KINNAUR: A DECADE OF VISITS

(1986-1997)

    I could not believe it. The letter read: ‘We regret to inform you that the government has rejected the application of your “ABCD Trek, 1986” to Kinnaur.’ (I don’t remember the exact name by which we had called ourselves). We had applied for nothing exceptional—only to visit the Sangla valley in Kinnaur and trek till its head. My team—if you could call it that, consisted of persons ranging from 10 to 70 years of age. All we wanted to do was to follow the example of Van der Sheen1 or Captain Conway2 to just enjoy the beauty. And here was the dreaded ‘inner line’ obstacle in our path. The entire Kinnaur valley, till 1994, was a restricted area and it depended on the babus in Delhi to decide who would enjoy the ‘Sunlit Waters’ and how much. That was my introduction to Kinnaur.

Over the years I have learnt that mountains can be moved or areas opened up if one worked through or around the bureaucracy. So we reached Shimla, where the magistrate concerned informed us, with some glee, that we could not go to Kinnaur.

‘You may try your contacts, but the government has rejected your team’. He was happy displaying the strength of his power.

We began to look around for other sources of help. And found one. The Chief Justice of the State, living in Shimla, was a Gujarati from Bombay. We spoke the same language. Soon we were sharing a cup of tea and dish of pakoras with his family. Many common friends were traced and talked fondly about. It pleased him to see Gujaratis going to Kinnaur. That, I decided was the appropriate time to pour out our woes.

He sputtered, ‘This is ridiculous. Let’s see what we can do. I cannot intervene as I am the judiciary and cannot direct the executive’. He solved the delicate balance by asking us to see a higher Secretary who might be sympathetic. There is a network of ‘bureaucratic contacts’ and now we were entering that.

The Secretary was contacted and he was more than eager to send us to Kinnaur. But there were babus everywhere. Some clerk produced the letter of denial from Delhi.

‘How can we allow them Sir, Delhi has not sanctioned their clearance’.

The Secretary was sympathetic and wondered, ‘How do we overcome this? In fact we want to promote the area as tourist destination.’ An idea was at hand. One always is.

‘Your “ABCD trek” is denied permission. Apply afresh to my office now as an “XYZ Trek”. Then it is a new team and a fresh application, That I can clear. It is within my powers to do so.’

With a new name and armed with a clearance we were back before the magistrate, who knew nothing of how had we managed all this. Was he puzzled! It was a sight to remember when 10-year-old Monal signed in the register, after which we were on our way to four weeks of camping in the Himalaya.

The next hurdle was at the infamous Wangtu check post. The sleepy police officers halt the visitors for a long time, to check and enquire about photography and other permits—none of which were issued easily.

‘You can check the luggage, about 22 pieces on the roof of the bus, for cameras, if you like.’ It is a well-tested method. It is too much of work for a lazy policeman to do. After much delay and when the bus-driver and the other passengers are restless one plays one’s card. I drew out my visiting card and presented it to the man in uniform.

‘I take full responsibility if any breach of photography rules are made. Here is my card, you can see I am Mr. so and so and I know Mr. so and so.’ That was enough to convince him to let us move on. He never intended to be too serious about his duty anyway. The name and name-dropping both work in tandem.

At last we were free to enjoy the beauty of Kinnaur. Our first stop was Sangla. In 1986 there were few visitors and only one rest house to stay in. The temple architecture and innocence of people was remarkable. We had to walk from here to Chhitkul and beyond, on an almost flat road. Our trek and the mood is best described by my wife Geeta Kapadia in her book.3

It was a three-day march to the village of Chhitkul and beyond. Here the temple was an isolated tower made of solid wooden logs alternately lined with grey stone blocks. Along the walls were carved panels running all around the four walls. These depicted stories from mythology. Kinnaur is the land of Kinners, the celestial musicians. The musicians, divine dwarfs and fairies stood carved in these panels all witnessing this beautiful land.

Next day we were on our march to the next camp. The weather was cloudy and the children loved to walk through the mist. ‘I can see you now, you can see me not’ kind of weather. The density of mist around us thickened. We quickened our steps to reach the camp site.

We went past the I.T.B.P. camp towards the head of the valley. But we could not proceed further because a storm engulfed us that evening. By the time we pitched tents the entire ground was covered with snow. Harsinh, our ever faithful porter, had found an abandoned bunker. That was to be our shelter henceforth. The wind was harsh. The broken walls of the bunkers protected us well from the biting wind. But the roof was half gone, so the floor was covered with slush and dirt.

