Deepavali in Naggar - Nov 2012

(This was published in EPW Sept 12, 2015 Issue ... reproduced below with photos)

Deepavali is only a few days away and the uppermost thought in my mind is to get away from home. For home is a teeming metropolis given to an orgy of uncivilised celebration, assaulting the senses, poisoning the air and making the vulnerable sick. 

Hurtling through the night in a volvo, I manage to put enough distance behind me. The morning finds me in a local bus making its way up slowly on a winding road on the left bank of the Beas.

Naggar

The Kulu valley is just a few km wide here with hills rising steeply on either side. The flat area near the river and the lower hill sides are dotted with habitations. Apple orchards fill the open spaces, the trees in their winter form, bare and leafless.

In an hour or so we reach a busy market place. The village of Naggar is located up a hill a short walk from here. Naggar will be my refuge for the next few days. A road heads upwards with many switch backs. I lumber along with my backpack. Near the top, I locate a family run guest house which has a room with a view.

And what a view it is! Sitting on the balcony, I look down upon the Beas flowing far below. Across the river, the hills rise in layers with scattered snow marking the tallest peaks. The room is cold but the sun splashed balcony perfect. I can spend the days here easily doing nothing. 

But Naggar is not without other attractions.

The Castle

 Dominating the village is a dignified old rectangular structure, made entirely of wood and stone, grandiosely named ‘The Castle’. Once the palace of a Kulu Chieftain, it was appropriated by the colonial administration and is now a state run hotel with beautiful views and expensive rooms.

The courtyard of the ‘Castle’ contains a pretty little temple - known by the name Jagatipatt - that houses only a stone slab with a special significance. The courtyard and temple are deserted today, but in a few days I will have occasion to see the place again in a different light.

Just a little further on the winding mountain road going past the village is an art gallery, once the home of the renowned Russian painter Nicholas Roerich. I spend an interesting afternoon immersed in paintings of Himalayan landscapes and peoples.

The temple in Rumsu

The same road continues its way up to the ancient village of Rumsu which has well preserved structures built in traditional style. I thoroughly enjoy a morning visit to Rumsu.

A steep cemented staircase leading off the road provides a shorter path to the village. As I gain height, the distant brown hills take on a golden hue in the morning sun. The air is filled with birdsong. A school boy races down past me. It is 7.30 in the morning and people are already out working – collecting hay for their horses and cattle, laying out the golden corn cobs on their roofs to dry in the sun. I pass the village temple, a beautiful tall structure of wood and stone and then reach the main square, a large open space with more old temples. At the other end of the village there is an area fenced off with a small shrine in its midst and a sign warning people against entering for the devtas reside here.

 Deepavali day arrives. Stepping out for a morning walk, I see a group of men in traditional Kulu caps collecting at the Castle entrance. The sound of drums and trumpets emanates from within. There is perceptible excitement in the air. I decide to join the group.

The Jagatipatt temple in the courtyard is the centre of the action. The courtyard fills up rapidly. I learn that a visiting devi – accommodated in the temple overnight - will now depart. It is a very special occasion for the people of Naggar. This devi has come here after 370 years!

An elaborate ritual is now played out.

A band of musicians with long curved trumpets and large drums stand facing the temple, playing their instruments. The palki is taken out and readied. A white lamb brought for the occasion is sacrificed and its head offered to the devi before she is moved into the palki, now resting on the shoulders of two strongly built young men. Village elders gather around.

An elder takes up a litany in Kului; the crowd supports his supplications when he pauses. I understand enough to make out that he is pleading with the devi not to leave. The palki sways in the direction of the exit, indicating the devi’s wish. Other elders take their turns, pleading. The crowd is sombre, moved by the entreaties, awaiting the inevitable. A burly priest who has all along been conducting the ceremonies in a business like fashion starts sobbing. The time, it appears, has come.

Young men bearing flags lead the way out followed by the musicians. Then comes the palki escorted out by the people from Naggar. The procession, perhaps a hundred strong, marches swiftly downhill. I join in, revelling in the energy of the crowd.

The marchers are warm and friendly, recognizing me as an outsider. I am invited to come with them all the way. That is when I learn that they are on a really long march. The destination for the day is Kullu, 25 km away! The devi will reach her final abode in the mountains only tomorrow and she has already been travelling for 8 days!

At the next village on the route, I bid goodbye to my fellow marchers and take a bus back to Naggar. The walk to my room takes me past houses decorated with pleasing arrangements of leaves and flowers. It promises to be a beautiful Deepavali day.

The Chanderkhani Pass trek - 1 Nov 2012

I had already spent several days in Naggar recovering my lung capacity with small walks down to the market and up towards Rumsu and the idea of a trek over the Chanderkhani pass was beginning to get hold of me. When I sounded out the owner of my guest house, Bhalla Ji, he was initially discouraging. He felt it was too cold to camp near the pass. Instead, he suggested that I should take a day hike up to the pass and return to Naggar for the night. I however did not find the idea of returning from the pass very appealing.

