Trails in the snow: part I

Dalhousie

Some might raise their eyebrows over my choice of destination. While most people would opt to travel to better known locations as Shimla or Manali, I prefer their lesser known and comparatively unexplored counterparts- Dalhousie and Khajjiar. Also, instead of the more popular routine of staying in Dalhousie for three to four days while visiting Khajjiar, Chamba and adjoining places from Dalhousie itself; I opt for a longer stay at Khajjiar which is a village located about twenty five kilometers from Dalhousie.

On the very first day, my journey begins with a bit of a turnoff. Train from Delhi to Pathankot is already late by an hour and a half. From Pathankot, we need to hire a cab to Dalhousie, a journey of about three to four hours. This means, that I’d reach my destination by about 3.00 pm instead of 1.00 pm as planned earlier. The train delay allows me only a few hours of sightseeing before sunset.

While the local cab drivers and hotel managers advise us to visit the local market, I decide to venture into trekking at this odd hour. Dainkund peak which is located at the outskirts of Dalhousie is supposed to be a paradise for trekking enthusiasts.

But apparently, February is not the appropriate time. The narrow street that leads to Dainkund has been blocked because of heavy snowfall. Although parts of it have been cleared by the army using snow cutter machines, it’s still a dangerous path to take; hence entry to vehicles may require permission from army officials.

Despite this, our driver does as promised and drives us as far up as he can. From here, we are on our own.

“Don’t try too many stunts. If you feel the path is blocked, turn back right away. I’ll be waiting for you right here” We are warned by our driver.

We battle our way up the hill, trying to neglect frostbitten toes; laboriously dragging our torpid feet through the thick quilt of fresh snow interwoven with dark patches of slippery mud. After what seems like an eternity, it turns out that we have quite successfully tackled the terrain to reach the very top, where we are greeted by four army officials who seem quite surprised.

“yahan kya dekhne aa gaye aap?” they ask us earnestly, “idhar koi nahi aata”. (Why did you venture up here? Nobody walks up here in this rough weather).

I catch my breath and look around. Being quite unapproachable to masses and hence untouched by the noisy crowds that usually surround us in the cities; this place is what could easily be described as pure bliss!

The mighty Himalayas stand ahead of me with the last incandescent sunbeams gently caressing their snow clad peaks. The ‘Pir Panjal’  range looks ethereal; like a dreamy eyed bride clad in her snow white attire; with the golden gleam of the tiara softly encircling her serenely beautiful face.

The top of the hill houses a small temple dedicated to the local deity, the entrance to which has been blocked due to snowfall. I take a moment and silently bow my head before the mysterious and ever elusive ‘Creator’ who for now, has chosen to dwell in isolation; caged in his own realm within the confines of self created barriers.

Shadows of Deodar trees become taller as evening closes in. By this time, our driver has managed to stumble into a friendly army official and with his help, gained entry into this restricted zone, making our job easier. We get into the cab and take a way back to hotel.

On the way however, I cannot resist the temptation of a steaming cup of ‘chai’. We halt at a tiny tea-stall by the side of the road. The tea-stall owner and a couple of friends are warming themselves up around fire, catching up with some of the latest gossip over a hot cup of tea. With a friendly “hello”, they invite us to join in.

“Are the temperatures this low all through winters?” I ask them an obviously foolish question.

“isse bahut zyada thand rehti hai madam ji” replies one of them; “barf ubal ke peene ka paani banana padta hai!” (it’s way colder than this. Even water from pipelines freezes; so we have to melt ice to make drinking water).

“Roads are all blocked. We have to stay at home most of the time” adds his other friend.

“You must be having electric heaters at home then!” I ask curiously.

“ghar pe to chulha jalta hai” (We have a fireplace at home); they reply.

“We hardly need any electrical gadgets here. Temperatures are never high enough to necessitate the use of a fan or air conditioner and we have ample firewood” says the stall owner, as he serves each of us a bowl of freshly prepared ‘maggi’.

 “Have you ever tasted the ‘roti’ made on a ‘chulha’ ? It’s way more delicious than the one you make using LPG cylinders!” he remarks fondly.

I silently muse over an entirely different perspective these mountain people have about comfort and happiness as compared to us city dwellers. These are people who sweat it out (okay, that’s a mere figure of speech!) all day, savour their warm ‘rotis’ along with family sitting beside the warm ‘chulha’  and in the evening enjoy their little chat session with friends over a cup of ‘chai’  and a puff of ‘beedi’.  They are people with minimum needs. Simplicity is the essence of their lives. It is this very simplicity that makes them genuinely happy people who perpetually seem to sport an effortless smile over their weather beaten faces.

Dense fog soon begins to obscure the already blurring dark silhouettes of towering deodar trees. It is finally time for us to bid goodbye and leave this merry little gathering. Our cab takes the little path that meanders down the hill, back to the warm comforts of the hotel.

My heart however, is still lost somewhere amidst those solitary mountain peaks. My footprints in the snow must have already been wiped out; memories of Dainkund however, have been etched till eternity!