The children made life fun even in these slushy, cold barracks by playing endless games of ‘dumb charades’ and singing camp songs, while Harsinh served us hot drinks and food every few hours. There were story-telling sessions when Harish would narrate war-time stories of the Indo-China war, or about the early explorers in the Himalaya. Whether they were army jawans, or the early travellers and traders, all had endured such rough weather all the time. We pictured the jawans in their heavy clothing facing immense hardships to defend the motherland, or the trader, who crossed the high passes, to fetch precious salt.3

The main occupation was, of course, eating. Harsinh started dishing out mouth-watering parathas for breakfast and he had to continue doing so till almost noon, when it was time for lunch. These ‘brunches’ were long remembered. No cook has served almost a group of 25 almost single-handedly in such conditions.

Leaving the children behind at Chhitkul, Parul, Jagdish, Vasantbhai, Muslim and I climbed towards the Charang Ghati pass. We camped higher in the valley and the following day tried to reach the pass. But as we neared the final slopes the weather turned foul again and we had to return. Since it showed no chance of clearing we decided to pack and go down to Chhitkul. Our return to Sangla was almost a celebration. The children walked 25 kilometres in one day and were singing all the way. Appropriately the singing spree ended with Sare jahan se acchha Hindustan hamara. . . .4

When we returned to Sangla, the sun was shining brightly and it was warm in the valley. Our next move was to be out of the Sangla valley and the only mode of transport available was a tractor. We sat in the trailer, holding tightly on to our piled up luggage. It was about 35 kilometres to Kalpa, and it took us over three bumpy hours to reach there.

The dak bungalow at Kalpa was a perfect return to civilisation. Sinking in to well-cushioned sofas, sipping the usual sweet, hot tea, we could view the panorama of the Kinner-Kailash range. The tents dried outside and one by one everyone had a hot water bath and changed into the last fresh pair of clothes. Then began the debate on the food we could eat on the way back home.3

It was this obsession with food that landed us in a hilarious situation. I had the brilliant idea that we must eat momoes, a Tibetan delicacy. Our search in Kalpa revealed that no momoes were available there and the only place where we might get them was in a bye-lane at Rekong Peo almost 800 m below and about 13 km by road. We were not going to give up easily. We walked down with enthusiasm. We reached Rekong Peo early in the evening and Muslim was deputed to find out where the suggested place was. He entered it and something seemed amiss. His queries for momoes were greeted with giggles and soon he was driven out from, what was obviously, no place for a gentleman to be in! We gorged on pakoras instead and after much effort managed a taxi back to Kalpa.

Through all our days in Kinnaur as well as at Kalpa, Jagdish Nanavati had one very personal duty to perform. Every morning he visited the post-office to check if there was any mail. After few days, when everyone had received a letter from home and he hadn’t, his enquiries were twice a day. That prompted the post-master to remark, ‘Well if you want to receive a letter so much, why did you leave your home?’

Our days in Kalpa were wonderful. The place had one of the finest views one can ever have from within in a comfortable bungalow. ‘From the forest bungalow at Chini, 2820 m above sea-level and 145 miles from Shimla along the Hindustan-Tibet road, the Kailash massif is seen to advantage. The snow-fields are so close that in spring the reflected light from the snow is painful to the eyes, while during the monsoon the sound of falling avalanches can be heard all day long.’5 Incidentally the old name ‘Chini’ was hastily changed to Kalpa, just in case the Chinese had some other ideas! The beautiful temple complex at Kalpa was visited by us everyday and we walked to Rogi, the famous village of the ‘Rogi Cliffs’ about which much was written by the early travellers on the Hindustan-Tibet Road.

Finally it was time to return home. On the last morning as we returned to the bungalow, Jagdish sat there, beaming with happiness, for he had at long last received a postcard from his wife. In his usual quiet way he read it aloud to all of us.

Dear Jagdish,

You must be enjoying yourself in Kinnaur. In those cold and beautiful surroundings you must be remembering us. You may feel like buying a woollen shawl or Kinnaur Cap for us. Please don’t do that. They feel terrible in the heat of Bombay. Our house is littered with many Himalayan mementoes from your previous trips: silver-ware, wooden bowls, stones and vessels of different shapes and sizes and crafts. So please don’t buy anything. If you still feel you must get something for us, put some money aside in an envelope and bring it to Bombay. I will buy a saree for me.

Enjoy yourself.

