Knocking onheaven’s doorKnocking onheaven’s door

ANANDA BANERJEE is imbued by the transcendent spirit ofthe Spiti Valley as he rumbles along in his 4X4, gatheringmoments for his album and experiences to last a lifetime

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At 3,978 metres above sea level, we hadhardly expected the Delhi Chaat Bhandar todo brisk business with tourists in rentedsnow gear waddling like penguins acrossthe expanse of Rohtang La. But then, who

is to stop the ubiquitous march of civilisation? Particularlywhen it offers goodies after a long trek for those climbingdown or refuelling those going up? It is when we cross thismost visited mountain pass that the mighty Himalayasbegin to have a tighter grip of us, them rising above andaround us, all frosty and cold, turning purple, brown andgrey with the changing sun, their summer barrennessmaking us aware of the truth that’s been peeled to thecore.

Patches of snow and ice from the glacial melt still clingto the wildflowers and grasses that have sprouted alongthe roadside as our 4x4 jeep stumbles across a narrowmuddy track into the rain shadow area. Workers struggleat odds to keep the road going and we are greeted by thejoyous juley (a traditional Tibetan greeting), even getting ahigh five from an exuberant young man. That’s survival foryou, the spirit of living that brings out the prettiest flowersfrom the dry dirt and keeps locals happy despite theirdeprivation.

Down below in the valley, the Chandra river roars,tearing down boulders, hurling rocks and kicking upsediments which make it look a treacle-grey. If you everneed to measure the force of nature, then get here. Andfeel the power as the river does several loops, twists andturns, swamping everything in its path, moving everypebble it touches, spewing out its energy and taking theworld along with its belly-churning gush. We reach Batal,generously covered in dust that the rocks crushed by theriver have turned into over time. The Chandra is frothingwhite, panting and foaming. A couple of makeshift dhabasby the riverside nourish all passersby for the greatadventure ahead. This Himalayan hospitality tells a lot ofthe giving nature of people in a hostile terrain, people whobelieve that you cannot stand up to Mother Nature inisolation, that you need to help each other out, that goodkarma will help you climb the heavens.

As the clouds make a speedy crossing overhead, andfreezing winds send shivers down the spine, we aremesmerised by the surreal landscape of this cold desert.Across the different hues of dull browns and grays, life isplenty in this vast expanse of emptiness. But such is thecamouflage of both the prey and the predator that you canhardly spot them. Redstarts, rosefinches and wagtailsflutter into our horizon even as a Himalayan Griffon soarsabove us and a Lammergeier perches on the hill side.Perhaps, they have been sent to lead us to ourdestination.

In these surroundings lurks the star of the show, thesnow leopard, which is near impossible to track in the rock

and scrub habitat. Locals say if you stake out at thevillages by night, you could see it slip by as it often targetsthe livestock for food. During the day, we contentourselves with its prey, the herds of Himalayan blue sheepor bharal which come down to the river to drink. Anotherfavourite prey is the magnificent Siberian Ibex, which wefind grazing along the moist patches of small streams, theirgorgeous antlers giving them character. As winter nears,male ibexes clash and lock these magnificent horns witheach other for the right to mate with wanting females.

The other mammalian star attractions of this mysticalterrain are the endangered Tibetan Wolf, the TibetanGazelle, the Red Fox, the Himalayan Brown Fox, theTibetan Wild Ass, the Musk Deer and the Himalayan Blackand Brown bear. Of course, there’s the constant companyof inquisitive marmots and mouse hares, who all step outof their small holes by the rocky path to have a peek at thestrange visitors on their land.

If a cold desert is so rich in fauna, then there must bea sustainable variety of flora to maintain the ecologicalbalance. Over the years botanists have found a wide rangeof medicinal plants like ratanjot, ephedra, seabuckthorn,ateesh, bhutal, cottonwood and artemisia. While seeds ofratanjot are used in the treatment of cholera, dysentery,toothache and gum ache, ephedra guarantees relief from

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bronchial asthma. Seabuckthorn has a wide range of usesin treating gastric ulcer, cardiovascular diseases, cancer,mucositis and radiation damage. Ateesh cures malaria.Nature is clearly the miracle healer here.

