Manali Missives 48/2014 Summer in Himalayan India

Manali Missives 48/2014

Summer in Himalayan India

Summer has come again to the Indian subcontinent. At the beginning of June a new record maximum of 47.8°C was noted in Delhi. It was hot enough when I, madly, started a game of frisbee in Connaught Circus, the heart of Delhi’s shopping precinct, in July, 1981; Delhi is notorious for its ferocious summers. But nearly 48°C in June? That is insane! At coffee after work yesterday a young doctor gave a previously unmentioned reason for doing another short stint at the hospital in Manali: in her hometown, Ludhiana, it reached 50°C!

Having survived Manali’s long-drawn-out winter we are now revelling in the relative mildness of its climate. Mind you, 30°C would be quite enough for some but when I returned from trips to Kashmir and Shimla recently it was great to see all the foliage on the deciduous trees and rose bushes everywhere in full bloom. And the mornings are still cool. When I’ve gone running in the forest during the few days I’ve managed to be at home it’s been almost chilly, and the mass of melted glacier water rushing down the Beas River and its tributaries makes the air above frigid. 

The high peaks around Manali are still snow-capped, and Rohtang Pass, 50 km north of the town, remains difficult and dangerous to cross. Having finally done so last week, en route to conducting medical camps in the Lahaul and Spiti valleys beyond to assess needs and report back to the Himachal Pradesh government, I can say that the roads up to the famous, 4,000 metre high pass on both sides are narrow, precipitous, and at points resemble fire trails. Traffic jams can develop at a moment’s notice as passing vehicles, most of them driven by newly rich middle-class Indians in cars of their own or by hired tourist operators, trapped between rock wall and precipice on crumbling road, manoeuvre, sometimes with only centimetres’ play room. Frequently someone further back in the queue, impatient and unaware of the drama being played out ahead, decides to overtake as many stationary vehicles as he can, assuming that he’ll be able to get back in line at some stage. That, of course, completes the bottleneck, which can then take hours to clear. But the spectacular Lahaul valley beyond was more than worth all the trouble.

While not over-impressed by many of the private drivers and tourists operators - there are cowboys who have no idea about or regard for defensive driving - my admiration for India’s truck and bus drivers has been reinforced. I didn’t drive over Rohtang Pass, but since we returned I have driven 6 hours southwards to an ordination service at a place called Kotgarh. This involved passage over a number of similarly narrow, precipitous tracks, including driving twice on the same day, there and back, over Jalori Pass, rated one of India’s most dangerous roads. Lena and I first traversed it while returning from Shimla a couple of months ago. Several times I met vehicles where the road was simply too narrow for us to pass each other, so one of us would have to back until we could get enough vehicle off the road (without, of course, going over the edge!) so that the other could pass. Human character is writ large on India’s roads!

So over the past two months we have been avoiding India’s intense summer heat, not simply by mingling with Manali’s annual influx of tourists, but by travelling in the highlands. In mid-May we visited Srinagar, the capital of famed Kashmir. While the trip involved some descent, and the Kashmir Valley is warmer than Manali, Srinagar itself was pleasant. We took my Hindi tutor, Krishna, with us on the two day journey in SFX2, the Mahindra Scorpio SUV. Krishna comes from a village near the old British hill station of Dalhousie, so we stayed with his sister, sister-in-law and their families on the first night. Lena and I were given the double bed in one room, while the family of 6, including 3 adults and 3 small children (both husbands were away on duty with the Indian army) crammed into the second room, which had a double bed and a small sofa. Normal, incredible Indian hospitality that doesn’t even seem to realise that that is what it is!

The next morning we rejoined National Highway 21, passing so many wayside groves of jacaranda trees in full, purple glory, silky oaks and eucalyptus that we might have been in Australia, and drove to a city called Pathankot, which is where the 3 states of Punjab, Himachal Pradesh and Jammu & Kashmir meet. We waited a couple of hours there at the main bus stand for a diocesan worker to arrive from Amritsar with SFX2’s original certificate of registration. This turned out to be a credit card-sized, plasticised card which I wanted mainly to be exempt from the ₹300 “green tax” I’ve had to pay every time I’ve driven back to Manali.

We drove on, at first on dual carriage way over flatlands, which was fine until we had to deal with motorbikes, vehicles and ox carts coming at us on our carriageway; then on brilliantly constructed dual carriageway over increasingly mountainous terrain. The towering bridges and tunnels reminded me of Germany’s autobahns. But this being India the project is incomplete. Soon we found ourselves creeping up narrow, damaged roads in vehicle queues behind desperately underpowered lorries, and throwing up curtains of dust as we sought the least undulating routes across fields of potholes. Later again, as we made our way up and down roads that appeared to be but diagonal slits on the massive mountain sides we frequently had to wait as herders took their sheep, goats, cows, buffaloes and horses up to the pasture in the high country, recently uncovered as the winter snows melted.