Mandakini

Visits from 1987 to 1996

Once I had tasted the pleasures of Kinnaur I kept going back there. Sometimes I simply passed through the district, sometimes visited the different areas and valleys. Things were changing in the region. Modernisation was creeping in, slowly but surely. In 1987 when I passed through the Wangtu check post again, I had the same problems.6 I was on my way to Spiti and witnessed the construction of new roads in the district. It allowed us to view Reo Purgyil and several peaks now from within our bus. Instead of mules there were modern taxis on the road. In 1993 on a short visit there we stayed in one of the finest rest houses in Kinnaur, at Rupi, and then went up the Sorang valley.7

1994 was the first year when ‘liberalisation’ reached the area. Suddenly all restrictions were relaxed and major parts of Kinnaur were opened to the Indians and foreigners alike. It was a welcome and healthy change. I planned an expedition with the legendary mountaineer Chris Bonington (now Sir) to climb in the unvisited Tirung valley. We went up the highest mountain in the area, Rangrik Rang (6553 m).8

The winds of change were everywhere. During my first visit after the opening up of the area I even started photographing the police at the Wangtu bridge. For a while no one minded but then out of sheer habit they ‘requested’ us not to do so, not so near a bridge! I remember a stern-looking police officer approaching Paul Nunn as we sat in the jeep, about to leave.

‘Where is your camera?’, he stiffly asked Paul.

I was about to protest and remind him about the ‘opening up’ of the area, but he cut me short.

‘I know all that. He had forgotten his camera at the tea-shop. Here it is’, and burst out in a smile.

Such ‘openness’ was good for both visitors and policemen!

In the second half of the trip in 1994 we changed valleys and went to northern Kinnaur to climb Manirang (6593 m), the northern-most peak of Kinnaur.9 The winter of 1996 saw me with one companion trekking in the Nachar valley. It was a magnificent trip which allowed us to enjoy Kinnaur in brilliant weather. We trekked in the Panwi nala which drained to the Wangtu bridge to meet the Satluj.10

Charang Ghati

‘It feels good to be back in the Himalaya. Five years—Harish can you imagine five years since I have been here. The pines smell so good, grass is green and the moon is so bright, the villages. . . .’, Stephen Venables went on and on, in a soliloquy. We were standing at a beautiful camping site near the village Thangi at the entrance to the Tirung valley in Kinnaur. Steve had a reason to be so eloquent. An accident in 1992 on Panch Chuli V had almost killed him. The injuries he sustained on knee and ankle almost crippled him. That phase was followed by one in which his son fell seriously ill. That over, he had a bone-fracture which put him on crutches again. Next, his house burnt down one Christmas eve. But he never allowed his spirits to be doused and here he was organising a trek to Kinnaur. He would certainly qualify for an award, if there be any such, for survival and revival of the spirit.

The monsoon was heavy in the summer of 1997. One day in August a cloud-burst over the Panwi nala flooded the valley. It resulted in much water gushing down which destroyed a bridge and a village on the Satluj—the name of the bridge and the village—Wangtu! The blockage created a huge lake on the Satluj, which is one of the major rivers of the Himalaya. Many lives were lost and the entire valley of Kinnaur was cut off from Shimla. Yet life had to go on. Boats were transported on trucks from the northern route via Spiti and people started moving across by transhipment—a usual thing for Kinnauris in the gone-by days. At first with news of the road-block we were wondering whether it would be possible to trek in Kinnaur at all. But when we arrived, there was chaos, but life was going on.11 After a walk of about two km we crossed the lake on the Satluj by boat and were in Kinnaur.

The central range in the Kinnaur is the Kinner Kailash. Its highest peak, Jorkanden (6473 m) rises from the Satluj valley. A small peak, 6050 m and pillar on its shoulder is holy to the Kinnauris. There is an annual pilgrimage and circumambu-lation of the range. This is done along a route which crosses a pass from the Tirung valley (Charang village) to the Baspa valley (Chhitkul). This has been undertaken traditionally for many decades and is now a popular trekking route.

Venables had started a trekking company and this was his first venture. Having trekked all over the Himalaya on low budgets and under my own management this was going to be a new experience for me—to be part of a luxury trip. My companions, led by Venables, were a fine group of persons, but except for one had no experience of Himalayan trekking. But that was not detrimental to subsequent fun.12

We walked up the Tirung valley in three easy stages, to Charang village.13 This was a familiar trek for me as it was the same as the trek to the base of Rangrik Rang.14 But many things that one misses on an ‘expedition’ I now observed. On the second evening as we walked leisurely in the Lambar village (which I did not visit at all in 1994 though we had camped nearby), an old lady asked us to visit her house and the personal temple within it. It was so peaceful. As we talked to her, it transpired that my companions were the first foreigners she had had as guests. At Charang, the last village, the festival of phulej (festival of flowers) was being celebrated.15 This was a unique and colourful festival. The village goddesses from Charang and Kuno are brought together. Unmarried girls from the village, colourfully dressed, collect ‘brahma kamals’ (Saussurea gossypiphora), a high altitude flower, on this day and offer it to the goddesses. Like all the Kinnauri festivals there was dancing, drinking and lots of fun. All joined in the fun and the beats of the Kinnauri drums kept the usually stiff Britishers busy for long time.

