Parvati Valley is endowed with the best which nature can offer. Nestled in
Kullu district amid gushing river and towering mountains, the valley is the
last word for those who want to explore themselves and their surroundings
Amitabh Shukla
River
meandering through the mountains at a rapid pace, green and wooded valley, snow-peaked
mountains in the horizon, an area full of fun making youngsters from all
nationalities, Gurudwara and temples, hot water springs—that is in short Kasol
and Manikaran for you.
One
fine summer morning, I decided to drive down to Kasol, of which I had heard a
lot but never visited earlier. Of course, Manikaran, 4 kms from Kasol was in
the mind for a long time as I had heard about the place for the first time a
quarter of a century ago from friends who had visited it then when I was in
Delhi University.
So
there it was—driving through Punjab’s Mohali, Kurali, Rupnagar and Kiratpur
Sahib, it was a right turn towards Himachal Pradesh and the first halt was
Swarghat, just as the climb began in the hill state. Whenever, I pass through
this belt and it has already been at least four occasions, I stop at the state
owned Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation’s restaurant cum hotel
here, named “The Hill Top” for breakfast. Not that they have some great chefs
who serve excellent breakfast but for the simple fact that it has a parking lot
and there are no decent restaurants for the next 2 hours of drive.
In
this belt, it was a tough drive on the road at this time of the year simply
because of numerous overloaded trucks which were moving at a snail’s pace
uphill and occasionally downhill. If you overtook one, there were two and three
ahead to overtake. Forced to follow them at a slow pace, the situation improved
slightly only after Bilaspur where a cement factory is located and several
tucks were either going there or coming from the place. Then, there were loaded
oil tankers going uphill and spewing black smoke in the serene surroundings.
It
was Sundernagar, Ner Chowk and then Mandi, the town on both sides of the river
Beas. All of a sudden, a newly constructed stretch of a four-lane road appeared
and the driving pace improved significantly. After crossing Mandi, the
topography changes even as the Beas river is on your left first and then on
your right when you cross a Bridge near the Pandoh Dam. Climbing uphill once
again, we reach a place from where the Pandoh dam is visible in all its
magnificence and you could make out even the small contours of the dam
spreading in different directions in the month of summer.
A
tunnel measuring almost 3 km in Aut was almost dark with traffic moving at a
dangerously high speed. With no dividers or lights inside the dark tunnel, it
was scary for a moment before I exited it at the other end, focusing on the
traffic ahead and the road. The temple of Hanogi Mata was next and we paid our
obeisance even though going inside the temple was not an option at this point
given the rush of vehicles and a mini traffic jam on the road here.
Soon,
we were in Bhuntar, known for its small airport besides the River Beas, which
has facility for the operation of small commercial aircrafts and this is the
gateway for Manali, one of the most popular tourist destinations of the state.
I crossed the Beas River once again on the busy and crowded Iron Bridge and it
was here that for the first time I saw River Parvati which merges with Beas and
creates a Sangam. Both the rivers—Beas
and Parvati—have entirely different colour, one was brownish with plenty of mud,
the other was blue with a hint of green. In Bhuntar, they become one after
traversing a lot of distance through the mountains.
After
leaving Bhuntar, you only have an uphill drive with the River Parvati on your
left side throughout the journey. The width of the road is narrower and also it
is in bad shape at several stretches, making driving a bit difficult. At some
stretches, you have to put the vehicle in back gear to allow the incoming
vehicle enough space for crossing. But the more you drive uphill the landscape
becomes all the more serene and beautiful with the wonderful valley welcoming
you with all its sincerity. Now the river is visible at some spots even though
a thick growth of deodar trees blocks its sight at other places.
Reaching
Kasol after a drive of nine hours in the afternoon when the sun was still
shining bright, the first task was to find a hotel in the small but overgrown
village, teeming with tourists from far off places in the peak summer month. I
got into the first hotel and asked the booking clerk for a room. “All booked,”
was his two word reply, as he did not bother to look at me. Then it was another
hotel. “Sorry Sir,” was his brief reply.
