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Journey To Ladakh- Part 5 Rasik Shah Rasik Shah was born in the Indian diaspora in the colonial apartheid type society of Kenya in the early forties. Having grown up in a multi-ligual, 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 has been conducting trekking tours to the Garwhal region of India in the last few years and is now retired from law, writing full time. He has short stories 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 (double click "write again"). Currently he is working on a novel set in Kenya. 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

From Nako we drive on to Kalpa, camping overnight in Kalpa. The sky has remained grey except for a bit of the early morning sun. The road has become slippery in the steady drizzle that has continued for almost every day since Shimla. We do get some hours of brilliant sunshine in the first half of the day, the sky incredibly blue when the sun is out. After Kalpa, we cross into Spiti proper, winding our way through a road that snakes around mountainous terrain, often crossing rickety, wooden bridges over fast flowing streams and brooks. The driver's assistant often alights from the bus at the juncture where a bridge begins, goes across the bridge on foot, checking the stability of the two straight parallel wooden planks that lie at right angles across the platform of other wooden planks spanning the bridge and on which the wheels of the bus have to ride in the fashion of a railway train. The combination of a chirping, continuous whistle that the assistant issues and the hand signal he gives guiding the driver and the vehicle across is fun to watch, but none of us is free enough from fear to observe this. In fact, on more than one occasion the two rail planks on a bridge were so unstable that the assistant and the driver decided that we all alight from the bus and walk across the bridge; which we did and watched the bus being maneuvered across from the safety of the other size.

But then we reached a fast, gurgling river fall across the road as it went down along a ridge with no bridge visible. The bridge had been washed away entirely! Our bus came to a complete halt. There was no way the bus could cross that rocky river bed under the torrent of water that rushed down a cliff and the valley below. The staff jeep that had been waiting for us was able to ford the river in four wheel drive with a bit of difficulty.

From this point I will let my journal entries take over, made in Kaza on 8th August.
Tues. 8th Aug. Kaza:

The day before yesterday we drove on to Tabo from Kalpa - got there in good time, camped in the compound of a Rest House called Srikhand Hotel, had the use of the facilities by renting one room there. The most interesting thing about this place is the Monastery - a 'living' one with some exquisite old murals. The young novice lama who showed us around was not very good at explaining the figures of Amitabh Buddha, Avlokiteshwara, Mahakala, Tara, etc. Realized the need to become more familiar with the whole of the Tibetan-Buddhist pantheon. After a lovely evening of imbibing beer and Indian rum and good food, a rather uncomfortable night in the tent, a very thin foam on hard ground making it difficult to sleep.

The next morning most of the group attended 'puja' in the Monastery at 6 a.m. (the Monastery being right across our camping Compound) and had a wonderful experience witnessing the lama (the young one who had shown us around the yesterday) chant and play cymbals and a conch shell from the inner sanctum which has the masks and robes, etc. for the oracle ceremony. The old section of the Monastery is a 1,000 years old and the Dalai Lama is to perform a Kalachakra here next year in July. There are 40 monks (trainees and older ones) attached to this Monastery. I saw the young novices receive a lecture from the head Lama seated on a dais, the monks all seated in two rows facing each other spreading out in front of him. The spiritual ambiance of this place is all-pervasive. Obviously these people are wholly immersed in a traditional Buddhist way of living and retain their mythology and social system intact, free from the influence of 'modernization', or the restless, anxiety-ridden life style that has become the hallmark of the late twentieth century. The very old Monastery in Nako, which is in a state of ruins, was quite different from this well-maintained, living Monastery. The art here does echo the high achievement of the Ajanta frescoes in the State of Maharashtra. They, however, have an erotic feel to them, the subjects depicted being not just the Buddhas and Bodhisatvas but also the princes, princesses and scenes from the life of the times. Still the quality of the art and the style and used in Tabo are all similar to that of Ajanta. (Note: Ajanta frescoes are said to be of a later date, around 1200 A.D.)

From Tabo a small group of us that could fit into the jeep were taken up a steep climb to visit another monastery at Kyi, incredibly high (above 4,500 meters), on top of a mountain.

When that party got back we all got into the bus headed for overnight camping at the village of Losar at an altitude of 3,800 meters.


A fine example of wool knitting by the women of Himachal Pradesh.

