The Long Road to an Uncertain Destination
I had spent a good long week in Amritsar but it was now time to leave. It had been a delight and I had started to get comfortable there. I had found a nice hostel with all the basic facilities and was encountering quite a few interesting travellers there. However, this month of travel had an agenda. I was adapting to the idea of a nomadic life, experimenting with budget, trying to strike a balance between work and the road and validating some other vague ideas. Basically, it was a proof of concept for what I had in mind for later. So I set out of the city, bidding goodbye to the friends I had made there and quite certain that I would miss the delicious food that the city had offered.
The Highway Hotel
I set out, as per my initial plan, to Bir — a small town known as a paragliding hub in the Himachal. I got into a series of buses that led me from Amritsar to Gurdaspur, then Pathankot and eventually to Baijnath. Night had fallen by the time I reached the small town and the buses to Bir would resume only in the morning. I decided to stay in a hotel near the bus stand and leave early next morning after seeing the famous Shiv temple which was right there on the highway.
The night was spent in frustration and anger. I was overpaying for a bed that was crawling with bed-bugs. Once I put out the lights, the suckers came out to feast and I woke up itching all over. I tried killing a few of the bugs but there were obviously many more of them waiting for me to relapse into sleep. A few hours later the sounds of the highway robbed me of the little sleep I had managed to gather. I got up, partially glad of being out of the infested bed, took a hot water bath hoping it would cleanse me and packed away my clothes in the laundry bag after scanning them thoroughly. The sun was still behind the mountains and I took in the fresh morning air as I walked the few steps to the temple.
The Baijnath temple was quite a sight; the stone temple standing with a clear background of the valley and mountains behind. There was a high boundary wall and the temple’s shikhara (tower) was visible above it, an orange flag fluttering atop and a trishul in place establishing Shiv as the temple’s primary deity. Vishnu might be the god of choice in the cities where material comforts and riches matter; where Laxmi is sought and civil law preferred. But here, in the mountains, where there was nature and it’s primitive laws, where the air yelled of a higher power, it was Shiv in his eternal forms who ruled unchallenged; pashupati — the lord of beasts, bhootnath — the god of ghouls, neelkanth — the one with poison in his throat, bholenath — the simple one; with a snake around his neck, a tiger’s skin wrapped on his limbs and a trishul in his hand, he dominated these land and the minds of its people.
After a quick round of the temple which was receiving homage from it’s morning patrons, I went back to the room, packed up and was soon waiting for the next bus headed to Bir. I had my doubts about the situation there. I had fleetingly been to Bir a few months back and had found the place peaceful and beautiful, which was the reason I had wanted to return for a longer duration. But Nas had warned me about the upcoming World Cup in Bir this year. I had met Nas during my road trip through Jammu, Kashmir and Ladakh a couple of months back. She had joined our group for a day’s travel and while we were exchanging stories it turned out that she was a paragliding pilot herself! She had been coming to Bir every year for a few years now. Despite the warning, I decided to try my luck before giving up on Bir. So I took a bus that took me to the town, a short ride through narrow and green roads.
After reaching Bir I came to realise that I had to go to the landing area near Bir Colony which was 3 kilometers back on the way the bus had come up. So it was that early in the morning I was walking down to the Bir Colony with a sleep deprivation inspired headache, enjoying the rustic views of a small hill village. Children were making their way to schools, dogs barked at me, birds chirped and the sun slowly climbed the heavens. It was all quite wonderful but the elation ended abruptly once I hit the Bir Colony. Quite a few new structures had popped up in the place since I had last seen it. I enquired a bit and came to know that the World Cup was about to start in five days. All the guesthouses were either occupied or booked or overpriced. I decided to get out of Bir, it was a bad time to have come here. Some other time perhaps, I will come back, rent a bicycle and set out on the tracks nearby.
A Hippie Paradise
I got down to the highway and waited a bus for Bhunter, where the road to the Parvati valley forks out. This valley was one of the places I had skipped during my road trip. I had planned to come back to the place and since I was within a day’s travel from the place, I decided to go to the valley, leaving the choice of the final destination in the valley to how the day would progress. A bus to Mandi came along and I hopped into it. It was fairly empty and I managed to catch up on some sleep in it. Ditto for the bus from Mandi to Bhunter. I got up for a bit near Aut to marvel at the length of the tunnel that cuts across the mountain and to look at the Beas reflecting the sunny and joyful weather. Last time when I had crossed this part, the river was as glum as the overcast skies but now it seemed full of enthusiasm and frolic. I reached Bhunter and got down at the Manikaran Chowk. There was a dhaba close by so I decided to have lunch as I waited. A plate of dal and rice, one of the most simple, delicious and filling meals that you can find on the road. A baba sat there waiting for a cup of tea he had ordered. He was old and looked homeless, probably lost in his addiction or strayed too far from the world. When his tea was ready, he took a khari (a salty biscuit) and gave half of it to the dog sitting nearby. A man without much sharing the little he had. As I got up to pay for my lunch, I decided I wanted to sponsor the baba’s tea as well.
“Itna takleef kyun le rahe ho beta?” (Why are you putting yourself through all this trouble?)
