Following the Old Hindustan Tibet Road

Being an account of our "discovery" of the pleasures of the old Hindustan-Tibet Road

It is early October, the monsoon clouds have finally disappeared, and we are off on a relaxed family driving holiday to the beautiful Sutlej and Baspa Valleys in Himachal Pradesh, with two weeks in hand. The National Highway (NH-22) that goes all the way from Shimla to the far corners of Kinnaur and then heads north into Spiti, provides the access to all the places we want to visit and will be our constant companion. Intrigued by fleeting references to an old Hindustan-Tibet road that heads in the same direction as the National Highway but with a different alignment, I also have a plan to check out this road, but this I keep close to my chest.

Sarahan is our first two-day halt. I am keen to introduce my family to more strenuous physical activity than the usual morning and evening strolls around the hotel. After some probing, our hotel manager gives us directions for a trail that goes all the way up to Wangtu that is over 45 km by the highway. We intend to walk along this trail for a few hours keeping enough time for the return before dark.

Shrikhand Mahadev Peak seen from Sarahan

The trail starts from within the gates of a Sashastra Seema Bal camp, about 3 km from the famous Bhima Kali temple in Sarahan. Magpies in beautiful plumage dart about the Apple trees that stretch on both sides of the road. At the gate of the camp crowded with colorful signs extolling the detachment, a polite Havildar allows us to pass through after a query, with a farewell handshake.

The road is initially a jeep track. After we break out from the camp area, the path hugs a mountain range to our right while to the left, is the valley where after a while, Sutlej is visible, far below. We cross a group of children from a village named Humtu going to school - two girls and a boy, rosy cheeked and obviously lacking the guile of city children. They smile when we claim that we are walking to Wangtu. When we hear the name of the next village, Hemtu, it is our turn to smile.

Sutlej from the Sarahan-Wangtu trail

The jeep road ends abruptly at a waterfall cascading down the mountain. A single wobbly plank bridges the stream, just before it falls over the steep hillside. Across the stream, falling rocks and mud have obliterated the road just where it would have turned the corner around the mountain face and I begin to think that this is the end of the road for us. Once I actually get on the rocks, I see the path around the bend and things look better. After I cross the stream and rock fall several times back and forth, it begins to look easy and my family gains enough courage to follow. We have crossed our first hurdle.

The trail we are on is part of an ancient route, going back several centuries, that linked the capital of the Bushahr kingdom (which encompassed the present day district of Kinnaur), Rampur and its summer capital Sarahan with its eastern territories and Tibet.

I later read the journal of British surveyor and explorer Alexander Gerard who traversed this route in 1817 (just 2 years after Bushahr came under British control), and the account of adventurer Andrew Wilson who covered the same route in 1873. It is between these two visits that this trade route became known as the Hindustan-Tibet road. The British, it seems, were keenly interested in Tibet, and Alexander Gerard, among others, attempted to enter Tibet several times under the guise of exploration. This interest was perhaps the motivation for the British to widen and improve this road in the 1850’s to make it suitable for riding. The work was carried out using conscripted labor under a system labeled begari under which villagers were compelled to provide services to the British at very low fixed wages. By this time, the British settlement at Shimla had become the summer residence of the Governor General. The road now connected British Shimla through Narkanda and Kotgarh with the Bushahr capital Rampur and then followed the old Bushahr trail towards Tibet.

NH-22 and the old Hindustan-Tibet Road

Andrew Wilson describes the road he traversed in 1873 in these words: 

“The cut bridle-path, which has been dignified by the name of "The Great Hindusthan and Tibet Road," that leads along the sides of the hills from Simla to the Narkanda Ghaut, and from Narkanda up the valley of the Sutlej to Chini (now Kalpa) and Pangay (now Pangi), is by no means so exasperating as the native paths of the inner Himalaya. It does not require one to dismount every five minutes…..Nevertheless, the cut road, running as it often does without any parapet, or with none to speak of, and only seven or eight feet broad, across the face of enormous precipices and nearly precipitous slopes, is even more dangerous for equestrians than are the rude native paths.”