THE GGATEWAYAlong the drive, we find the summer ice melt away incascades that flow over the road. While it makesnegotiating the terrain hazardous, it helps us cool our heelsas well as the jeep tyres. The ride is tough on the humanbody and the engine and both have to perform in tandem.Any lapse of concentration on our part could end indisaster.

This part of the Himalayas is snow-bound for mostpart of the year. So it’s hardly a surprise that we findourselves negotiating between two walls of ice, crumblingand softening with the sun. We have to be very carefulwhile taking the turns, not knowing whether we are curlingthe edge of the road or driving over the overhang, whichcould give way and send us crashing down the cliffs, likestraws in the wind. But 11 km of crawling on the shoulderof the trail takes us over a breath-taking river basin into themagnificent moon-shaped lake, the Chandra Tal. Staringat us is a turquoise crescent pool surrounded by theChandrabhaga and Mulkila massifs. After the prolongedmonotony of the craggy ranges, this is a magical oasis.The lake mirrors the swathe of creation, burning with thesun, shimmering with the moon and stars, stilling withmountains under a clear sky and rippling with the wind. It’slike a celestial nymph who is being watched over by theHimalayan guards who will never let lesser mortals spoil it.A shepherd brings his sheep to drink and graze on thetender grass around it while the sun bends over thehorizon. And I rue the fact that I won’t be here in a coupleof days when it will be full moon. They say the lakedazzles like mica, as if a part of the moon has indeedfallen from the skies. It glitters in unearthly light, shining

(Left) Chandratal. (Below) The River Chandra

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up the snow peaks. And though you can’t see them,locals, who are more blessed than us, seem to have had aglimpse of the fairies that come down to dance then.

According to legend, this lake is where Indra’s chariotpicked up Yudhishthira, the eldest of the Pandavabrothers, for his ride to heaven. Yet another story goesthat the daughter of the Moon and the son of the Sunwere in love. They wanted to meet but this was verydifficult as they came into the sky at different times. So,they decided to meet on Earth. They chose to meet nearthe Baralacha Pass. Unfortunately, when they descended,they landed on both sides of the pass and still couldn’tmeet. They wept in the sorrow of parting and turned intotwo lakes, Chandra Tal and Suraj Tal. As their waterswelled, they gave birth to two mighty rivers — theChandra and the Bhaga — which finally met at Tandi.

I envy the few campers relaxing in theirtents and trace my steps back to the jeep.There are miles to go. Back on the ruggedroad, I encounter trekker Ben from Newcastle,England, in need of a lift till the point ofdetour. He believes that a physical climb willbring him that much closer to spiritualascension. It’s a straight climb to KunzumPass at 4,590 metres, the gateway to theSpiti valley. A panoramic view of the BaraSigri, the second longest glacier in the world, awaits me onthe other side, straddling the Chandrabhaga range likeluscious cheesespread. Ben’s right. It’s a spiritual moment,sizing up this greatness against our pettiness. From here itis a gradual descent in loops to the Spiti valley, aptlydescribed as a “world within a world” by Rudyard Kipling.The combined forces of wind, sun and snow havechiselled the mountains here into wedge-cut pinnacles,breathtaking gorges, canyons and fierce features that canonly be compared to a harsh moonscape. It’s a veritableno man’s land in its splendid isolation and elemental entity.

Spiti, originally pronounced piti, was, however,considered the middle land, historically a part of WesternTibet known as Nariss Korssum. In the 11th century AD,Nimagon, the king of Nariss Korssum, divided his kingdomamong his three sons of which Spiti and Zanskar togetherformed a separate kingdom. Later, Ladakh took over thesuzerainty of Spiti and Zanskar, and the area wasgoverned by Nono, the younger brother of the king ofLadakh.