We learnt this morning that the road to Keylong is blocked up to Chhatru by landslides over a 17 kilometer stretch and we need to decide what to do - whether to turn back all the way to Rampur beyond Sarahan and take the alternative route via Manali or to hike the blocked stretch after Chhatru and arrange for another bus to pick us up at the other end. Every hour the circumstances kept changing, as we made our way to Kaza and got more information. The latest is that the road is being worked on and will be open in the next couple of days. In the mean time young Isaac had a bad night and has been vomiting and has diarrhea and looked rather ill this morning. The ayurvedic doctor accompanying us, Dr. Anand Vaid, saw him this morning and announced it was not serious and he would recover. His state could affect the question of our trekking the blocked stretch.

Arrived in Kaza this afternoon. A modern town in a desolate rocky landscape. The bus developed a clutch problem, but it seems this town is modern enough to have the problem fixed. Only yesterday we were in a village where time stood still at a point about a thousand years ago.

Harvey and I took a walk around town after we checked into the cozy looking Rest Home called Khangsar. (We got 3 rooms and the use of the dining room).

It is a neat little town, with some newish modern buildings, quite a change from Tabo, the newest building there seemed to be at least a thousand years old. We entered a place called Flax cafe. No idea why it would be called that. Ordered two Thums Up, the Indian Coca-Cola, a luxury we had not seen since we left Shimla. At another table was a man engaged in deep conversation with a young English woman who had been doing some kind of research in the area and had been in this spot for some three years. The man was Mr. Chauhan. He was a Government official in charge of land allocation for the District of Spiti, quite a high office, judging by what he said.

Just a little aside on the foreigners who spend years in remote places. I've always found them very interesting. For one thing, they have usually attained a good command of the local language and therefore have a better understanding of the culture and people of the area. I met a New Zealander once who has been living for some eight years in a village by a beach in Diu, an ex-Portuguese enclave in Gujarat. He is a painter and reminded me of Paul Gauguin, who left Paris to live in Tahiti for the rest of his life. This New Zealander's name is Michael Ledingham but is locally called 'Suresh'. I liked his paintings of the local women, showing strong, some times fierce character. An other was a young Canadian woman, Cynthia Hall, I met in Ladakh who has been living in Tibetan refugee camp in very basic conditions in Ladakh for three years, through the harsh winters at 12,000 ft. There is no electricity and hardly any other heating. She has managed, with help from various agencies and donations from Canadian sources, to build a glass nursery for the infants in the camp for survival in the long winters. The infant mortality rate has been reduced drastically. Cynthia plans to stay on for another two years.

Anyway to go back to our story, Mr. Chauhan was such a persistent talker, dominating in a subtle way. I was unable to find out much about what the English woman had been doing in the Himalayas and so probably missed a good story. As to Mr. Chauhan, this is what our balladeer, Paul Sprachmann, had to say:

"At Kaza yet another gold lamasery
Had butter tea, but alas, no commissary.

And nearby appeared that far-sighted man,
The highly-connected Mr. Chauhan.

He promised open roads by a certain date,
And even made Rasik a minister of state."

We were soon engaged in conversation with Mr. Chauhan. He said the road from Chhatru to Gramphu was already open to smaller vehicles and it would certainly be open for all traffic in a day or two. For an officer in charge of land allocation for the district, he was to turn out to be surprisingly wrong on this. He said he had orders to visit Keylong on official business. "Madame" was to come to Kaza on official business (it was left for us to surmise who this "Madame" was, a Minister or the Chief Minister, perhaps, of the Himachal Pradesh Government, again judging by what his tone implied), and he was to meet her in Keylong on 11th Aug. etc. He said he wanted a ride to Gramphu where an official vehicle would be waiting to pick him up. He said he would help us in every way should he be able to come with us. I asked him to meet our tour leader in the evening and see if there was any problem with that. Anyway he showed up later at the Rest House and it was agreed he would ride with us.

Well, early next morning Mr. Chauhan was at our doorstep before we even had breakfast, in a neat Nehru suit, a small cloth bag and a briefcase in hand.

We were soon on our way, passing through a wet and cold day over a winding, narrow road snaking up and down the mountain terrain, doing hairpin bends and rendering everyone dizzy. Mr. Chauhan soon gravitated to the seat next to me. He was not comfortable speaking English with the others. He was soon giving me his address in Shimla and extended promises of hospitality and help whenever I brought out a group to tour India. His manner struck me as a little furtive, but I attributed it to his fear of offending our Indian tour leader, who was sitting not far away. We were soon down one valley and stopped at a lonely teashop which appeared out of nowhere, tucked in a rocky corner of the road. We got down for some hot chai and snacks and once aboard were gaining altitude again. Mr. Chauhan said we were approaching the summit of the mountain range and there was a short diversion that would take us right to the top where we could do puja at the shrine.