We stayed an extra day at Rangrik gompa. It was lovely to be back here again—its serenity matched the surroundings. I was getting the hang of luxury trekking. The well-trained staff looked after everything, pitching tents, erecting the dining tent with table and chairs, and setting up a toilet. The day began with a hot water wash and hot lunch was served everyday. The menus were better than those of some hotels in Bombay! I was left to myself without a worry in the world or at least about organising, to enjoy the surroundings. On the day of rest we had sessions of yoga, a good walk and generally good bantering all along.

From Charang we had to start climbing towards the pass. Climbing on the ridge behind the village, Lalanti la (4200 m) was crossed over to camp at Lalanti (a place of red plants).16 We walked up the valley to camp at the foot of the pass, which looked deceptively close. As we reached the pass a vista unfolded before us towards the Baspa valley. It was decorated with many prayer flags, signifying that many persons must be crossing this way. It was steep all the way down to Chhitkul. We passed my camp-site of 1986.

I will always remember Chhitkul for lama Sonam Gyatso, affectionately known all over Kinnaur as ‘Chhitkul lama’. We had spent some time with him during our stay here in 1986. Now deaf and half-blind, peering through two pairs of spectacles he took some time to remember any visitors from Bombay. He was 98 years old and could barely walk. His toes had been amputated many years ago when he was caught in a storm on Charang Ghati. As Steve took off his shoes to enter the temple I pointed out the shorn stump of his foot, which was lost on Everest.

Chhitkul lama was a storehouse of knowledge and had travelled far. His guru lived in Kardhing monastery near Kyelong (Lahaul) and this lama had travelled over many passes in Zanskar and Tibet. His humility was evident. I offered some money to the monastery which he reluctantly accepted it, murmuring ‘why take the trouble, you have far to go’. He performed a small puja for us in front of the two shapely mountains17 seen from his room. Time had stood still and I quite forgot that we had to go back to civilisation that morning.

As we started from Chhitkul I heard the last word from Steve, looking at ‘Thula’ and ‘Chula’.

‘I will be back soon’.

He was echoing the sentiments of the great Indian poet Kalidas, ‘Once you have found a trail in the Himalaya, you can never keep away for long’.

Notes & References

1. Four Month’s Camping in the Himalaya, by Vander Sleen (1927), camping trip in the Kinnaur.
2. Sunlit Waters, by Capt. C.W.W.S. Conway (1942) about visit to the Baspa valley.
3. Himalaya in My Sketchbook, by Geeta Kapadia, all quotes from chapter ‘Kinnaur: The Land of Divine Singers’.
4. This is a famous song written by the poet Iqbal, taught to all school children, which literally translated means: ‘Hindustan (India) is better than whole world. . . .’
5. ‘Round the Kanwar Kailash’ by H.M. Glover, Himalayan Journal, Vol. II, p. 81.
6. See my books Spiti: Adventures in the Trans-Himalaya, and High Himalaya Unknown Valleys.
7. See article ‘What Did You Do in the Sorang Valley?’ in the present book.
8. See article ‘The Language of the Mountains’ in the present book.
9. See article ‘ Manirang: A Mountain of Surprises’ in the present book.
10. See article ‘A Dawn in Winter’ in the present book.
11. Prof. J.K. Galbraith had described India as ‘functioning anarchy’. He discovered in the apparent chaos ‘a method, rhythm and meaning.’ This is true for the Himalayan travel like these.
12. My companions were all English. John Millar (74) had wandered in the Himalayan range in 1946 as an RAF officer. Ken and Jill Peterson, Rodney and Jane Hall, and Bill Powell, a journalist covering our trip for the Daily Telegraph were all new to the Himalaya.
13. The route was: Thangi (2645 m), Lambar (2875 m; 6 km) and Shurtingting (3410 m; 9 km). We reached Charang (3600 m; 7 km).
14. See ‘The Language of the Mountains’ in the present book dealing with this area.
15. Kinnaur has several different tribes and each valley has its own dialects and timings for festivals. Spoken Kinnauri language caused confusion between each valley. With schooling, they have learnt to communicate with each other in Hindi to avoid confusion. Similarly some festivals were celebrated on different days. To avoid confusion, here also it was agreed to celebrate some festivals as per Western calendar dates. Thus phulej is celebrated in mid-September.
16. The route was from Charang to Lalanti (4200 m; 8 km), across Charang Ghati (5200 m; 2 km) to Chhitkul (3450 m; 7 km)
17. These peaks are in line with Rangrik Rang and on the divide of Baspa and Tirung valleys. He simply called them ‘Chula’ and ‘Thula’ (higher and lower).