Losar, the first village from this end, welcomes us andwe sign up, a mandatory rule for all visitors and theirvehicles. The Spiti river runs alongside as we head for thedistrict headquarters of Kaza. Luck smiles along the way; aTibetan Red Fox sprints across in a flash and disappearssomewhere. They say Tibet is a sprint away from Spiti, aday’s walk. We settle into the warm hospitality of the

Banjara Camps for a much-needed rest.By virtue of its closeness to Tibet, it’s but

natural that Buddhism is a marker of daily lifehere, be it in the five monasteries of Ki, Tabo,Dhankhar, Kungri and Tangyut, the chortensthat line our way or the flags that flutter thegoodness of “Om Mane Padme Hum”throughout the Spiti valley.

After ample rest and making sure that thebody is well acclimatised to the higher

altitudes, my explorations begin with Ki, a short drive fromKaza. From a distance, the village and its toweringmonastery appear to have jumped out of Tolkien’swonderland — an assortment of white-windowed cubesclustered together like a conical castle on a hillockoverlooking the river and the surrounding valley. It’s like anorchid burst in a dry desert, the Ki village, full of cheer andcolour.

We get an excellent view of Spiti valley from therooftop of the Ki monastery, like a bridal trail unfurled overbrown pews. Strangely, we find a trishul implanted here.

(Above) The monastery overlooking the Ki village. (Below) Prayer flags

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Tibetan Buddhists worship Lord Shiva with equal fervour.Anyway, they happen to be closer to Mt Kailash than weever will be.

Inside the monastery, I befriend a lama to walk usthrough a maze of narrow corridors and steep, darkstaircases. There’s no particular logic to the layout, eachpart seeming to have grown over the years. Or maybe, it isa microcosm of our philosophical quest for the truth. Wecould go around in circles and still not get closer toPadmasambhava. It takes a while to adjust to thedarkness inside but these dimly-lit prayer chambers are astorehouse of rare murals, manuscripts, thankas andancient musical instruments, allcocooned in a womb eternal.

Time changes outside wherevillagers are keen to know aboutlife in big cities and Bollywoodsuperstars. I realise thatmaterialism is never an enemy ofspirituality, provided the former issubservient to the latter. This iswhy locals have readily taken tomobile phones to stay connectedto the outside world, understandits temptations, so that they candetach their pristine lives from it.Alternatively, they communicatetheir philosophy to us. Educationis a must in these parts, seen as itis as another path toenlightenment. Local men andwomen are very communicativeand informed.

To spread Buddhism in thenew world, lamas are given muchfreedom. Gone are the days of strict rules and denial.Now, they are allowed to keep gadgets like mobile phonesand digital cameras and are permitted to go home in caseof an emergency. “Religion should be adaptive, or else itwould cease to exist,” says a young monk.

Perhaps, this explains why religious custom is greatlyvalued in the Spiti valley. In every family, the first child isthe protector; he has to take care of the family, businessand is the sole inheritor of belongings. It is mandatory tosend the second child to the monastery so that there is anenlightened soul in each family. If you don’t, you have topay up a fine of Rs 20,000. The third child gets nothing atall. Guess this makes for an effective family planning policyand prevents destructive division of resources in a hostileland. Besides, you can maintain a balance between needand desire.

There are close to 300 lamas of all ages and sizes atKi. And apart from daily prayers and duties, they cometogether every day at eight, twelve and six o’ clock for

breakfast, lunch and dinner respectively. I get a tour of themonastery kitchen where dinner is being prepared and assoon as the clock strikes six, a lama rushes out to thecourtyard to blow the conch shell. His cellphone ringssimultaneously, distracts him from the job at hand, but thecombined trill has a rustle of burgundy tumble out from thehidden chambers. The monks quickly line up to fetch theirmeal. We decide to leave and following a tip from one ofthe lamas, go across to the other side of the river to watchthe setting sun light up the monastery with its last burst.The light is gone. Or is it flickering in your soul?