The indefatigable Mr. Chauhan (in dark glasses) at the Devi's shrine on summit.

I was not very receptive to this idea, as it was quite cold and wet. He said we were approaching an altitude of 14,000 ft. Mr. Chauhan persisted in his appeal about visiting the shrine at the top, saying it was considered that failure to stop and receive the deity's blessings could bring bad luck. Seeing that I was not overly impressed by this, he said the tourists would like to see the view and would want to take pictures from the summit. This succeeded in disarming me and I turned to the people in the back of the bus and asked if they wanted to go up the summit. There was general assent. Mr. Chauhan had his way.

The bus had to take a small diversion and go up to the highest point in that mountain range, perhaps about 15000 ft. It was bitterly cold and windy, but we found the experience exciting because we had a chance to stretch our legs after a harrowing climb up to the area over hairpin bends. At the wind-blown rocky summit Mr. Chauhan stepped out of the bus with alacrity and proceeded to the crude stony structure, which housed a picture of the protector-goddess and did his obeisances.

Quite a number of travelers had stopped here to do puja and receive blessings, with a bit of prasad - Indian style sweets blessed by the Devi - thrown in. As usual, they were expected to donate a rupee or two. One or two of our party joined Mr. Chauhan.

Doing Darshan at shrine of Black Devi.

I escaped with some others to take a walk around the area. It was far too cold and windy to stay out for long. We soon had everybody huddled back in the bus and were on our way down. The rain was not letting up at all. Mr. Chauhan was settled down into his seat, well pleased with himself. He was warmed up by the experience of the puja and felt generous. He gave me details of a secret retreat that he had access to in the Shimla region and invited me to visit it after our Ladakh tour was over. He said he would make all arrangements from Shimla, it would be something I should do because it was a great spot for my future tours. I nodded and said I would think about it.

These reveries were rudely interrupted by our bus coming to a sudden stop. We had been going downhill and at the base of that incline was our party's jeep, stopped in front of a roaring torrent of water falling from the steep height on the right, and no bridge. We got down and examined the surroundings.

After delays and consultations the crew of the jeep decided that the jeep could make it across on four-wheel drive and succeeded in fording the river. The tour leader and the doctor were then ferried across and they went on a reconnaissance of the terrain across. They came back and after discussion with the group a consensus was reached. There was no question that the bus could make the crossing and that the road ahead was blocked by a broken down truck, as well as by several landslides further on. Our party would trek for about a kilometre up the dangerous rock-fall stretch and stay in the Resthouse right at the top of the hill overnight and then trek ahead for probably two days to Gramphu, where another bus would pick us up, accompanied by the staff who would bring all our luggage on mules to be hired as soon as they could find someone to hire mules out.

The road was cut in the mountain going uphill, and on the right side was flanked by loose sand and rocks rising at a steep angle from the road. While we were arranging for the jeep to take up the first group of people across the river we had seen a few loose rocks and dirt rolling off the mountain on to the road. But this did not seem ominous at the time. The rain continued on. As the group was ferried across, they started walking up the mountain and were soon followed by the next group again ferried by the jeep.

I was watching the two groups make its way up the hill, still waiting for the jeep to transport the last four of us over the river. Soon I heard the rumbling of a landslide and I saw some rocks and debris rolling down the hill towards Neelu, the front walker. I could tell it was him by the colour of his jacket and his gait. The rocks were gathering momentum and it looked too dangerous. the party were too far away from us already to hear any warning shouts.





The road after the rocks had fallen.

Within seconds, a boulder fell right in front of Neelu with debris and smaller rocks flying around after hitting the road. I did not think he was hit. I shouted "Oh my God" and got the others in still waiting in the bus aroused. Soon after this there was another rock fall and it fell somewhere halfway between the first and the second cluster of people behind Neelu. All I could see was that they were running. I thought someone was very likely hurt and kept saying 'Oh, my God, oh, my God". After a minute someone from the staff people near me said they had all made it to the safe area up on the hill and were on their way to the Resthouse. This was some relief, though I was still shaking.