Now,
I was alarmed. “Will I get a room or not?” the thought came even as I pondered
on other options, including a drive downhill to the highway hotels on the way
to Kasol. I never book hotels in the hills while driving, even in the peak
tourist season, simply because I know that if I have a vehicle, I can drive at
least 100 kilometers looking for a place to stay and I have never met
disappointment. Then the third hotel too did not have a room. But when I
finally reached a hotel called “Sun and Wind”, the booking clerk nodded when I
asked for a room and I settled the deal, making an advance payment for a day.
Not a great place to stay but it had a clean wash room and at least I had a
roof on my head for the night. In any case, my prime motive always has been to
explore the place where I visit, to enjoy the surroundings and nature which the
place offered, not staying in luxury places.
The
backpacker hub of Kasol has a busy market catering to the culinary and
aesthetic taste of the young tourists from the country and abroad. Use of
Hebrew signboards by several shops, restaurants and hotels clearly suggested
that a lot of Israelis visited the place and they were there all over the
place, soaking in the atmosphere which the valley around Kasol provided. It is
also supposed to be a hub of narcotics trade as the plant grows in the wild and
villagers around several inaccessible areas around the place even cultivate it.
Many Indians and foreigners come here for what is known as the Malana cream,
the narcotic which is named after Malana Village, which is supposed to be
inhabited by the Greek soldiers who were left behind when Alexander the Great
came to conquer India in the years before Christ. I did not trek to Malana or
Kheer Ganga, the popular trekking destinations this time, leaving it for my
next visit.
Visiting
a new place brings the overenthusiastic kid inside me to the fore. Slipping
into one lane and then the other, watching a tributary of the Parvati heading
to merge with the main river, massive stone boulders on the banks of the Parvati
tributary, the fast flowing cold water, a fish making its way through the
boulders, perhaps Trout. You got everything you asked for in a perfect weather.
The market was full of local handicrafts, loose clothes which the foreigners
and increasingly Indians on holidays like to wear. It had bags of all hues,
caps, hats, walking and trekking sticks, camping equipment, souvenirs…were
there for sale. One shop in particular was quite popular and a small crowd of
young men and women, girls and boys had gathered around it. Not surprising, it
was a shop selling Beer, Wine and Liquor.
Then
I moved towards the Parvati through an under construction nature park. Sitting
on a huge boulder, next to the swift flowing current, you could hear the river
speak to you in its own unique language. It was intense …Was it a brilliant
Ravi Shankar playing the Sitar or was it Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia on the
flute or the brilliance of Lata Mangeshkar singing a song from the 1950s. Well,
it was a combination of all those and much more. Sitting besides the river
makes you talk to her and she too engages in a conversation with you. The only
condition is that you have to hear her in silence and then speak to her even
more silently.
Crossing
the Parvati on a small iron Bridge was exhilarating. Strong winds caressed my
face while the smell of wood from the Deodar trees was all pervasive as I stood
in the middle of the Bridge, sometime looking to one bank, then to the other
and also at the incoming river with all its might from a distance. I was
transfixed as I kept standing right in the middle of the rickety Bridge which
was also being used by the mules to transport goods to far flung villages of
the region. My concentration ended after a while as I moved to the other side
of the river, took a stroll around the banks and then returned back as the sun
decided to take a well deserved rest for the day.
As
evening set in, it was now time to explore the culinary delights of Kasol. While
walking the streets, I had located a particular kiosk on wheels, on the side of
the road, which boldly proclaimed “Trout is available here” and had made a
mental note of it. There was no looking back as I went to the kiosk and asked
the cook- cum-owner whether Trout was available. “Yes Sir,” he said, as he
brought out a Trout from the container below and showed it to me. It indeed was
Trout fish, available mainly in the fast flowing rivers of Himachal Pradesh and
Kashmir valley in India. “It is fresh, caught today in the morning,” said
Rakesh, the owner cum-cook who identified himself when I asked his name. “Go
ahead and prepare it,” I told him, as Rakesh showed me the plastic chair and
table which he had put up in the vacant land behind his kiosk.
