From the Abode of the gods

Ram is well in his 70s. He’s a kind and friendly person, who saw me running to the waterfall and wondered for how long and how far I have been running. He was appreciative of the fact that I made it all the way from Naggar. We became friends in a hurry. 

He recommended his grandson’s dhaba by the waterfall for a great meal (oh and what a FANTABULOUS meal it was!!). He told me that some dhabas here are even run by harijans (dalits, formerly untouchables). The city-dwellers who come here to see the falls ate from those dhabbas. My response was that I rejected the concept of caste. We are all Indians, right? The old gentleman tells me that we the people of the plains have forgotten caste but Himachal is the abode of the gods. The gods live here and they would not allow caste barriers to vanish. I take him on and ask if the concept of caste was created by men and not by gods? He insisted that the laws were universal and created by the gods...

Before any of you form a bad impression of this man, let me add what else he told me. In this village, every single person is educated regardless of caste. That in the classroom, all children are equal; that he invited members of the lower castes into his home for lunch and there were no separate plates for harijans or anyone. He also dined with the Harijans. So where did the caste barrier come in the way? With marriages and that was it. The man was friends with everyone in the village. I adore the old man but I can’t figure out his obsession to maintain even this watered-down version of the caste system.

Then the topic switched over to my “aren’t we all Indians” statement. “How long have we been Indians,” he asked. “Since 1947?” He wanted to know if it was the British that made us Indians. All I could tell him is that the Krishna that he worships everyday is the same Krishna that my mother prays to. And yes, the village of my grandparents in Kerala had these caste structures at one time too. So, are we different people?

Those of you reading this might wonder how a tree-hugging liberal agnostic like me used Hinduism as something that binds Kerala and Himachal. The fact is that Hinduism, the way it is practised, still binds people from Manipur to Maharashtra, from Kashmir to Kerala.  But it is not the only thing that binds us, the Indians, together. Regardless of religion, language and other factors, there is an innate Indian-ness in each and every Indian. And here I mean Indians living in India, not those who have permanently abandoned the motherland.

Yes, foreigners will never able to understand this concept of Indian-ness, but it sure does exist. This intangible Indian-ness binds us whether we like it or not.

Mountain-run from Naggar to Jana

Sometimes missing the bus can be a blessing in disguise. As I drank my morning tea and enjoyed the spectacle of the sunlight on the snowy Himalayan Mountains, the only bus connecting Naggar to Jana passed by my cottage. The sign said “Jana- 11.5 kilometres.” That wasn’t too far for someone who ran the Mumbai Marathon in January. I stayed in reasonably good shape, despite over-eating my mother’s delicious cooking (a real achievement!) 

Of course, Naggar is 1600 metres above sea level and I was clueless about the altitude of Jana. Then it suddenly hit me. Why not run the distance? Sure, I hadn’t run more than 5 kilometres at a stretch since the marathon but it was a cold morning and it was worth a try! So, there it all started on the Himalayan roads. It started off well since the road was descending for the first 100-odd metres. It more or less stayed flat for another couple of kilometres and I was thinking that this was going to be super-easy. Was I in for a shock!

I passed curious villagers, who wanted to know if I was Indian? They praised my himmat (courage) for running up these mountains. I was told that the climb is steep and I better take periodic breaks. The path through pristine and fragrant pine forests was stunningly beautiful, even without the views of the spectacular Himalayas. It has been cold ever since I came here and the spring flowers are slow to come into bloom. I did see some of the early bloomers. 

The road crosses a few unspoilt villages and by unspoilt I mean villages with traditional Himachal houses, all with smoking chimneys. There are also several springs and waterfalls all leading to the mighty Beas River. As the altitude kept rising, so did my fatigue, but I was determined to run the distance. My knee had healed from January and I was strong enough to last the distance. 

The more distance I covered, the more beautiful the scenery and the landscape became. I could see the banks of the Beas and “my village” of Naggar. I had travelled far! Jana was so near, yet so far! 4 kilometres at that altitude is like 12 in the plains! When I was about 3 kilometres away from Jana, I finally saw my first apple orchard! It was spring and the leaves were just coming on the trees. Some trees had started flowering. I can’t imagine how beautiful these orchards would be in the late-summer.

After a physical and mental struggle, I saw that I was just 1 kilometre away from the village of Jana: 2200 metres above sea level. The village turned out to be so beautiful, right out of a fairy tale! There were rows and rows of fragrant lilac trees. Those same lilacs that made the streets of Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk smell so good in June! I decided to run all the way to the Jana waterfall, another 2 kilometres away but without a climb. An impromptu 13.5 kilometre run took me to this paradise of a Himalayan village!