Walking along an enormous precipice, we certainly are. Once clear of the stream and the rock fall, the path becomes quite narrow for a bit, a ledge cut into the sheer rock face of the mountain. Far below, the Sutlej appears as an emerald green streak flecked with white where boulders lie 

  

in its path. Across the valley in the distance to the north are the snow peaks separating the Sutlej valley from the Pin and Parvati valleys. The sky is azure blue with cotton wool clouds. Now a little hamlet – a maze of houses with tin roofs in the midst of green – appears in view. We cross a pack of mules returning after depositing their load. From Sarahan the trail passes through several villages - Chaura, Taranda, and Nichar - to descend to the Sutlej at Wangtu. However, tempting as it is walk until we reach at least the first of these, our time is up, and we must turn back. Clouds have begun to form and radiate outwards from the snow peaks. We stop to have our packed lunch sitting on a natural stone seat with a grandstand view of the Sutlej from 4000 or 5000 ft above and then make our way back slowly. Just as we reach 

NH-22 at the Sutlej gorge before Wangtu

the outskirts of Sarahan, we see the same schoolchildren, with apple on their cheeks, that we saw on our way out, this time on their way home. The same sweet smile appears on their faces when we tell them that we are returning from Wangtu. By the time we reach our hotel, we have been out six hrs and trekked 18 km today – by no means a mean distance for a metro family. Next day, driving to Wangtu along NH-22, it becomes clear why the old route is located high up while the highway is only a few hundred feet above the river. Sutlej forms a deep gorge here with sheer rock rising vertically up from its left bank. NH-22 has been made by blasting a ledge in the hard rock; the old track to Kinnaur sticks to gentler forested slopes at a height.

The next opportunity we have to explore another part of the Hindustan Tibet Road is at Kalpa. After crossing the Sutluj at Wangtu, the old road ascends on the other side to a height of 9000 ft and then winds around through Roghi and Kalpa. We wake up early and start from Kalpa towards Roghi. The road is motor able; however, we elect to walk. The first part of the walk is through Apple orchards, the trees laden with fruit mostly the red variety. To our left, the magnificent peaks of the Kinner Kailash range rising to 20,000 ft, keep us constant company. Leaving the village behind, the walk takes us through a beautiful forest of pine.

We pass a mountain stream coming down from heights above. I spot a white capped water redstart hopping on the rocks near the stream. There are no habitations visible above and we fill our water bottles with Himalayan mineral water. Where the road takes a curve around a mountain fold, we can see Sutlej almost vertically below us.

Kalpa village from the old Hindustan-Tibet road

Apple orchards and children in school uniform playing cricket on the road announce the arrival of Roghi village. Alexander Gerard records in 1817 that Roghi had about 20 houses. Nearly two centuries later, Roghi does not appear to be much larger. There is only one shop in the village where one can get a cup of tea. It is the height of the apple season and the workers – invariably Nepali - are busy picking the fruit or sorting and packing it in cartons. Men in Kinnauri caps - with the green band - are counting cartons being loaded in trucks for transport, mostly to Delhi. Beyond Roghi, the trail gets rough and starts climbing. One of us is already sporting a swollen ankle – so we decide to head back. The trek down to the Sutlej must be left for a future trip.

On the way back, we look at the Shivling, a pillar of rock reported to be 79 ft high on top of one of the lesser peaks of the Kinner Kailash range, that the locals have helped us identify. Through the binoculars, the pillar is gleaming gold. As we set out this morning, it was black. Sporting different colors at different times of the day is part of the lore associated with the Shivling.