Rakesh
was not more than 25 years of age but made a good businessman, as he took
orders from other guests. He marinated the Trout in a coating of spices and
lemon, kept it for a few minutes on the table and then inserted it in the
Tandoor. I sat on the chair, watching the moon break through the clouds. Then I
saw the stars though the clear sky—small shining stars, thousands and millions
of kilometers away. Some were big, others small. The dialogue of a film came to
my mind. “When the ancestors die, they become stars…”
Star
and moon gazing, concentration and chain of thoughts came to an end as Rakesh
brought in the Trout with freshly cut raw onions and chutney. It was as good as
it could possibly be, perhaps better than the one I had in Manali a couple of
years ago. A street dog was roaming around the kiosk, waiting for the fish
bones. I fed the bones to the hungry dog and ordered another Trout. Time was no
constraint, I could wait endlessly, gazing the moon and stars which were much brighter
now. The next Trout came in half an hour and my evening meal was complete. “You really cook Trout well and it was indeed
fresh,” I told Rakesh. He smiled, “two months of summer are very good for
business,” he said, as I waived at him and headed for the “Sun and Wind”.
Getting
early in the morning has become a habit of late, irrespective of the time I go
to bed. Slipping into a walking shoe, track pant and a warm half sleeve jacket,
I head to Manikaran, 4 kms away for my morning walk, sharp at six AM. There was
no one on the road at that time. I walked alone for a km when I saw an ascetic,
clad in saffron clothes at a distance ahead of me. He stopped for a while and I
caught up with him. Rama Shankar as he identified himself was from a village in
Punjab and a vagabond Sadhu. He was walking for the last two days, on his way
to live for at least two months in a temple in Manikaran. He was no philosopher
and could not offer any insights about life or spirituality to me despite repeated
prodding. “Life is a long walk,” was all Rama Shankar could offer as his
philosophy in Hindi, heavily loaded in his Punjabi accent. I nodded in agreement,
as the popular Gurudwara of Manikaran Sahib was visible now.
Getting
down from the road through the steep steps, passing through a parking lot built
by the Gurudwara management, I entered the Gurudwara and saw dozens of people
taking bath in the hot water pool inside the complex. The water was warm as it
was mixed with the natural boiling water of the springs of Manikaran. Hundreds
of devotees were already there to pay their obeisance. While driving to this
place, I had seen several groups of Sikh youth on their motorcycles with
saffron headgear and a flag tied to their two-wheeler on the way to this
popular shrine. Covering my head with handkerchief, I went inside to pay my
obeisance.
Wandering
around, I saw the plaque about the historicity of the shrine. Guru Nanak came
here along with his disciples Bala and Mardana in 1574. Guru Gobind Singh too
came here with the Panj Pyaras while residing in Mandi. The Gurudwara was built
when Saint Narayan Hari reached here in 1940 looking for historic places
associated with Guru Nanak. The plaque says that while undertaking cleaning
work, he had a vision of the Guru and he received directions to start langar
(community kitchen) and construction. As the terrain in those days was
extremely difficult, Baba Narayan Hari brought construction material from
Bhuntar and his effort of 50 years is now reflected in a seven story Gurudwara
building.
After
my obeisance, I went to the other side through something resembling a sub-way
or a small tunnel. Next to the Gurudwara was a Shiva temple located in the
midst of boiling water from the sulphur springs which abound in this area.
While those offering their services in the Gurudwara were cooking rice in big
utensils in the natural boiling water, the devotees were dipping small packets
of rice and gram in the water to have it as Prasad. It wasn’t tourism here or
sightseeing, it was purely a divine connect which had brought hundreds of
people to the Gurudwara and the temple.
