A cottage in the hills - Oct 2011

Deccan Herald has published an edited version of this piece in its Sunday Travel section. The original is reproduced below.

I wake up to the song of a Whistling Thrush and open my eyes to see the faint light of dawn coming in through the large picture window that I have left partly uncovered. Time is of the essence. I do not want to miss the sun rising over the hills in the distance. In a few minutes, I step out of my cottage, warmly dressed, camera ready, with a hot cup of tea in my hand.

The October mountain air is cold, crisp, and clear and carries the faint scent of pine. Jungle crows have now joined with their hoarse cawing.

In front of my cottage, a paved stone path meanders its way down into the valley far below. On one side of the path, the hill is terraced with fruit trees, the Orange and Lemon trees laden with fruit. The other side borders a pine forest.

Warmed up with the tea, I walk towards the orchard, now teeming with activity. Hooded Shrikes, natty Tits, imperious Bulbuls, elegant Sparrows and tiny frenetic Munias, White Eyes and Flycatchers are flitting about the fruit trees making it difficult for me to focus my camera.

Towards the north, I see a snow-white chisel edged form sticking out above the trees on a distant hill, too regular and straight edged to be a cloud. I climb up above the cottage until I can get an unobstructed view and see a line of snow-covered peaks come into view, far above the green ranges, golden tipped peaks of the Greater Himalayas reflecting the morning sun. The chisel edge, it turns out, is the peak of Nanda Kot (Nanda’s fortress).

To its west connected by a long ridge appear the unmistakable twin peaks of Nanda Devi. Nanda Devi at 7816 m is the tallest mountain entirely within India. (Kanchenjunga is taller, but on the India-Nepal boundary)  In subsequent days, I slowly begin to realize the enormous hold that Nanda Devi exercises over the people of this region.

Nanda Devi at dawn (Almora)

As the morning progresses, the bird activity subsides and I am quite content to pull out my chair into the gentle warm sun in the small patch of green outside my cottage and delve into a book.

Birds may have become quiet, but not the cicadas and crickets who keep up their chirping throughout the day. I hear a tapping sound from the pinewood adjacent to my cottage.

Needing a break from my reading, I head in the direction of the noise, treading softly. I am soon rewarded with the sight of a Brown-fronted Woodpecker, a Himalayan resident. Towards mid-afternoon, the sun disappears over the top of the ridge and it rapidly starts to cool down. It is the right time for some physical activity.

I am in Almora, a former capital of the Chand rulers of Kumaon, which dates back over five hundred years. I have not come here with sightseeing in mind, but to escape the terrible air and sound pollution that is usual in the megapolis where I live at this time of the year.

Almora is quite unlike the ‘hill stations’ established by the British which now mainly cater to tourists. It has a large permanent population and has several old market places and temples. However, my cottage is not located in the city, but on a ridge overlooking it, well away from the crowds and traffic. 

In fact, to get to the nearest road, I have to walk through a stretch of pine forest, a stiff climb that invariably leaves me gasping for breath. The cottage comes with a kitchen, but the easier option is to eat food cooked by Gopal (who manages this place along with his father) in his restaurant.

It is from Gopal that I find out about several half day treks from the cottage  on ‘pag dandi’s’ ( unpaved foot paths or trails) – to the famous Chitai Temple along a path that skirts a ridge leading to the east; to the stream at the bottom of the valley and so on.

This afternoon, I decide to stick to the paved road and walk to the ancient Kasar Devi temple. It is a pleasant walk all along the top of the ridge, now bathed in the afternoon sun. I climb the hill to the temple and rest for a while absorbing the panoramic view of Almora from a height. As I return, it gets dark and it seems that every dwelling wears a garland of colored and blinking lights. Almora, all decked up for Deepawali is a beautiful sight.

A walk to the stream (with no name)

On another day, I venture forth into the valley. I start on a paved path winding downwards. Some way on, I come across Sundar – a boy who helps Gopal run the place - filling drinking water from a natural spring coming out of the mountainside.