Children of Kalpa posing

The ancient trade route to Tibet goes past Kalpa to Pangi, Pooh, and Namgya – the last major Indian village on the route – then crosses the Shipki La to Shipki village in Tibet. In the heyday of trade, Chini village (present day Kalpa) served as the gateway to Tibet and the British meticulously recorded the value of exports and imports here. The war with China in 1962 sounded the death knell of trade through Shipki La, which has not recovered even after the formal opening of the route for trade in the early 1990’s. Another effect of the war has been the development of the new road, the NH-22 which has allowed us to drive down here.  But Kalpa is as far as we go. 

Next morning, a couple of Kinnauri women hitch a ride with us while we drive down from Kalpa to NH-22 on the Sutlej. In conversation, they add the descriptor Khacchar rasta (Mule path) to the Hindustan-Tibet road. 

A few days later, on our return journey to Shimla, we get a chance to traverse a third portion of the Hindustan-Tibet road. This time, we are traveling from Sarahan towards Rampur but instead of descending to catch the National Highway at Jeori, we head towards Gaura. We are on a beautiful but narrow motor able road that hugs to the mountain on its left and follows a level contour around the folds of the mountain unmindful of the extra distance to the destination. 

A village just off the Sarahan-Gaura road

British era engineering is very much in evidence in the meticulous paving of the hill sides to prevent land slides. There is no traffic but for the occasional passenger bus. The road touches little hamlets with quaint names such as Kinnu and Mashnu on the way to Gaura. Waterfalls abound by the roadside. At one spot, we maneuver our car under water falling in a roadside shower to get a free car wash. We drive slowly absorbing the scenery, stopping often to capture the image, of a narrow trellis bridge spanning a deep gorge, a picturesque village on the hillside, of birds that do not fly by in the city. 

The descent to Rampur is steep with hairpin bends and offers dramatic views of the Sutlej valley in the waning light. This is a road less traveled, but all the more satisfying for it.

Festivity in Chitkul

Deccan Herald Sunday Edition has published an edited version of my piece on Chitkul here. The original is reproduced below.

Getting to Chitkul has not been easy.

Chitkul is the furthest village one can reach by road up the valley of the Baspa, a river that originates in a glacier near the border with Tibet and flows through the Kinnaur district of Himachal Pradesh to join the Sutlej. Chitkul at 3450 m will also be the highest altitude at which we will stay during this trip through Kinnaur.

First, there is the spine tingling drive on the narrow twisting road climbing the Baspa valley to Sangla, with numerous blind corners and long stretches where the road is just wide enough for a single vehicle, with the cliff on one side and a sheer drop on the other.


Then just as we sight the Baspa dam at Sangla and begin to heave a sigh of relief, we find ourselves in deep trouble. The mountainside has been crumbling and dumping tons of mud and rocks on the road, destabilized further by this monsoons rain. Unable to find traction on the loose mud while on an upward climb, our heavy Toyota Qualis starts digging itself in, and the engine cuts out. Conventional wisdom to provide the wheels traction does not work and I have the lurking fear that the rear axle of my car has been damaged. The queue of vehicles on either side is growing longer by the minute. I am almost at my wits end when a Sardar, with a military bearing, gets out of his car and walks over. A quick look and he has it all figured out. I am happy to let him take charge. He reverses my car a good distance, then comes racing up the slope in first gear, slithering and sliding over the loose mud, but in control, getting the vehicle across the hostile patch.

With the knowledge that the worst of the road is behind us, we enjoy the scenic drive along the Baspa through the lovely village of Rakcham and on to Chitkul where the guesthouse we have chosen to stay in marks the end of this road, literally.

We have the better part of the afternoon before us and decide to take a walk along the Baspa upstream. Brilliant sunshine brings out our glare glasses and the strong and cold  wind, caps and mufflers.

