Monday, June 26, 2000
Journey To Ladakh- Part 6
Rasik Shah
Rasik Shah was born in the Indian diaspora in colonial apartheid type society of Kenya. Having grown up in a multi-lingual, multi-racial society, he studied law in the London of the early sixties and went back to Kenya, practising as a criminal lawyer. He migrated with his young family to Canada in 1974 and practised law in Vancouver till 1995. He leads trekking tours to the Garwhal region of India and overland jeep safaris to Ladakh years. He writes full time now, leading trekking tours as a hobby. He has published short stories and articles at the following sites:
1. "The Ngong Hills" at www.dorsai.org/~tjhubsc/ngong.htm
2. "At the Dentist's" at www.es.co.nz/~treeves/rasik.htm
3. "The Discreet Charm of Nairobbers" at: www.litnet.mweb.co.za
4. An article on magical realism at: http://www.uweb.ucsb.edu
Links to his travel and trekking articles can be found at:
http://www.sawf.org/rasik
He has written a novel set in Kenya and is now putting together a book on Trekking in the Indian Himalayas.
He plans to lead a trekking group to Gaumukh, the source of the Ganges in September, 2000. (See his articles on the Gangotri-Tapovan trek in the previous issues of Sawf), and a jeep safari to Leh, Ladakh overland from Shimla via Lahaul and Spiti in the summer of 2001.
Please address any queries to him at: rshah132@home.com
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11th Aug. 6 a.m. Chhatru
Getting Ready To Leave Chhota Dara.
This is one of the finest camping sites -- think of being perched on a beautiful grassy ledge surrounded by the Himalayas; the night under the full moon is brilliantly illuminated, the snow on the mountains ranges and the star-studded sky quite stunning. After a 14 hour walk from our Chhota Dara Resthouse, found miraculously just at the moment of crisis, we arrived in Chhatru. The road from here to Gramphu is also blocked by landslides.
Leaving Chhota Dara
We have been lucky in getting the use of one of the small buildings in this Government Resthouse, thanks to the indefatigable Mr. Chauhan. I was one of the last to arrive at Chhatru, having kept company with the Sprachmanns - the eleven year old Isaac had barely recovered from his earlier illness. We had to cross many a stream away from the road, going further uphill or downhill to find a manageable crossing. Almost all the bridges and culverts had been washed away. Often we had to make difficult jumps from rock to ledge to rock in midstream. The rain still kept up in a steady drizzle, although the worst was over. We were at a lower altitude, perhaps about nine thousand feet. We were traversing in the open spaces of a wide valley, having left the dangerous landslide area where we had to start the journey on foot far away.
Arrived At Chhatru.
Before the Sprachmanns and I actually arrived at the little building on top of a hill, I found Mr. Chauhan eagerly waiting. He took me aside and whispered in Hindi. He said he had secured the use of this place with great difficulty, it being reserved for the use of Public Works officials. He had to lie to them. He had told them I was the Minister of Information for the Province and was conducting these Westerners around as my personal guests. I was too tired to worry about how I might carry this off. By this point we had been experienced so much of the unexpected that it hardly bothered me. I wouldn't have to act to sound impatient or tired or short-tempered. In fact I probably looked very much like a hot and bothered Government Official. At the back of my mind, I had doubts about Mr. Chauhan's credibility. He suffered from an excess of gratitude. On inspecting the premises, I was disappointed to learn that the party was not to have the use of the several small huts strewn around in the grounds. Mr. Chauhan had secured only the use of two rooms and the open verandah in the front building, by the stratagem just described. Still, there was a beautiful, grassy lawn on level grounds right in front of the building for pitching our tents in the bright moonlight. There was a teashop down in the village from where food could be ordered, should the ponies our staff had hired for the hike did not arrive in time with our luggage.
 It was a long wait this afternoon before we got news from the driver of the first pony that one pony had been difficult and had been bolting, dropping and breaking the kitchen crockery and that another pony was stuck in a river-crossing. They had retrieved the wet muddied bags but the horse had still to be rescued. By now it was past 8 p.m. and we got a couple of tents set up. The lost luggage arrived finally, wet and muddy. Brian, described later by Paul the balladeer as the trek's designated victim, seemed to have suffered most. Barbara helped him with great energy, sorting out his things, drying them etc. She offered him the bed assigned to her in one of the rooms and herself slept on the floor. Brian was considerably dismayed by what he thought was the damage to his expensive camera equipment. The food, which had been ordered from the teashop in the village down below, finally arrived at 10 p.m. Barbara had grown petulant from hunger before and refused to eat the "garbage" munchies or macaroni cheese that had been somehow made in the chaos of missing stoves, lights and crockery. Eventually she ate some soup (from the teashop) and retired in a huff. Altogether an unhappy evening, some others also having suffered water damage to their things. We had decided to walk the next morning from Chhatru to the road to Gramphu as far as possible, to join the bus we had arranged to meet us at the good side of the further blocked area of the road. As it turned out, there were several flooded portions and rock slides all the way from Chhota Dara to Chhatru to Gramphu. We had to have a long 14 km. hike again.