Returning
back to the concrete structure of “Sun and Wind”, I thought it was time to move
to eco-friendly tent camps located next to the Parvati which I had spotted earlier.
It was called “Saanjh Camping” and had around 15 separate tents, each having a
double bed room and an attached washroom, next to the swift flowing Parvati.
You could hear the loud thud of the water falling on the boulders at the sharp
incline, near the camp.
Throughout
the day, it was roaming in Kasol and then coming back to the camp late in the
afternoon to sit besides the river and simply look at the marvel of nature. “It
is melting glaciers and snow which forms a river in the mountains,” my
geography books had told me in the high school. The water was ice cold as I
looked at the snow peaked mountains in the distance from where the glaciers had
apparently melted to form water streams and then a river. There was complete
silence, except for the chirping of a variety of birds. But, they were not
disturbing me rather they were a part of the entire natural set-up. I inhaled
the fresh air, there was a smell of fresh wood may be some wild flowers too
were around which I could not see. I kept sitting and sitting on the boulder
till sunset and till mild darkness enveloped the area. A camp fire was lit now,
guests were playing guitar and singing while another group of guests were
dancing to the tunes of latest Bollywood numbers. Dinner was included in the
camp package and then the adventure of sleeping in a tent was something to
cherish even as light showers and a mild thunderstorm swayed it mildly.
Next
morning walk again had to be to Manikaran. A chilly wind was blowing and a
little mist had enveloped the area. Walking uphill, a flock of sheep and goats
practically greeted me and blocked my way. They were enjoying, playing with
each other, even fighting each other and were going uphill to spend the summers
in the meadows around Kheer Ganga and beyond it. To discipline the flock, the
shepherd was repeatedly banging his wooden stick on the iron crash barrier on
the sides of the road.
The
shepherd was dressed in a Himachali cap, jacket, cargo pants and shoes. He was
Dharam Singh, 32 years of age, commanding a flock of 145 sheep and hill goats
along with his brother Sumer Singh. “We are coming from the lower areas of
Mandi district and will be in our village uphill till snow falls in October,”
Dharam Singh said in his Himachali accented Hindi. He sells sheep hair which is
used in making wool and also the goats and sheep for meat. “See this, it is six
months old and commands a price of Rs 4000,” he indicated towards a small sheep.
“When I come back in October, its size would be almost double and I would get
around Rs 7000,” he continued.
Dharam
Singh talked about his encounters with leopards and wild Bear, terming both as
dangers for his flock. “I have this…” he showed a thick wooden stick. “But more
than that, you need a brave heart to fight the wild animals and frighten them,”
he bragged, indicating towards his chest which clearly wasn’t 56 inches broad.
“Only once was my sheep taken away by a leopard in 15 years of sheep grazing
and that too when I was sleeping at night,” he continued. As he moved uphill
towards Barasini, I bid a goodbye, thanking him for sharing his tales.
It
was again a walk through the entire length and breadth of Manikaran. At several
places, I saw hot water springs, oozing from the mountains. I touched the water at one of the temples and
it was boiling and could have burnt the fingers. The entire area seemed warmer
than Kasol due to the hot water springs. I saw the river and the hot water was
mixing with the cold Parvati River and there was water vapour emerging at the
meeting place. At some distance, I again saw hot water entering the river from
a spring, creating an illusion of sorts.
The
trip could not have been complete without having the langar at the Gurudwara.
Squatting on the floor, rice and dal with Kadhi was served to us, cooked in the
hot water springs. Nothing could have been tastier as I finished it and then
poured a glass of hot tea from the container. “Blessed,” was the only word
which I thought at this point.
After
the journey came to an end, I went through the Bucket List which has been
etched in my mind for long. I simply put an imaginary tick mark on
Kasol-Manikaran. But it doesn’t mean, I won’t come back to the place again. I
will, for sure, as I have added two trekking destinations to the Bucket List. (July 9, 2018)
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