As we leave behind Chitkul, we are in a wide valley stretching out on the right bank of the Baspa. On the left bank, the mountain slopes right down to the river. We pass fields where men and women are digging out tiny potatoes. In front of us, Baspa snakes its way up towards the snow peaks. Red and yellow-billed 

Temple for Goddess Mathi 

Chough – locally known as Pahadi Kaua (Mountain Crow) - keep us noisy company. Ahead of us is an ITBP camp, an orderly grouping of barracks with green tin roofs. Just short of the camp, a bland notice states in English and Hindi that advancing beyond that point is forbidden without permission. There is no one visible in the camp – the terse notice is presumably sufficient to keep people away. We sit for some time to absorb the colors of the river and the mountains and then wend our way back.

There is still daylight and returning to the room will mean we will slowly freeze until dinner. We sense that there is something going on in the village from the arrival of some official jeeps. On making our way to a ground in front of what looks like a temple  pavilion, we find a large number of villagers assembled, dressed in traditional clothes. Both men and women wear the distinct Kinnauri caps – flat and round with the green band – with flowers. Some of the women are wearing elaborate jewelry. As we watch, the men, women and children join hands and, in a line, head towards the main temple. The men are in the front, the   

women in the middle, while the children bring up the rear. The man at the head has been honored with a garland of giant shalgam (turnips) that seem to have been freshly pulled out from the fields.

At the courtyard of the main temple, a slow rhythmic dance begins – everyone takes a couple of steps forward and then a step back in unison. A drum and a cymbal provide the music. The beat is slow and simple and has a hypnotizing effect. The musicians and the men in the lead seem almost in a trance, completely absorbed in the moment. A young man goes around with a silver jug with a large spout and pours out a liquid, into the cupped hands of the male onlookers as some sort of prasad. I get a taste of the 

  

clear and fruity smelling brew. It is heady. The swaying movement, including so many people old and young, remains graceful with everyone in step. It is now beginning to get dark and we leave, slowly making our way towards our guesthouse. We have indeed been lucky to witness the concluding festivities of the phulaich (festival of flowers).

Next morning while my family prefers to sit and enjoy the spectacle of the snow peaks at sunrise from the window of our room, I decide to trek to the peak overlooking Chitkul. The path goes by the monastery – a little further up from the temple. A villager indicates to me to go around the monastery from the left instead of the right. Always sticking to the left around holy places ensures that in a return journey, one would complete a clockwise parikrama.

Little Chitkul residents at the dance

 Hinduism and Buddhism coexist in these parts and everyone respects both religions. I walk towards the water source of the village as directed. A pipe captures water from a stream some distance above the village and fills a tank from which other pipes take it down to taps in front of the houses providing them unfiltered pure mineral Himalayan water. The untapped water follows a course through the village before flowing into the Baspa. Beyond the water source, a path of loose gravel heads up the mountain. I miss the fork to the summit of the hill I intended to climb, but the walk is exhilarating in the early morning cold and I continue until a point where the Baspa valley north of Chitkul unfolds before me in a grandstand view. After a few minutes absorbing the view, it is time to head back for my original objective. I scramble up the hill towards the prayer flags that mark the summit. Huge boulders lie helter-skelter at the top of the hill.    

There is no one I have seen since I left the village over 2 hours earlier. The prayer flags, though, give me a sense of human company, planted as they must have been by human hands. The return journey is easier than expected. I slide down the slopes until I reach the well-marked path to the village.

Walking down along the stream through the village, I find the answer to a puzzle. Last evening, walking around the village, we had wondered over the purpose of several single roomed structures on stilts. I now realize what these are – water mills located along the downward course of the stream. I peep into one that is in operation to see flour being milled.

Soon, it is time to leave Chitkul, but in the span of a few hours, we have collected memories that will last years.

Kamru Village, Sangla Valley

Early morning, we start walking from our Sangla guest house towards Kamru Village (left), perched on the hillside in the distance. We reach Kamru Fort ( now used as a temple) before 8 AM and find it locked from the inside. The two pujari's are still busy at the lower temple at the center of the village and the Fort will be opened only when they complete the puja there and climb up.