 The next day's whether turned out to be perfect. The sun was out, the sky a brilliant blue and the hike itself, although it turned out to be longer than the previous day's, full of hope and optimism. We crossed some difficult streams. One really wide stretch of water, which cut across the road, although quite shallow, moved very rapidly over loose rocks into a precipice too close for comfort. We were lucky to find two country folks, a man and a woman, who had just crossed the water from the other side. I think they had been hired to do the road works, which were being carried out everywhere. They had hopped over the difficult rocky bottom like a pair of deer jumping from rock to rock with great ease. When they saw the fear and the shaky figures trying to cross, they burst out laughing. Soon they stationed themselves midstream at each end of the dangerous portion and escorted each one of us through it by hand. This day many of us were carrying more on our backs because after the previous day's pony-luggage disaster, everyone now carried their own sleeping bag. We walked and walked and walked, up small hills, crossing a stream at every dip between the hills and sometimes waterfalls, which poured, from the cliff side of the road. The gods had been pouring rain water relentlessly for days and now a myriad streams, rivulets, brooks, rivers, torrents danced their way swirling around, down the valleys, in sun and mirth, to form great waterways that merge into the distant ocean, which whole process was a bit of a metaphor for the Buddhist idea of the self merging into the great void of non-being.
We stop at a shrine on top of a mound, past a small cluster of huts where women were carding wool. This area's major source of income seemed to be rearing sheep for wool. We had passed many a shepherd tending flocks of as many as fifty or a hundred sheep. They would go up the steep slopes of the rocky mountains seeking out whatever green grass or shrub or moss grew in little ledges, niches or mountain crevices. Indeed we saw shepherd boys control distant recalcitrant sheep by judicious throws of small rocks or pebbles, bringing them in line with the main movement of the flock.
 We found a beautiful spot in the verandah surrounding the shrine, settling down to a lunch of sandwiches and mango juice in little cartons with straws attached, miraculously provided by our resourceful chief cook, Chili, who had made sure we were each given a pack this morning. Within an hour all of the party were gathered together at this spot for lunch. The mood now was buoyant and we were soon on our way again. We hiked till about three in the afternoon when we saw the first vehicle come from the other side, harbinger of good news, the road ahead was clear, at least for smaller vehicles. Soon our leader ahead had commissioned one or two small vehicles to transport us to where our new bus was waiting, to a point only a short distance from Gramphu. Many refused to accept such a short ride, maintaining their pride in completing the long trek all the way. We were all in the waiting bus by about five and were soon on our way to Keylong. I had forgotten all about Mr. Chauhan by now. But I was soon to learn that he had already gone ahead; apparently a smaller vehicle had been gone further up to the point where he was trailing behind us and picked him up. I had last seen him trudging along carrying his cloth bag and briefcase, a good while ago.
Our leader Neelu now was worrying about the situation of our hotel accommodation, for we were a day late and had reservations for only one night. He said he had asked Mr. Chauhan to try and make arrangements for a hotel for that night in Keylong, and he had said he would see what he could. Not soon after we had arrived in Keylong we got word from the hotel which we had booked for the previous night. Mr. Chauhan had been there and all arrangements were in place for our party at another hotel in town, indeed one of the best places in town along the river. As soon as we reached the hotel lobby up some steep steps a block away, there was Mr. Chauhan with a broad smile, ready to receive us with a welcome drink. Not only had secured the hotel for us, in spite of all places in town being full chock-a-block, our deposit paid for the other hotel would be applied to to-night's payment, and the lower rate for the other hotel would still apply! Here was convincing proof, finally, that Mr. Chauhan had delivered on his promise and that we indeed had the blessings of the black devi in the shrine on the summit.
Rasik Shah is leading a trek to the source of the Ganges and Tapovan this year in September. There will also be an overland jeep safari of Ladakh in the summer of 2001, going via Lahaul and Spiti. See future issues of Sawf Magazine for Rasik Shah's articles on Ladakh and past issues for the articles on Ganges and Tapovan trek.
For further details or inquiries please e-mail him at: rshah132@home.com
In India his trek and tour organizer is:
Neelamber Badoni
Trek Himalaya Tours Pvt. Ltd.
The Upper Mall, Jhulaghar
MUSSOORIE (UP) INDIA
Ph. 011-91-0135-630491
Telefax: 011-91-0135-631302
E-mail: trekhimalaya@vsnl.com
Or:
neelubadoni@rediffmail.com
Credits
- Photographs taken by Rasik Shah and Chris Friesen.
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