THE VALLEY OF FRIENDS

A Trek in the Saryu Valley, Kumaun

(1996)

    Some associations in life last a very long time. For almost three decades now, I have been trekking and climbing with the support of the people of a particular valley in the Kumaon, the Saryu valley. They have cheerfully accompanied me to most of the places where I have been in the Himalaya. Carrying loads, cooking and climbing peaks, they have served me well. They are born travelers, like me. They join me not for the money but for the fun. As Lawrence of Arabia says about his companions: ‘Most of them will fight for money, but the best of them will fight for Lawrence.’ I can say the same about my friends from the Saryu valley.

    A lot has been written about Sherpas and high altitude climbing-porters. I would like to pay a tribute to these simple folks, who have not achieved much in terms of peaks and records but have certainly the capacity to take on any challenge, under any conditions. Many peaks would not have been climbed easily without their support. They are as good as any holder of the ‘Tiger Badge’.

    In 1962, as a young student, I was on my first visit to the Himalaya, with some friends. Like many I wanted to go to the Pindari glacier, a formidable trek in those days. Upon advice from our seniors we packed our kitchen utensils in a tea-chest, so that they did not bend. The other things were packed in kitbags. We reached Bageshwar and then Bharadi where a muleteer was hired to carry our luggage on two mules. Everything went right on the first day. As we climbed the Dhakuri pass, the utensils, loosely packed in the tea-chest, began to bang against each other. Suddenly one of the mules decided enough was enough and promptly upturned the tea-chest, littering kitchen-ware all around. At the same time, quite by coincidence, a light-eyed porter approached us from the other side. He helped our muleteer to gather the utensils.

    ‘I will hire this person to carry the utensils, at my expense, instead of the mule’, we were told by our muleteer. This person, by evening, had taken a firm control over the situation. He acted as a friend, philosopher and guide to us, the youngsters. He was Pansinh Malgunjar of Chaura village. Ever since this accidental meeting, porters from this and other nearby villages in the Saryu valley have accompanied me wherever I have   gone.

    Pansinh was a muleteer. He loved to sing. He accompanied us to Rupkund, Milam and all the treks that I undertook till 1968. Then in 1969 we organised our first climbing expedition to Tharkot peak in the same area. Pansinh along with Laxmansinh was the leader of our porter team. Close to the summit we were swept down by an avalanche, and Zerksis Boga almost died.1 We spent an uncomfortable night at the last high camp. The sight I cherish most in my memory is that of Pansinh and Laxmansinh climbing steadily up to the tent the next morning. Once in their able hands, I collapsed. Slowly but carefully they brought us down. That night as we slept around a large fire without sleeping bags Pansinh sang a Kumaoni song which, loosely translated meant: ‘As a bull that is tied by a rope to a pole goes round in circles, so does a man who is tied to his desires.’

    After a decade of trekking, Pansinh was getting old and could not accompany us on later outings. He promised to bring us his relatives when we halted briefly at the Bageshwar bus stand on our way to the Kalabaland glacier in 1979. There I was surrounded by porters wishing to be employed. Some produced certificates and citations from previous expeditions. I was about to employ some of them when I saw Pansinh in the distance waving at me. I freed myself from the group and ordered tea for Pansinh and me.

    ‘These so called experienced chaps are all cheats,’ he said. ‘I know them well. I have brought my uncle’s sons and their friends to join you. Take them with you, they will be good and useful.’ He pointed to four young boys standing shyly in the distance. I took an immediate liking to them and promptly took them on. This was the beginning of another generation of association.

    One of them was Shersinh, of Khaljuni village, which is a little further up the Saryu valley. He was quiet and never complained at all. In fact whenever we asked him anything his standard reply was, ‘as you say’. Once in the Darma valley we marched on the double, almost 30 km per day, for four days. Shersinh was the only porter with us carrying heavy loads but didn’t say a word. On the third day he lagged behind. It was then that Muslim Contractor noticed that Shersinh had badly bruised his back. We stopped to give him aid. Shersinh accompanied us on several trips for 8 years. Greener pastures brought him to Vapi, an industrial complex a little to the north of Bombay. Once there, his attitude changed. Of course we did not expect him to come to the Himalaya again, but the onset of greed and loss of that contentedness was evident. Perhaps that is what civilisation does to us!