DALAI LLAMA’S BBLESSINGSKaza is gearing up for its biggestmoment, the inauguration of theNew Karzey Tenggyud LhundrubChokhor Ling Monastery by HisHoliness, the 14th Dalai Lama,who will also bless the greatAvalokitsvara Initiation. We are agood two days ahead of the eventbut the few hotels and guesthouses here are already over-booked. We wander around theold quarters of the market placethat is bustling with both touristsand vendors. We get sandwichesand cakes from the GermanBakery, an enterprise which drawsin the predominantly foreigntourists with its crediblenomenclature and settle for somehot dumplings at the Yak Café.

It is here that we run into IshitaKhanna and Sunil Chauhan, the

two social entrepreneurs who are working for thesustainable development of the Spiti valley by linking localeconomies, conservation and development, notablythrough home stays and handicrafts. They put me throughto a homestay at Komic, the highest village linked to amotorable road at 4,587 m. Certainly a divine intervention.

It is a couple of hours of steady climb above Kaza,easily another 1,000 m up. Komic literally means “the eyeof the snow cock,” probably an indication of its strategicpositioning and its bird eye view. This quaint little farmingvillage houses 84 people across 13 households and evenhas a monastery. My host Tsering welcomes me to hisspacious traditional home. All Spitian houses have a similarstructure and shape. The walls are limestone-white with apaste made from a stone they call karsi that is baked in anelaborate process known as “sho chhak shey.” A stroke ofred ochre is painted just beneath the roof, like a protectiveband. The roof itself is stacked with penjar, or choppedbranches of a bush, all very eco-friendly.

A monk with a conch and mobile

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I settle down in a largish room consisting of a double-bed and a sitting area. We are the second batch ofguests this season and exchange pleasantries with familyelders over generous helpings of tea. Tsering’s house maybe removed from civilisation but not its obvious benefits;there is a phone, dish TV, an LPG gas burner and acassette player. The kitchen and the dining area form thecore of the house where all family possessions aredisplayed and where the family is meant to assemble.

Over dinner, we ask Tsering about the Tibetan wolfthat runs these parts. He tells us it is common to spot it inwinter as in summer it moves to higher and deeperpastures where most shepherds move with their livestock.He promises to take me to its abandoned den in themorning before going down again to Kaza.

The wind picks up pace and the small trek seems anendless journey as I huff and puff my way up. We turn tolook at the village but it has long disappeared below therolling hills. Out of sheer desperation, I ask Tsering a fewtimes when his “just around the corner” will show up. Anhour later, we come across a biggish hole. Tsering quicklydives in, clears up the entrance and even takes my cameraalong. We quickly nickname him the “wolfman” as he slipsinto its murky depths and gets us pictures that reveal howbig the den is from the inside. We realise both he and thewolf share the same primal instinct.

Tsering accompanies me back to Kaza. Midway westop to admire another small village over a patch ofmeadow called Lanza. Surrounded by snow-cappedpeaks, this village has also readily taken to the concept ofhome stays. It has hosted a group of bikers, all on theirRoyal Enfields, who are revving up at the huge Buddhastatue lording over us.

Back at Kaza, I thank Tsering and bid him good bye.The rest of the day goes in arranging a pass to witness thegrand ceremony at the monastery. The town is bursting at

the seams with buses and hired jeeps spilling out of theirtops while pilgrims on foot trickle in from everywhere. Thenew monastery dazzles in red and gold and is mouldedwith festoons and banners as monks get busy in last-minute touches and flourishes. A young boy runsaround waving a flag and shakes his hand with everybody.The frenzy is palpable.