Charming cottages, blue skies, the warm sun on my skin, a powerful waterfall and oh those mighty mountains in the background! Such Bliss!!

And for the record, I wasn’t going to wait for a bus for 2 hours after a delicious lunch and so I walked the 13 kilometres back to Naggar. I love Himachal!

The Wonderful Paharis of Himachal

When I interact with the simple Paharis or mountain-folk of Himachal Pradesh, I am reminded of Dostoyevsky’s writings about the simple Russian peasants of his time. Like the peasants of Czarist Russia, the Paharis are a nice, hard-working, beautiful and spiritual lot. 

I wonder what makes them as beautiful as they are...Is it the fresh food, the vegetables and rice grown on the mountains? The Himalayan Ferns that look, feel and taste like the paparatnik of Sakhalin? Is it the fresh and pure air? Or maybe the delicious water that they drink from the clear streams and springs? It could be that spirituality that brings a glow from inside out. 

These Paharis are no uneducated rustics, mind you. Even in the smallest of villages that I crossed, I met people who were fluent in English but chose to speak to me endearingly in Hindi. The handsome young man running a dhaba by the waterfall in Jana wrote his grandfather’s address for me in a handwriting that is better than the most sophisticated of my urban friends. 

How nice to greet strangers with a Namaste-ji and a smile! Maybe the real India is preserved in these wonderful Himalayan villages.

Nicholai Roerich on Mountains

“Mountains, mountains! What magnetic forces are concealed within you! What a symbol of quietude is revealed in every sparkling peak! The legends of the greatest valour are conceived near mountains. The most human words find outlet on snowy heights.”

April Showers in Naggar

Bright sunny mornings in this Himalayan Hamlet give way to cold and rainy late-afternoons. In the greyness, it’s easy to forget how beautiful a thunderstorm in the Himalayas can be, especially if you have the luxury of a warm cup of tea and a balcony to observe the nature from. The grey clouds move swiftly to the Himalayan snow-covered peaks and swallow them. Alas, the storm isn’t strong enough to melt the snow as the peaks are at an altitude where they stay frozen. 

The rain also cleans up whatever little pollution exists here, making the air even more fresh and therapeutic. The prolonged cold in the Kullu Valley has kept the tourist hordes away for at least another few days, but with the opening of the Rohtang Pass, expect the noisy plains-people to come here in the thousands!

The showers continue on and off through the evening. The banging of drums from a nearby temple can be heard. And in the distance, is visible a small town on the other bank of the Beas. At night, the vehicles moving on the highway to the plains look like a long bejewelled serpent. And the lights on the hills and the small villages have the appearance of tiny pearls.

To think that I am just a few Himalayan mountains and a pass away from the Land of the Broken Moon, Laddakh! The Laddakhis and I breathe almost the same air. We see the same skies and same imposing range of mountains. Farther beyond Laddakh lays East Turkestan and the desert that leads to Kashgar. Will we ever have it like the Europeans so that one day, not a single travel document will be required to cross over the Sanju Pass, to spend a few days on the other side of the Karakorum Mountains?

A Walk in the Clouds and to the Summit

It’s 7 am in Naggar and the only living beings that are awake are the birds. No motorbikes or jeeps with diesel fumes driving up the hills! It’s too early for the children to be walking to school. The sun isn’t shining yet, but it is already bright and I decide to walk up to the ancient Krishna temple on top of the hill. 

It’s easy to miss the small forest path that leads up to the temple. Like most treasures, it is partly hidden. The trek up the narrow wooded path is heavenly. Fragrant are the pine groves, like their counterparts in distant Sakhalin. The air here is as pure and fresh as it is on my beloved Russian Island.

I see a few beautiful traditional Himachali homes as I walk up and then it’s just forest all the way to the temple. The hill-top temple has the best view in all of Naggar. Visible are the chain of snow-covered peaks and green rolling hills below them. From up here, it is just pure nature. No farms, no construction and no people (except for the family that lives up here). This is where I realise why Himachal is called the abode of the gods. The more you move away from human settlement, the fresher, more pristine and purer the Himalayan landscape gets. A landscape fitting for the gods themselves! 

The hospitable family invites me for tea on a chilly morning. This is heaven! Piping hot tea and a stunning view fit for a Nicholai Roerich painting.