    By the early 1980s we had a large circle of friends in Bombay, all climbers, whose children had grown up. We decided to organise a sort of camp in the Himalaya where all of us could enjoy ourselves and only some would climb. The group consisted of 25 persons, aged 6 to 66 years. A contingent of porters from the Saryu valley met us at Delhi. In that group was Harsinh Mangalsinh (Sr.) and Harsinh Balaksinh (Jr.). Harsinh Sr. was put in charge of the kitchen, the most formidable task on this sort of venture. Breakfast for 25? no problem! He would start dishing out hot parathas at 7 a.m. and continue till noon. By then it was time for lunch! Without a murmur Harsinh Sr. went tirelessly on. Ever since he has been our chief cook, having served with distinction the likes of Sir Chris Bonington.

    I have never known anyone like Harsinh Sr., someone almost devoid of material desires. You just cannot tempt him with anything. On international expeditions a gift of the best Goretex jacket means nothing and he refuses to take anything that’s useless to him. After an expedition many times I have offered him all the left over food like packed dal and expensive dehydrated foods. He never accepts them saying they ‘smell’, he prefers the fresh potatoes grown on the slopes by his home. The commercial value of the object offered does not attract him.

    Once in Manali after a long trip we walked together in streets. There were fresh sweets being prepared at a stall. I suggested we celebrate by feasting on them. He looked at the watch. It was past noon. He looked at the others and firmly passed the verdict, ‘It is lunch time. We will have simple rice and dal only.’ That was typical of this man. He is unmarried and with a simple life-style has almost conquered temptation.

    Harsinh Jr. is another of my favourites. He is a shepherd and spends almost three-fourths of the year with his herd high up on the mountains. As a result he is the strongest member in any team and carries the heaviest loads. It is a treat to see him jumping across rivers with a full load and scrambling up slopes like a goat. If there is a difficult section and I stop and look around for a track, I can be sure to hear a whistle and find Harsinh Jr. pointing out the route from a distance. This shepherd’s whistle has rescued us many times. He has three brothers. All have now been educated and have obtained government jobs. With everyone in the family out of the village the entire responsibility of the herd and the fields is on him, a burden he carries philosophically. He quoted a Kumaoni saying:

Pahad ka pani aur Pahad ki jawani

Kabhi Pahad ke kam nahin aati.

    ‘The water and the youth of the mountains are never useful to the mountains themselves.’ (Water, because it flows down into the valleys and the young ones go to cities to earn).

    These hardy young men have seen us through many different terrains. By prior arrangement we meet at the Delhi railway station for each trip and travel thence to our destinations. They have seen Spiti, Ladakh and almost the whole of Himachal Pradesh with us. Whilst going to Ladakh we had to fly by aeroplane. We were wondering how much excitement that would generate in these porters travelling thus for the first time. When we reached Leh, a relaxed Harsinh Sr. summed up their feelings, ‘Good show, we reached in an hour instead of three days’. A very practical, pragmatic, typical reaction.

    In 1985 I organised an Indo-British expedition to the formidable Siachen glacier. We had three Kumaonis with us. From Ladakh we employed 15 Ladakhi porters, known for their temper and reluctance to work. Three days after we entered the Terong valley, the Ladakhi porters came screaming to me. Stephen Venables, walking behind them quietly in a green outfit, had frightened them. They thought he was a Pakistani spy! This was as good an excuse as any to desert us. We were left with the entire expedition luggage a little short of our base camp and with only three Kumaonis to help us. We began to ferry loads. The Harsinhs Sr. and Jr. accompanied by Pratapsinh would do a double ferry in a day. Between the three of them they carried the entire international expedition luggage on the Terong glacier. Pratapsinh was toughest of them all. Handsome and fair he was reputed to eat the meat of an entire sheep alone in one sitting. He was temperamental, unlike the others and required special handling.

    On our return the Terong river was in flood. There was no way we could cross over to the other side. A rope was fixed in a complicated way. The entire team came out climbing danger-ously up and then rappelling down expertly. But the final crossing of the river remained.

    Our liaison officer had thrown an aluminium ladder across the torrent and as each person crossed, the ladder bent in the centre. Dave Wilkinson almost drowned. As I came near the crossing I saw the incident. Pratapsinh was already on the other side, and Harsinh Jr. was about to cross. I shouted to him to stop and come back. In the confusion and may be due to his nervousness he did not obey me and with great difficulty went across. I was furious. Hungry, and trapped on the wrong side, as I reached the other side after crossing the glacier from above I’d carried a heavy load and I vented my anger on poor Harsinh Jr. Pratapsinh joined in the fray and ordered a mutiny. He asked all three of them not to carry anything and walked away. Harsinh Sr. came forward and lifted his load but Harsinh Jr. walked away with tears in his eyes. We finally managed to reach the army base camp at the Siachen glacier with great difficulty.