View from Chanderkhani Pass

A day or two later, I was able to get a better picture of the possibilities, during a morning walk in the company of a man from Pulga, a village beyond Rumsu. Locals starting early, according to him, regularly got to Malana over the pass before sun down. He also acquainted me with the possibility of taking a pony or hiring a tent and sleeping bags – both of which could be done at Rumsu. Bhalla Ji meanwhile had arranged a meeting for me with Hira, a young man in his employ, who was also a trained guide. Hira confirmed that we could get to Malana in a day and my plans were made.

Rumsu (2200m) – Chanderkhani Pass (3525m)

We leave at about 6.30 am from Naggar. A warm-up walk to Rumsu the previous day had convinced me that it would be prudent to get a drop to Rumsu in a car, saving perhaps a half hour and a steep climb. Hira has arranged for a car and we are on our  way from Rumsu (2200 m) by 6.50 am, carrying only day bags with some water, food and extra warm clothes.

The first part of the trek is through a forest. There are many paths immediately above Rumsu and I am happy that I have a guide. As we go up, the snow capped peaks of the further ranges of the Dhauladhar across the Beas valley become visible. We pass some nice camping sites. With some more altitude gain, the Beas valley right up to Manali unfolds before us. I feel the beginings of a cramp in one of my legs. We stop at 9.30 am in a nice sunny pasture at a height of 2950 m for our lunch and that gives me some time to recover.

Beas Valley extending to Manali

As we move up further, we encounter a sprinkling of snow that crunches under my boots and solid ice blocks near water trickling from a mountain spring. At a height of about 3100 m, Hira startles a Monal and it takes flight and gracefully glides over the deep valley distancing itself from us by hours in the matter of a minute. The vegetation has started changing by now and all one can see is bare Bhojpatra trees and Rhododendron shrubs.

The sun is blinding and I am thankful that I have not forgotten my shades and sunscreen. For the first time, the pass becomes visible as a long ridge almost transverse to the direction we are walking. With further height gain, only the Rhododendrons are left and still further up, only a thin layer of browned grass. We reach what appears to be an entrance gate to the Chanderkhani top area marked by piles of stones on either side at 1 pm. It has been a fairly easy trek - but tiring, climbing 1400 ms over 13 kms in a period of 7 hrs!

'Entrance gate' with the Dhauladhars in the far background

The path now follows the top of the ridge which divides the watersheds of the Beas and the Malana/Parvati rivers. For the first time, the latter watershed becomes visible. While the access to the Chanderkhani top has been gentle, on the other side, the ridge falls steeply. Rock piles in the shape of pillars mark the top at several places along the ridge. Looking north, a line of jagged rocky peaks with snow is visible, somewhere in the direction of the source of the Parvathi and Malana rivers.

We reach a large grassy open space in which are obviously planted stones of different shapes and sizes arranged in no particular order. Hira points to a stone planted by him on an earlier trip. He explains that the local villagers consider this to be a sacred area of the devtas. I sit down to enjoy the view and rest my tired legs.

A little ahead, sheltered by a rock, a group of villagers are enjoying a meal they have cooked right there. They invite us to share their lunch. I am not particularly hungry but Hira seems keen, so I ask him to go ahead and join them.

A while later I join the group. They are from a village a few kms south from Naggar and made their way here yesterday with two goats. Their night stay was planned in a cave nearby but apparently their was no water there, so they ended up melting snow for water and spending the night in the open huddling around a fire! This morning, after sacrificing the goats as an offering to the devatas, they have just cooked a meal of rice and meat and Hira gets to enjoy a part of it. Hira had guessed as much from afar and that was the reason he was very keen to join them. 

Two goat skins with traces of blood are lying on the ground near where we sit. The better part of the meat has been packed in huge sacks to be carried back to the village. Hira assures me that it will not spoil in the cold weather. The food was tasty, but would have been hot for me, he tells me.

It is close to 2 pm and I am keen to get started. I have been warned that the descent to Malana is very steep and I am more than a little worried, given the tiredness in my legs. We bid goodbye to the group and move towards a natural gateway with pillars on either side that marks the point where the path leaves Chanderkhani top.

A map showing the trek route - Rumsu -> Chanderkhani Pass -> Malana -> Jari


Part 2 - The harrowing descent to Malana

   

The sights and sounds of Naggar

I am the only paying passenger left on the bus overnight bus from Delhi as it pulls into the busy Kulu bus stand - a handful of others left in the bus after Mandi are all employees of the bus company. I climb into a brightly colored bus which is going to Manali but that is not my destination. The bus crosses over to the left bank of the Beas and makes its way up slowly on a winding road.

Naggar

We drive through the Kulu Valley, just a few kms wide, with hills rising steeply on either side. The area near the river and the lower hill sides are continuously dotted with habitations. Apple orchards fill the open spaces – the trees bare and leafless in their winter form.