We drove on into darkness, stopping at a rickety structure that claimed to be a tollbooth that took toll from foreigners, passing through a tunnel and out into the Kashmir, and negotiating another chaotic toll station that was in almost complete darkness. And on we went, down into the broad Kashmiri valley and on to Srinagar, growing tireder and more disgruntled until I decided to pray for help. Pulling up and asking directions of the first person we saw (At 11.30pm there weren’t many left on the streets!) we discovered that we were standing outside our destination! God has a sense of humour, it seems!

And then, more fabulous Indian hospitality. Mr Parwez Kaul, Principal of the Tyndale-Biscoe Boys’ School and Director of an association of 4 Christian Schools in Kashmir Valley (The others are the branch school at Tangmarg that was burnt down a few years ago, the Mallinson Girls’ School, located on the Tyndale-Biscoe School’s property and Kashmir Valley School) and one of his senior staff were there to greet us. They sat with us as the chowkidar provided us with dinner, and Parvez soothed our consciences about arriving so late by telling us that, because of Kashmir’s reputation for violence, they rarely receive any visitors, and the last visitors had arrived at 3am! He had never seen an angrez (westerner) driving in Kashmir, he said, which of course tickled my ego!

The following day we backtracked an hour to the John Bishop Memorial Hospital in Anantnag. This hospital was taken over by Muslim insurgents during the late 1980s, before being reclaimed by the current medical superintendent, Dr Sarah, a single woman. We were shown around and treated to lunch. On the way back to Srinagar I inadvertently held up a column of military police for about half an hour by refusing to allow them to push me off the road when overtaking. Clearly not used to this lack of deference they were not only very annoyed but armed to the teeth. Fortunately they had become so late for whatever their appointment was that they kept charging down the wrong side of the road, and I escaped with life, limb and vehicle intact! The following day we were taken sight-seeing, through wonderful Mughal gardens, and a Muslim centre that reputedly houses a lock of the Prophet Muhammed’s hair; in a shikara (like a Venetian gondola) on the famous Dal Lake out to one of the equally famous  houseboats; to the home of our guide, a Muslim school teacher, where we prayed for his sick mother; and then to Srinagar’s CNI church. The next day we were chauffeured “down the hill” to Jammu by Hilal, one of the School’s drivers. Never have I praised God so much for not having to drive! Early the following morning Hilal took a taxi back to Srinagar and we visited the Alexander Memorial School, where I spoke about my work with the Principal, Mrs Esther William and her teachers. We then participated in a delayed Mothers’ Day function, of all things! I resumed at the Scorpio’s wheel the day after; we left Jammu & Kashmir, got back mobile reception, and crossed the northern most corner of the Punjab and into Himachal Pradesh. A detour took us to Dharmsala, and McLeodGanj where the Tibetan government in exile is located. Our purpose, however, was to meet Carissa from Lena’s DaySpring church, who was in the area for a little while. After an early lunch with her and her friend Emily we continued to Kangra, where we met Rev Poonam Masih, the local “presbyter” (minister) and her husband Michael. And then, another 6 hours’ hard driving later, we were home in Manali.

My purpose with this trip was to establish contact with leaders of congregations and other institutions of Church of North India’s Amritsar Diocese in the state of Jammu & Kashmir in the hopes that they would invite me back to do some eco(theo)logical work. That paid off immediately. Parwez Kaul invited me to participate in the schools’ annual camping and trekking program in the mountains beyond Srinagar a few weeks later, and Esther William later indicated that she would organise a one day seminar in her school similar to the one that Mrs Vidhupriya Chakravarty, Principal of St Thomas’ School in Shimla, had by then accomplished. Making contact with Poonam and Michael was a bonus! I hope to return to Kangra.

But it was to Shimla I went only a few days later. There I was the guest of St Thomas’ School at a one day seminar on ecology that was the School’s contribution to Shimla’s sesquicentenary celebrations of becoming the summer capital of the British Raj. Some days later I represented the Uniting Church at the Amritsar Diocese’ triennial Diocesan Council, held in Auckland House, yet another school that I’m likely to return to. Soon after that experience I returned to Kashmir, driving to Jammu and flying to Srinagar, and participated in the remarkable camping and trekking program. Then off to the Lahaul valley. I don’t get many chances to share in Lena’s side of our project, but this experience was really valuable. And finally, that trip over dangerous Jalori Pass to Kotgarh where I shared the joy of 9 probationers being ordained. What a summer!

Today Lena and I will take a bus to Delhi, where the monsoon is due to arrive soon. We’ll miss that by boarding a flight to a winter-bound Sydney, where for 6 weeks we’ll reflect and communicate upon a remarkable first year of missives from Manali.

With much love,

Lena & David Reichardt