His Holiness arrives a little after 10 in a chopper,sending the waiting crowd into a tizzy. The young and theold, dressed in their best, just want a glimpse of him. TheDalai Lama is, after all, believed to be the reincarnation ofthe Buddha in Tibetan thought. To see him during one ofhis rare public appearances is a step toward bliss andabsolution. Tibetan dragon trumpets, conch shells,cymbals and gongs cook up a thunderous pitch as hetakes centrestage. After a brief cutting of ribbons andunveiling the monastery prayer hall, he greets everyonewith a serene message of love and peace. Yet he seemshuman when he sits down to enjoy the local danceprogramme in his honour, when he bends to fasten hisshoe laces, when he oversees the refreshments beingserved to each and everyone present. Who says divinitycannot rest in our earthly souls?

A MMONK’S TTALEStill a long way to cover, we move out of Kaza and runinto a group of American climbers who have just returnedfrom the Pin Parvati pass. Vince Poscente, a formerOlympian, now motivational speaker and author of

(Above) The Kaza monastery. (Right) The wolf’s den

bestsellers such as The Ant and The Elephant, welcomesus to share his camping ground. Clearly, he lives hismantra, helping me set up my tent. The Himalayas are agreat motivation to enhance human capability, he says.And hence he brings in groups every year. It’s an earlydinner at the camp side, exchanging notes about eachother’s journey. Some of us stay awake to see the moonrise and flood the camp ground and the surrounding valleywith its celestial light. Kurt, a fellow trekker, brings out aTibetan flute and tries to conjure up a tune. The rest danceto his beats, asking me to teach them some Bollywooddance moves. May be we are God’s chosen ones tonight.Instead of his fairies.

We wake up early but find Vince and his team havealready taken off. But he has been kind enough to leavebehind his support team to take care of us. We follow theSpiti river and soon enough cross the village of Lingtiwhere it is joined by the Lingti river. Further ahead, atAttargu, it is joined by the Pin river flowing from the valley itis named after. A small cantilever bridge is the onlygateway to the Pin valley.

At Shichling, we take a turn to climb to the Dhankermonastery. The road is steep but metalled and the sharpturns are fairly negotiable. With every turn, the view getsbetter and better. The clouds drop a shadow now, thewind blows it over around the arc of a cliff. The samemountain side begins to look different in a matter ofminutes, a menacing dark grey portending evil onemoment, a bright sunnyscape the next, leading us into a

(Above) Celebrations in Kaza and His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. (Below)The camping ground just out of Kaza

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promised land of sorts. A few more turnsand I get a bird’s eye view of the confluenceof the Spiti and Pin rivers, a picture postcardmoment with the old monastery as anonlooker.

Dhankhar, originally called Dhakkhar,literally means “palace on a cliff.” It was theearlier capital of Spiti and was adorned by astunningly unique and precariously balancedfort which is now in ruins. The monasteryconsists of a number of multi-storeyedbuildings perched together, giving a fortress likeimpression, much like that of Ki. Founded between 7thand the 9th centuries and now on the world heritage list,locals have managed to whip up an intense awarenesscampaign to save its treasures of rare scriptures, thankasand mandalas. All along the road we find posters of “Savethe Dhankhar” plastered everywhere, a constant reminderof our duty and debt to our past. With all the lamas busywith the Dalai Lama at Kaza, we find our own book ofrevelations in its innards.

We head towards Tabo following the river and humanhabitation again. The road is wide and reasonably well-metalled here, which allows me to zip past villages withlush green agricultural plots where people grow barley anda local variety of black pea.

