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a floating Kailash, lost civilizations and shimmering peaks...
meeting the stream
 
 
 

Pot smoking Sanyasis, millions of Shiva lingas and a stranded barge ...
A Gupt Kashi 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

When I was offered a chance to have a quasi-divine look at Himachal Pradesh,  I wasn't the one to say no. Fascinated by them hovering machines since childhood and never missing an opportunity to inspect one from up close, the offer of a quick aerial jaunt  across the state on a helicopter, didn't exactly come as a surprise. I had been in Shimla for over a week with the Mescos Airlines people when they asked me if I was interested to fly across the state.  I would be taken to the town of Chamba where I would have to wait for two hours for the helicopter's return, whereby I would be flown back to Shimla.

It was in the heat of the Kargil war and a high level team of the Himachal law enforcement departments along with a few Central Paramilitary officers decided  to check the mountainous border with Jammu and Kashmir and detect infiltrators if any. Rumours about whom were then saturating the State's capital. 
They arrived in full force with maps, cameras, camcorders, binoculars and even an boxy Iridium satellite phone; in order to call home in case of a crash, I decided. The surveillance team however had other ideas and each member gleefully toyed with it, trying to make a call with no avail as it just refused to function inside the cabin. 

The machine which would transport us was a massive Russian Mi-172 seating 22 persons,  leased to the Himachal government by Mescos. Incidentally a similar machine was bought for Assam at an exorbitant cost by the erstwhile Hiteshwar Saikia regime and due to lack of operative necessity, was disposed off  for a fraction of its purchase price by the current government.

My presence was noted with question marks on the faces of all the official passengers, who kept turning their heads behind with clockwork presicion. However, as no questions were asked, I slipped into one of the most hedged seats in the rear of the cabin, right behind the auxiliary fuel tank, evading their subversive efforts in photographing me. The crew on their part  ignored my existence. Technically I was a stowaway.
Confused stares ended once the gargantuan craft lifted off with a slight shudder and a deafening roar of the twin jet engines and the thud of the giant rotors. A short fuelling stop at the tiny  Shimla airport and we headed north-west towards Chamba. 
In a short while it was time to yawn. The chopper flew very high and the flat landscape below was  faceless, occasionally scarred by a zig-zagging river or cut across by a hair thin line of an automobile road. 

For almost an hour the scenery remain unchanged and sparing the din of the motor which sounded like the amplified clamour of ten TATA trucks, there was little indication that I was on a helicopter. The passenger cabin was as big as that of a Dornier and the ride a hundred times smother then the Guwahati-Agartala filight on the same plane .

The monotony of the flight changed all of a sudden, when a giant wall loomed ahead of us as if the earth below suddenly leaped up to grab the metallic insect droning incessantly overhead. 

Obstructing our way was a snow peaked offshoot of the Pir Panjal range which stretches all the way from the Hindukush mountains in the northwest, across POK, Jammu and Kashmir, and diagonally cuts through Himachal Pradesh. The tall mountain chain in front of us was the south-western barrier of the Chamba valley. The aircraft started climbing  again to gain more altitude to cross over the jagged  mountain tops. The rotors blade's thud accompanied by a distinctive thud caused by the "ground effect" the sonic wave reflections from the ground, which was no more then a few hundred feet below. Outside, ravines, rocky clefts and small clumps of vegetation could be distinguished with naked eyes. Amidst the craggs were grassy hills where one could spot  the tiny dot of a shepherd and his flock, sometimes a lonely mountain top shrine. Clouds soon enveloped the area, rendering visibility to near zero. By the time the helicopter made its way out of  the white haze it was already landing on the sunny heli-field of the Chamba town.
My luck here changed for the better, as except for a brief visit outside to attend a natures call I was asked to remain on the craft and join the surveying efforts; unofficially.

The jet  engines whined again and the giant Mi-172 thundered up heading north west flying low towards the Sach Pass on the J&K border. The surrounding hills were thickly covered with a coniferous forest, sometimes giving way to villages and terrace cultivated belts. A river frothed on its rocky bed on the narrow valley bottom and tiny figures of people looking up at the noisy aerial intruder could be easily discerned. 
The relief gradually became harsher, vegetation decreased and human presence ceased altogether as the helicopter flew into the heart of the snowy outer fringes of the Zanskar range. The sky took on an unearthly deep blue colour, grey and black peaks jutted upwards besieged and scarred by white ribbons of snow, often blindingly reflecting the sun's rays. Beneath us were alternately vast snowdrifts, glaciers and the occasional glacial pools glistening like aquamarines and emeralds. Mountains stretched endlessly in all directions,  each elevation with its own distinctive feature. Some appearing to be hewn out of a single rock, others a pile of massive  rumble and sand piles with colours spanning from the darker shades of yellow to charcoal black.

The temperature inside the cabin also fell drastically, but considering that it was sub-zero outside, it was noting to complain about. Cameras started clicking and whirling, binoculars taken out and maps  unfolded. Two of the team members managed to shoehorn themselves into the pilots cabin, while others had their eyes glued to the windows.
The helicopter slowly made its way north and then north-east along the border weaving through the icy wasteland exploring the individual valleys and mountain ranges till we reached the Himalayan desert near Sarchu. Having been in the area before, on my motorcycle, inspecting the area from above almost had a homecoming feel to it. The highway to Leh  stretched across the desert crowded with streaming army convoys all eventually heading towards Kargil.

Differing drastically from the areas we had flown over, the desert stretch was almost entirely draped in brown and yellow hues. Arid brown cliffs capped by a layer of snow loomed above the sandy flats, interspersed by weathered rocky formations. Tuffs of white clouds hung motionlessly in the sureal pikish-purple sky, below a dried river bed awaited the arrival of the rains.
The aerial survey at this point was interrupted and the aircraft swung south, across the Baralacha La Pass towards the Buntar airport near Kullu. Being no economy beast, the Mi-172 was getting low on fuel . Filling up the massive tanks took over half an hour, while the dignitaries settled down for tea, subjecting themselves to a downright irritating display of ardour and dedication by the district's chief police officer. At one point the bright-eyed officer curtly told the helicopter crew to step outside, because he had something confidential to discuss  with his bosses. However seeing the pilots rise, the passengers too followed suit and smutty bureaucrat was left with his secrets undisclosed. Expressing my opinion that the officer was a fool, the flight engineer replied, Tole Ki Baba, Ora IPS. 

The Helicopter again flew straight north across the verdant Kullu valley, over Manali and straight through the Rohtang pass which stood like an opening into another world.  A narrow passage walled by two massive peaks and roofed by dense  clouds, it appeared much more threatning then when climbing it by up the serpentine road.. We continued to fly north over Keylong and Darcha towards the alpine Chandra Tal lake near the Baralacha La pass and turned east towards the Spiti valley. 

Here we again entered the Himalayan desert, only this time the inhabited section. There were some signs of culivations and being a Buddhist outpost, lines of prayer flags and Chortens were visible below. 

We returned via the Kunzum Pass and then following the course of the river Sutlej, reached Shimla late in the evening. While disembarking each of the law officers again subjected me to a scrutinious glance before wordlessly disappearing into their cars.