    With my ego hurt and my anger at its peak I was harsh with the two deserters. They were taken to task and even the army personnel gave them a dressing down. Pratapsinh never came with us again and Harsinh Jr. took two years to forget the incident. This was our first tiff. I had failed to understand the fears of these simple people, something I have always regretted.

    One shortcoming these people have is that they cannot tolerate altitude too well. Once on snow and above 5500 m (18,000 ft) they tend to feel ill. Even with protective attire and tents they cannot tolerate the heights. Once, 10 of them together were snow-blind on Pin-Parvati pass. They did not appreciate the value of wearing dark glasses. Hence for some climbing trips the Kumaonis looked after the kitchen and valley portering while for the high altitudes we called for climbers from Manali.

    Our relationship with the Kumaonis also acts like an insurance in a way. These villagers work for the fun of it. Of course they are paid all the expenses and normal wages, but more than that, during times of emergency they know that they can rely on friends in Bombay when they need help. In any serious medical emergency, severe financial crisis or whenever they need us we support them. Thus it works out well for both sides. The area they come from is called ‘Danpur’(the area of generosity). The name is derived from the fact that in days bygone whenever any traveller from Tibet was stranded in these valleys he was looked after by people of these villages without any charge till the passes opened once again and he could go back. They are known to be amongst the Himalayan finest load-carriers. Even Shipton and Tilman during their explorations of the Garhwal and Kumaon used porters from this area.

    1995 was a special year for my association with the Kumaonis. During the year we climbed in the Rupshu, near Tso Moriri lake in Ladakh. Both Harsinhs flew out to Leh with us. As we climbed both of them seemed to be tolerating the altitude better than in previous occasions. Finally we roped up to climb Lungser Kangri (6666 m) and on the final slopes when Kaivan Mistry led the way across a deep crevasse, Harsinh Sr. who was following him suddenly disappeared from view. Holding him on a belay I shouted.

    ‘I have fallen’, came the calm reply. Soon he was up and about. With both the charming Harsinhs we stood on the second highest peak of Ladakh.2

    The Harsinhs had invited us to visit their village many times. This became possible after many years. The best way to grace the occasion was to climb in the vicinity, I thought. So 1995 saw us on our way to their village.

    Each mountaineer has many friends who, though not mountaineers themselves, are very supportive and interested in what their mountaineer-friend was doing. Sarita and Vinnie Chaudhury in Delhi have been supporting our expeditions for many years. Large teams have been fed and pampered in their home and many dirty mountaineers have taken their first shower after many months in the mountains in their bathrooms. Vinnie has a heart as large as his stomach and Sarita has spiritual interests. So, for a visit to the home of our Kumaoni friends we were a motley group.

    We reached Bageshwar from Delhi and went on to Song, the last roadhead where Harsinh Sr. was waiting for us. That night we spent at Loharkhet which is on the popular Pindari glacier trail. The route to their village, Harkot, bifurcates from here and climbs steeply. Halfway through, Diwansinh, who was accompanying us, gave a whistle and shouted.

    ‘A signal to them to prepare tea and start warming the sweets as our party is arriving’, we were informed.

    The village postman passed us, smiling. ‘I deliver your letters to them you know. I read them if they are in English,’ he told me proudly.

    Soon we were there. The entire village had gathered there and they had made arrangements for us to stay in the village school. There was tea, followed by halva, and sweet curds. The children sang a welcome song for us and possibly every student was present.

    By evening I saw a fit figure approaching the school. Swinging his arms in the air and smiling, it was Harsinh Jr. He had been up in the hills with the goats and had walked almost 45 kilometres to meet us! We went to his house and were introduced to the family. He rolled out another round of tea and food which at first I refused.

    ‘This is Harsinh’s swagat (welcome), you cannot refuse.’

    It went on like this in most of the houses and by the end of the day we felt stuffed.

    The next day the school teacher visited us. The children had a special holiday as we were staying in their school. The school teacher showed me an insignia from the Second World War which he owned.

    ‘This is the badge of the Indian National Army. My father Ramsinh was serving with Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose in Burma.’ He was referring to the Indian National Army which fought the British. Bose was their charismatic leader.

    ‘Netaji Bose stayed in this valley for six months, hiding from the British,’ he proudly told me.