The question now was what the remaining group should do. After waiting for a while trying to sort out what to do among conflicting and panicky opinions, the doctor (Anand) who had remained on our side of the river took command and asked us all to wait until he had gone out on his own and checked the route to the Resthouse. During all this time we saw some more rocks falling. I had decided there was no way we should walk on that road, but should walk along the stream further down on the left side of the road. Anyway the doctor got ferried by the jeep just across the river, the jeep able to park under the safety of a huge rocky canopy just on the other side of the river, and ran along the dangerous road to the Resthouse. He jogged up the hill moving in wide strides, his long arms going up and down in a long arch. He ran in relaxed easy strides, turning his head to look up at the hill every few seconds, alert for any rocks rolling down. We saw him make it to the Resthouse.






Tranquil cottage at Chhota Dara, waiting to provide shelter after our death-threatening walk though rock falls.

After about an hour we saw him coming down not following the road but the river down below along the rocky bank at the bottom of the valley on the left. This river route seemed to me far safer than the road because most the rock falls we had witnessed did not reach down to the river.

We were enormously relieved to hear that everyone had made it to the Resthouse safely. He said he had checked out the river route and decided that the walking along the road would be safer. The river terrain was full of slippery boulders and dangerous in itself. By now the rain had let up a bit and there had been no disturbances on the mountain. Anand took charge and with the confidence and cool of a mountain rescuer that he was, he organized the rest of us to walk up one by one, always maintaining some distance from each other. We were not to carry any gear whatsoever and walk up steadily, watching for rock falls. The wrath of the mountain had abated and we made it to the Resthouse with ease. The staff members followed with our backpacks and the rest of the gear. The jeep was assigned to go back down all the way to Manali and make its way up to on the Manali-Leh route and meet us in Keylong. The bus was to return to Shimla and surrendered to the bus owners.

On reaching the Resthouse we learnt Paul was the one who had the closest escape from being hit by a boulder. It was more than two hours now since that lot had made it to the Resthouse. They had already settled down to doing different things. Paul was deeply immersed in a game of cards with his wife, Susan. He burst into startlingly loud yells from time to time, when he had won or lost a point. I never knew histrionics could be such a tension-relieving mechanism. He and Susan had several big fights over trivial matters to do with their game. Melinda was shaking and almost in tears. Nancy was dazed. Barbara, with a singularly English non-chalance, simply shrugged her shoulders rather than show emotion. She kept arguing repeatedly that it's the small rocks at high speed which are more likely to kill a person, not the big boulders. No one was listening. I wanted to be alone, not make small talk with anyone, just alone, perhaps have a drink by myself - but that was not possible. Mr. Chauhan, who I had forgotten completely, kept trying to make conversation with me. He kept saying we were saved because we had paid homage to the deity at the summit. I didn't think the Devi should have brought us so close to danger in the first place, but was too irritated to give him any opening for a conversation. Brian was busy with visits to the toilet, such as it was, and getting himself neat and clean. He offered everyone perfumed Kleenexes. Paul played cards for a long time, and later in the evening, mellowed somewhat by a touch of Indian rum, kept yelling "Chhota Dara, Chhota Dara!". This was the name of the place where we were. The Resthouse at Chhota Dara became the subject of many stories for the days to come. No one complained about the actual ramshackle, mouldy Resthouse.





Day after: People on the front lawns of Cottage, getting ready for the trek

It had a tin roof which leaked in several places, all kinds of nooks and corners, a couple of very narrow L-shaped rooms, another narrow room with an enormous five feet high cement platform meant to be a bed, and a couple of restrooms I was warned not to use. In fact the room next to the restroom shared the stink and was abandoned as useless.

It was soon dark, but our staff was ready with their equipment. Hurricane lamps and candles were lit, Neelu produced "a last, spare bottle" every time the rum ran out. The drinking party repaired to the room with the high platform, Barbara crashed into an L-shaped dungeon, I shook off Mr. Chauhan and joined the drinkers, leaving him to chant Sanskrit sacred shlokas late into the night. He gave up insisting that we were all spared injury because we had done our obeisances to the Devi.

The staff had set up the kitchen in the verandah and soon we were being served snacks, piping hot pakoras and other spicy bits. Dinner was served late, around mid-night. All hysteria finally exhausted itself and people fell asleep in sleeping bags wherever there was a spot to be found for stretching them out.

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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