It was as if we were on another planet – scene after scene unfolding from a sci-fi movie.

  The bus revved its gears, struggling to ascend a table top mountain where we reached the highest point of the journey, Tanglang La – a sweeping panorama of snow-capped peaks and a captivating view of the Morey plains in the distance. Near a small shrine, Tibetan prayer flags fluttered behind a square yellow stone inscribed with the words:

  TANGLANGLA

  ALTITUDE:

  17582 FT

  5328 MT

  YOU ARE PASSING THROUGH

  SECOND HIGHEST PASS

  OF THE WORLD

  UNBELIEVABLE IS IT NOT?

  Stretching our legs, we took in what little air there was before recommencing, crossing the Indus River and sweeping past the desolate Buddhist gompas of Shey and Stok constructed seamlessly into the forgotten landscape. White memorial chortens and simple Tibetan-styled homes steadily furnished a landscape of fading green and gold. The fat sun fell lazily behind a ridge, the road smoothed out and we gathered up speed to our destination.

  ‘The Last Shangri la’, ‘Moonland’ and ‘Little Tibet’ were among the appellations given to Leh over the years. As we came to the end of our long journey it was easy to see how the capital of the kingdom of Ladakh lived up to all of them. The sleepy town hugged by crumbly, biscuit beige ridges sprawled out to introduce the chocolate velvet Zanskar Valley. On a hillock to the north, Leh Palace overlooked the town. Once the highest building in the world and modelled on the Potala Palace in Tibet, the 17th century former royal residence was now partially in ruins.

  Kurt used the palace to navigate us through the laid back main bazaar, but at the end he looked about hopelessly, ‘I cannot remember which road leads to the house I stayed in last time. We will find somewhere else for now and I will search again after dinner.’

  With that, we climbed a steep hill and wandered into a guest house within the residential district of Karzoo. There was only one room available so the three of us opted to share. Eli and I each took one of the two steel framed beds, while Kurt volunteered to sleep on the foam mattress that was rolled up and strapped to his pack. The room was cold, the stone walls icy to the touch. In a square alcove on the left wall were three worn shelves and at the end of the room, a window, held in place by a feeble old frame. Despite the low temperature there was something quite cosy about it.

  We found somewhere to eat in the main bazaar, then Kurt and I went in search of the house he had previously stayed in. Walking was hazardous at times, the darkening pathways marred by potholes leading down to rushing water below. After a few dead ends and a little head scratching, Kurt finally found what he was looking for. At the entrance to a white timber-framed house, a Tibetan lady attended to some yellow flowers in her porch under a lamp hung beside the door. She immediately recognised Kurt and with a surprised squeal gave him a hug.

  ‘Julay, Julay,’ she said, turning to me and beaming from ear-to-ear.

  ‘Do you have three rooms vacant?’ Kurt asked as we were led into her immaculate home.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. We only have one room for next two month.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ I replied, ‘I’ll see if I can stay on at the guest house.’ I took a sip of the odd tasting tea I was presented with, which was bitter and greasy.

  ‘Are you sure, Sam?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘OK, good.’ Kurt turned back to the lady, ‘I will pick up my things and be back later. Sam, we will meet for breakfast, yes?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Sitting opposite each other in the dimming light Eli and I talked about plans for my future in India. With the way my finances were looking, I was unsure exactly what the future held. I'd previously spoken to Eli about the possibility of offering a massage service and he was keen to remind me of the earning potential from travellers around Leh.

  ‘It would be great for trekkers returning from a big hike,' he said. 'I will find another room in the morning, that way you can use the spare bed in here to work from.’ Would it work? I had no idea, but it had to be worth a try. The thought of leaving India so early was unsettling. I estimated that I had enough money to last me only two more weeks. As Eli slept, I went about creating a poster, stating my services, appointment times and costs.

  27

  On the pavements of the main bazaar, people sat selling vegetables and spices from boxes and sacks, all the while smiling at one another, appearing happy and without a sense of urgency in their lives. It was a far cry from the chaos of the big cities. I met Kurt and Eli for breakfast who each shared contentment with their new lodgings. My room was ready for any potential customers so I just needed to find a place that could photocopy my poster, and then hope some local businesses would find a space to display it. This proved to be quite easy and soon my advert was posted in over a dozen shops and restaurants around the town. I had allocated three appointment times: 10am, 1pm and 4pm, with the plan being to hang around for fifteen minutes to see if anyone would show and if not, continue with my day.

  Eli bid us farewell to go in search of a trekking expedition, then as we walked away from the main bazaar, Kurt said, ‘I would like you to meet a friend of mine if you have time. Her name is Ciri.’

  Leading the way, he took us up a
steep hill and within ten minutes we’d arrived at a house. ‘I am hoping she still rents her regular room.’ At the top of a flight of stairs and along a narrow hallway was a dark varnished door. Kurt knocked and it was answered by an attractive lady in her late forties. She held her thumb between the pages of a red leather-bound book and laughed in surprise as she recognised her old friend.

  ‘Wow! Kurt, come in, come in,’ she said in a broad Italian accent. ‘It’s been, what, two years since we last saw each other?’ She turned to me, ‘My apologies, my name is Ciri.’ I leant forward, shook her hand and introduced myself. ‘Lovely to meet you Sam, please take a seat. I will prepare some tea for us.’ Once more the tea was strangely bitter and greasy, but I did my best to show a face of appreciation out of politeness.

  ‘Sam does massage. He is very good.’ Kurt explained. ‘I thought about your back, Ciri, how is it?’

  ‘Oh, very stiff, it hurts most days.’ Ciri’s hand reached around to her back and frowned as if it troubled her as she spoke.

  ‘How long have you had a problem?’ I asked, placing the quarter of a cup of tea left on the table.

  ‘Five years ago, I was travelling in a cycle-rickshaw that was hit by a goods carrier. I broke my back and am lucky I can still walk. Sadly, the rickshaw driver did not survive.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ My imagination worked overtime picturing the macabre scene. With her permission, I ran my hands along her shoulders and down her back. ‘I believe with a little work, I can help to improve your posture and reduce the pain you currently feel. It would also relieve some of the pressure on your internal organs, in turn aiding your digestion and breathing.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful, Sam. How about I book you in for two hours a day? I will pay five hundred rupees a time, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Thank you, only if you’re sure though. Maybe you should see if I’m any good first.’

  ‘I am a good judge of character and if Kurt says you are good, then you must be. I trust him with my life. Come by tomorrow morning, you can start then.’