    We were to hear of this story at almost every village in this valley. They showed us the place, Bhenkali, where Bose had stayed. As per the tale, Netaji appeared in the middle of the night and his two companions, Krishna Kant and Radha Kant supplied milk and food to him. They were the only ones allowed to meet him. Finally one night he went out of the valley and said he would not return.3

    After one day, we started on our trek going up the Saryu valley. Passing Supi village, the largest in the valley, we reached Khaljuni. This was the village of Shersinh and Pratapsinh. Both were out but we met their families. In the evening came a well-dressed person whom I did not recognise at first. It was Jagatsinh, who had accompanied me on three trips. Armed with some education and luck, he had joined the government service as a patwari, a revenue official. He had a marked squint and on expeditions he was called ‘looking London, going Tokyo’, for when he looked to his right he was talking to someone on his left! Jagat always laughed at this.

    On the next day as we approached Juni village, from the fields a worker called out to us. It was Charu Ram who had joined us on a trip to Kinnaur in 1986. He was an artisan, an expert weaver and potter. We saw his work and met the family. Anywhere else his work would have commanded a good price but here, a four day-walk away from civilisation, he had meagre resources. We left the village track and entered a forest on our way to the upper Saryu valley. We camped in the middle of a forest at Dholibita (huge rock) Rauli (small nala). An ancient temple of Sahastradhara (a thousand streams) was situated here. An open ground, about 800 m above the falls is called Rikheshwar. It is believed that during the Vedic ages, the Indian sage Vyas Rishi stayed here. A huge stone there marks the site of his meditation. Everyone was in high spirits and as Harsinh and company spooned out several tasty items, the happiness was tangible. Sarita busied herself in painting and observing the surroundings, Vinnie was fond of taking baths and meditating. There were camp fires and chats which enlivened the group. The villagers were great company too. I was still learning that there was more to the Himalaya than simply trekking and climbing!

    We returned to Juni village and split the team. Some of us went on to climb steeply to Bhenkali (a tank for buffaloes) where Netaji Bose had supposedly stayed. A steady but steep climb continued the next day till we were on the top of the ridge. This was the Ratamati (red sand) camping ground. The ridge was called the Pankhwa dhar. On both sides of the ridge rhododendrons line the slopes. A wide vista opened before us, from Nanda Devi, Nanda Kot to Tharkot. In front of us was a kutiya, a small house built by Swami Purnanand who had stayed here meditating for almost seven years. After he left, this place had been used by other holy persons regularly. It had a divine view for sure.

    On the last morning on the Pankhwa dhar the sun rose in a very clear sky. Far in the distance was Panch Chuli. It was here, in 1992, that we had been climbing with the British. On Panch Chuli V Stephen Venables had a fall and was stranded high on the mountains. He needed food and supplies till a helicopter could pick him up. Steve Sustad, one of the finest alpinists in the world persuaded Harsinh Jr. to accompany him on steep ice, with a heavy load. Harsinh Jr. was fitted with oversize climbing boots which were stuffed with paper in the front to fit his tiny feet. Harsinh Jr. rose to the occasion and climbed brilliantly to help the stranded climber.4 The British were impressed.

    ‘We will sponsor him to undertake a mountain training course at any of the mountain training institutes in India,’ was their offer.

    ‘That will be a little odd. These courses are undertaken by army officers and others. A villager will be a misfit,’ I replied.

    ‘In that case we will sponsor him to do a course in England at some leading institute. He can be turned into a fine mountaineer with some training. Ask him if he will take a free trip to England for two months?’

    After I translated that query, Harsinh Jr. replied quietly, ‘At present I simply want to return to my village and goats. They have been left unattended for a long time. Just let me go.’

    It was difficult to tempt these simple people away from their happy way of life.

    Back  from  our trek we came down and our 9-day trip was over. It had strengthened memories and enhanced our long and old ties. It was a celebration of our friendship with the people of this valley.

Notes & References

1. See Himalayan Journal, Vol. XIX, p. 123, for story of the Tharkot expedition. Also see the book High Himalaya Unknown Valleys (Harish Kapadia), p. 141.
2. See Himalayan Journal, Vol. 52, p. 86, and article ‘Changpas are Smiling Nangpas are Flying’ in this book.
3. I checked about this story with Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s son. He wrote to say that he is tired of such claims about Bose originating from many places. For the record Bose never went to this part of the Himalaya and he did not visit Kumaon. That was end of the matter. But I never had the heart to break this news to these simple village folks. Why destroy the simple faith of these simple villagers in their simple story.
4. See Himalayan Journal, Vol. 49, p. 71 for the full story. This event appears in several books and articles on the Panch Chuli Indian British expedition 1992. See article ‘Accident on Panch Chuli’ in this book.