A little over an hour into the ride, we reach a busy market place and this is my stop. The ancient village of Naggar, the capital of the Kulu state for a thousand years, is located up a hill a short walk from here. A road heads towards it with several switch backs. Just across from a large structure called the 'Castle', I locate a family run guest house which has a room with a view.

And what a view it is! Sitting on the balcony, I look down upon the Beas flowing far below. Across the river, the hills rise in layers with scattered snow marking the tallest peaks in the far background. It is cold inside the room but beautiful in the sun splashed balcony. One can spend the better part of the day doing nothing here.

A courtyard of the Castle

But there are many things to do and places to visit in Naggar. First on my list is to check out the curiously named ‘Castle’. In a few minutes, I stand before a dignified old rectangular structure that is entirely made of wood and stone – with no cement or iron in evidence, anywhere.  A large board explains that this was the residence of the royals of Kulu state when Naggar was the capital. It has now been converted into a state run hotel.

I discover that the best way to enjoy the Castle is to sit in its open balcony and have lunch. A corner table allows me to soak in the graceful courtyard of the palace and the vast expanse of the Beas valley below.

The departure of the Devi

On Deepavali day only a couple of days later, I have occasion to visit the Castle again. Stepping out for my morning walk, I see a group of men in traditional Kulu caps collecting at the Castle entrance. There is a perceptible excitement in the air. The sound of drums and trumpets emanates from within. I decide to abandon my walk and join the others who are now entering the Castle.

One of the courtyards of the Castle has a tiny temple with the name of Jagati Patt and this is the scene of all the action. A devi who has taken temporary residence at this temple is about to be carried back to her permanent home. I learn that it is a very special occasion for the people of Naggar for the devi has come here after 370 years. An elaborate ritual is about to be played out.

A band of musicians with long curved trumpets and large drums stand facing the temple, playing their instruments. The palki (palanquin) is taken out and readied. A white lamb brought for the occasion is sacrificed and its head offered to the devi before she is moved into the palki, now resting on the shoulders of two young men. Village elders gather around.

An elderly man takes up a litany in Kului with others responding to his supplications when he pauses. I understand enough to make out that he is pleading with the devi not to leave. The palki sways in the direction of the exit, signaling that the devi wishes to leave. Other elders take their turns, pleading. The crowd is somber, moved by the entreaties, awaiting the inevitable. A burly priest who has all along been conducting the ceremonies in a business like fashion starts sobbing. The time has come.

Youth bearing flags lead the way followed by the musicians. Then comes the palki escorted out by the people of Naggar who bid goodbye. The procession, a hundred or more people strong, marches swiftly downhill. I join in, reveling in the energy of the crowd.

The marchers are friendly and invite me to come with them all the way. It is then that I learn that this is going to be a really long march. The destination for the day is Kullu, 25 kms away! It is only the next day that the devi will reach her abode in the mountains and she has already been traveling for 8 days! Reaching the next village, I bid goodbye to my newly made friends and take a bus back to Naggar. The morning has offered far more than I could have imagined.

Art in the Himalayas

Just a km up on the winding mountain road is the house which Nicholas Roerich, the renowned painter and humanist made his home. It now houses an art gallery with several of his paintings. I spend an afternoon absorbing the works of a man who was in love with the Himalayas and conveys its mystique. I am transported to a bygone era - of poets, reformers, dreamers, philosophers – who dreamt impossible dreams.

Next door to Roerich’s house is ‘Uruswati’, an institute he established to document the traditional medical knowledge of the Himalayan peoples, among other activities. What was once an Institution with international connections is now a museum, with all scientific activity abandoned after Roerich’s death in 1947. I leave feeling sad at how the dreams and efforts of such a pioneer could not be sustained in independent India.

Rumsu

Yet another day, I set out at dawn on the road going up from Naggar. A Himalayan Thrush whistling away a merry tune is the first bird up. The brown peaks across the Beas start taking on a warm golden tinge. I confirm from two men warming themselves around a fire that I should take the steep cemented staircase leading off from the road.

As the morning advances, the range across the Beas is brightly lit up. A pair of snow peaks peeps over the brown hills in the far north. The air is filled with birdsong. A school boy goes racing past me heading downwards.

The temple in Rumsu

Walking past a neat school building, I enter the village of Rumsu. It is 7.30 in the morning and people are already out working – collecting hay for their cattle and horses, laying out the golden corn on the cob on their roofs to sun dry. I pass the village temple, a beautiful structure in traditional style and then reach the main square, a large open space with more old temples. At the end of the village there is an area fenced off with a small shrine in its midst and a sign warning people against entering the area of the devtas.

The sacred forest

A shopkeeper points to the path that leads to Chandar Khani pass - with its reputed views of the Dhauladhar and Pir Panjal ranges – that I will take tomorrow. But for today, it is time to return. On the way back, a flock of magpies in an orchard tease me, always managing to stay out of reach of my camera.

Chanderkhani pass trek

An old piece on Naggar from the Deccan Herald