After the citadels of Ki and Dhanker, Tabo takes me bysurprise. It looks like a gigantic anthill, coated in ochremud, perhaps conceived as a strategic camouflage. This

huge complex of nine temples, 23 chortensand caves was founded in 996 AD by thegreat scholar Lotsawa Rinchen Zangpo. Thisis often called the Ajanta of the Himalayasbecause of its exquisite wall paintings andstucco statues. In Trans HimalayanBuddhism, Tabo’s sanctity is next only toTibet’s Tholing monastery. Over a thousandyears old, the statues and paintings retainmost of their original sheen. Aftercircumventing the entire complex, I meet up

with the only lama whom I find polishing an array of oillamps in a chamber next to the giant prayer wheel. Therest have gone to Kaza to see the Dalai Lama. As Tabo’ssole protector at this moment, he plays the perfect host,not letting us go till we have had lunch at his kitchen.

The village may be sleepy but there is a PCO, aprimary health care centre and a provisions store thatkeeps 75 per cent of the goodies that you would find atyour neighbourhood mom and pop stores. A woman runsTabo’s most popular restaurant. She has a gas cylinder,mixer grinder and a washing machine too! It is here thatwe pick up directions for Geu, where the mummy of amonk has been preserved down centuries. It is our lastobject of desire before we leave the Spiti valley and get onwith our individual journeys of life.

Another round of hectic driving follows but on muchbetter roads than the Rohtang-Kunzum stretch. The terrainmakes a clean break as we drive through canyon country,

The Tabo Monastery and (inset) a monk setting up oil lamps for prayer

Did you know?n May to October are theideal time to visit Spiti.n Carry cash from Shimla orManali as no facilities forcurrency exchange areavailable in Spiti.n Only BSNL works in partsof Spiti. No other network.n http://spitiecosphere.com/http://banjaracamps.com/

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roads tunnelling throughperpendicular drops and we skirtsteep gorges and burrow throughrocky overhangs. The river Spiti isnow in a different mood as it jumpsdownstream to meet the furiousSutlej, which, even from theseheights, is loud enough to send a chilldown your spine. Only a solitary birdswoops down to be startled by itssurf and soars up again. It’s surreal,this terrain, scarred and weather-beaten, furrowed wise, like the oldtribal chieftains. There’s no traffic formiles on end till we meet twomountain bikers, Canadian sisters,driven by sheer energy and passion.As I get inquisitive about the efficacyof their cycles, the younger one givesme a demo. It had everything I couldever imagine with a fascinating 27 gear shift to negotiatesteep climbs. No matter what the method, in the end weare all chasing a common goal.

As I climb up towards Geu, locals volunteer directionsfor the mummified monk. It’s a given what I have come for.The mummy was accidentally discovered by members of

the Indo-Tibetan Border Police whileclearing debris and setting up campafter an earthquake in 1975. Carbondating and further research puts themummy to be of a 45-year-old lamafrom the last quarter of the 15thcentury. The monk was probably apractitioner of Zogchen, an extremeform of meditation that involved tyinghis neck to his knee to free the bodyand transport his mind to a higherplane as supreme sacrifice for hispeople who were reeling underdrought and famine. Continuousmeditation and fasting beforeattaining nirvana, the body wasprobably devoid of all juices and anybacteria, which preserved the bodywith no chemical embalming for morethan 675 years!

And there he sits today, in a small hut separated by aglass pane, with his hair intact above the forehead, as ifstill meditating for his land and people. Nothing would havebeen a better sign-off from Spiti than to be imbued withhis spirit. I carry it in my heart before turning back home. Icarry it in my soul still. o

(Above) The Canadian cyclists and (Below) The Geu Mummy

AAiirr IInnddiiaa hhaassffrreeqquueenntt fflliigghhttss

ffrroomm DDeellhhii aanndd PPaatthhaannkkoott ttooBBhhuunnttaarr ((nneeaarreesstt aaiirrppoorrtt))..

BByy RRaaiill:: Chandigarh is thenearest broad gaugerailhead that is well-

connected to major cities. BByy RRooaadd:: There are two

overland routes to get toSpiti — Delhi-Manali-Kaza

(approx 763 km) and Delhi-Shimla-Rekong Peo-Kaza

(approx. 790 km).