Further down, the paved path gives way to an uneven trail leading down through tiny villages with a handful of houses. The pine trees here look positively comical with stacks of hay clear off the ground tied high up to their trunks – to preserve the fodder through the harsh coming winter.

At the outskirts of the village is a neat little temple with its pyramidal roof painted a bright pink. I see some movement on the trunk of a pine tree. A little bird with a long curved beak, its skin the color and texture of the bark, is creeping rapidly up the tree in mouse like fashion. I later find out that this Himalayan bird has a most appropriate name, Bar-tailed Tree Creeper.

Balta Village

As I approach the bottom of the valley, a larger village comes into sight, perched on a hillside. From a distance, it looks neat and planned, with houses set in rows at different levels. They are large two storied structures with several rooms, tiled sloping roofs, doors and windows painted in bright colors – sky blue and green.

I encounter a woman with a sickle sitting by the path. She asks me where I am going and points to the villages in the vicinity – Vintola and Balta. She is from the village, Bhuluda. She then starts to unburden herself.

Three months back she bought a cow and yesterday was the first day that she let it out to graze by itself. The cow did not return home and she has been searching for it since early this morning. Wiping involuntary tears from her eyes, she says she will be satisfied even if she comes across its carcass, but finds it hard to accept that the cow has simply disappeared.

I wonder aloud if someone could have stolen it and she dismisses my thought. I am at a loss on how to comfort her. As we part, she requests me to spread the word about her lost cow to people I meet on the way.

A little while later, I reach my destination. A bright pink little Shiva temple stands between two mountain streams that merge. It is a beautiful setting for a temple, gushing water on two sides and the pretty village of Balta perched behind on a hill. A pedestrian bridge, freshly painted in ochre and white vertical stripes crosses the stream into the village of Vimtola.

I strongly feel like a cup of tea, but Vimtola does not have a chai shop as I find out from a villager grazing his cows and goats. He graciously offers to make tea for me at his house, but he lives some distance away from the spot and I do not want to put him out. He speculates that the missing cow could have been killed by a leopard (yes there are leopards in the forests here), but dismisses the thought that the cow could have been stolen.

The way back to my cottage is one long uphill grind for an hour and a half and I am pleasantly exhausted by the time I reach my cottage. I think about the children of Vimtola who have to walk this route every school day to get to their high school in Almora.

Nanda Devi above the clouds (Binsar)

Nanda Devi Folklore

Yet another day, I spend the morning walking the trails in the Binsar bird sanctuary, an hour’s drive from my cottage. From a gap between trees, Nanda Devi appears ethereal, floating above the clouds. The southern wall of high peaks and ridges that ring the main Nanda Devi peak forming the almost impenetrable Nanda Devi inner sanctuary is also discernible.

I wander into the Forest rest house complex and the caretaker offers me some tea brewed from fresh oregano leaves he collects in front of me in water from a nearby mountain spring. He tells me that there is no water shortage in Binsar because of the Oak (banj) forest. When we talk about Pine forests, he explains that Pine’s suck the earth dry and it is difficult to find water in them.

I am mentally transported to an evening I spent a couple of days back with a renowned archaeologist and scientist who lives in Almora. Over tea, he explains to me how local folklore in the hills captures and transmits practical knowledge and tells me a folklore related to Nanda Devi.

Almora - Khairna road stretch

Nanda is a goddess, but in folklore, also a simple village girl who pines for her mait (maternal home) just as every other girl.

On her way to her mait, she rests under a chir (pine) and asks the tree how far it is to her home. The chir gives a rude reply and is roundly cursed by Nanda, ‘No plants will grow under you, no animals will eat your leaves, no birds will build nests on your branches and no bees will ever make their hives in them’.

When she stops under a banj (oak) tree, it welcomes her and asks her to treat its canopy as her own home. Nanda blesses the oak, ‘You will always remain green, birds and bees will make their homes on your branches, water springs will always be nearby your shade’.

A week passes in no time and I must return – but I could stay on indefinitely here in this charming place with its gentle people.