I offered him another tea but he refused. I got one for myself and sipped on it as I waited. The baba left and the dog followed him.
The bus arrived filled to a tee but I somehow squeezed in, found a nook for my bag and stood rooted to the spot. The bus slowly made it’s way into the Parvati valley, gaining and losing numbers. I was expecting a dilapidated road but this was way better. The mountainous life in Himachal seemed quite mature. Good roads, ropeways crossing valleys for quick transportation of goods, streams conducted through pipes into hydroelectric power stations; the mountains and humans seemed to have reached a higher degree of concord here than I had witnessed previously in Garhwal. After the first few stops the crowd eased considerably and I even found a seat to sit. A little before Kasol a lot of school kids jumped in. The girls were dressed prim and proper in their uniforms while the guys were in various states of fashion. I was thrown back to a time when it mattered whether the shirt was tucked in or not, how loose was the tie worn, how messed up the hair looked, whether you wore sneakers or stipulated shoes.
I had decided to stop at Kasol. This was my fourth bus of the day and I was tired of the two days of journey. I had heard rad things about Kasol from many people and thought that I would stay here for a few days. I found a room in a guest house and only later realised that it did not have any water. Kasol, as I saw it now, was a hippie destination. I had seen many of the kind and they all looked the same, had the same shops selling the same merchandise, had similarly named restaurants with nearly identical menu and playing the same kind of music, the same breed of people with the same careless attitude. I usually like hippies for their easy-going lifestyle but the problem is that they are careless and unclean people. A bigger problem arises when the places that host these hippies themselves turn into a den of addicts. Then there is no one to clean up the mess that is being created. Like parasites these people will consume one land after another, laying waste to each. Who ever thought Cartman was a prophet!
To Tosh
I woke up early the next morning, packed up and left the guest house. Two bad rooms in two days was sheer frustration. It seemed like a good enough day for it, so I walked till Manikaran. The sun was shone bright but the air had a coldness about it. I walked along the road, the Parvati river tumbling to my left. The river was beautiful and so was the valley. The three or four kilometers to Manikaran went by without sweat (perhaps a little).
Just before Manikaran came a spot where the river was passing a particularly narrow spot under a small bridge. It had an “edge of the world” feeling to it; the river falling down in steps, moments of calm and still before the river fell again. Right ahead was the famous gurudwara and the temple that the place is famous for. Manikaran is known for hot water springs and I could see steam rising from near the temple. The hot water that made it’s way out had scalded the rocks but moss still grew around it, green and lively. For a minute I considered going and taking a bath in there but the garbage around was appalling. Manikaran was an example of one of those places where religions claim the marvels of nature and capture them in the boundaries of it’s structures. Tourists throng and the religion does good business and while the devotees are busy generating waste and dumping garbage, they forget the true reason for the place’s existence.
It was a while before the bus to Barsheni came and quite a few people had gathered. This part of the journey was quite a roller-coaster ride. The bus was crawling on the dilapidated roads but the driver had no intentions of easing through the potholes. Back on the last seat I sat along with a man and his daughter. We were thrown feet high into the air and came crashing down! The father held his daughter, afraid that she might fall out of the window. The little girl held on to her father with a smile was plastered to her face. She was enjoying the ride as much as I was! But after a few such crashes we went and sat ahead where the bus made less movement and the rest of the ride became less adventurous. A big dam on Parvati eventually announced the arrival of Barsheni.
The last stretch was a short hike to Tosh. One could hire a taxi as well since there is a road going up till the village but why do that when your limbs are perfectly capable of carrying your load? I started climbing the walking path slowly with another gentleman headed in that direction. This was Mr. C from a village near Aut. He was here to collect some charas. As I later found out, it was the season of harvest. He took the product down and sold it in the cities. There was a big market, even in Delhi, he said. He had been to Goa with it once. He got good price there but the risks were bigger. He was looking for a business partner in the cities. Would it interest me? He was also quite surprised at how well I could walk on the mountains. We walked for some time through a village and the power station. We stopped for an unnecessary break where we encountered a known of Mr. C. While those two caught up on their correspondence, I took my leave and continued on the path. Tosh was in sight now and contrary to my expectations, it was a colourful menagerie of concrete buildings rather than a small village. But being such a famous destination has its effects I guess.
I reached the village and walked across it. There were guest houses and restaurants scattered around in profusion but I decided to go till the very end which meant an extra spell of walking. I spotted the highest guesthouse in sight and went to check it out. The rooms seemed good and had hot water. I tried negotiating a fair price and since the negotiations were a success, settled down in what would be my home for a few days to come.
I took a short nap and got up to see the sun on it’s way behind the mountain tops. The sunset looked beautiful with the stretch of green forests in front and the snow crusted mountains standing tall in the background. The view from where I stayed was exhilarating. The peaks were quite close by, the village and valley lay below, hidden by the slopes and the innumerable pine trees on it. As the sun’s warmth departed, the air grew colder. I remembered that I was not carrying any woolens with me. The meager jacket and a cap would have to prove sufficient, else I would have to go back to Kasol to buy a sweater. This place also had 3G, which meant I had no other reason to rush back to the world below.
