Vivek Sharma
India Today Plus; 1997

Each year, the travel load becomes lighter. Gone is the time when visiting Sangla and Spiti valleys meant being outfitted for an Everest expedition, carrying everything but the kitchen sink. With the scrapping of the Inner-Line permits which has to be obtained in Shimla (even for Indians), progress has come fairly rapidly, bringing with it creature comforts only dreamt of before. No more bring-and-erect-your-one-tent, no stubborn fires to be lit, or holes to be dug. Indeed, no water purification tablets.

With no great regret, I say a permanent farewell to dank, depressing government rest houses and their daily alu-daal fare. Instead, I can steer my Tata Sierra to a new and welcome destination- Banjara Camp. The brochure made it sound like Alpine Heaven. Swiss cottage type tented luxury. Hammocks swaying amid acres of flowers. Freshly caught Baspa silver squeezed from the famous Kinnauri apples. Heaven can't wait. Neither can I.

The brochures were not far wrong. As we make our after noon arrival, we are greeted with an unheard-of luxury-hot water for a wash or bath. Equally rejuvenating after the hill drive was the bottle of beer chilled in Baspa river flowing past the camp, accompanied by fish barbecued on skewers. The bonfire under the star-studded sky was the perfect way to end our first day and a refreshing night's sleep, with the Baspa murmuring a gentle lullaby right next to our tent.

By afternoon, murmur had turned into a growl. The peaks visible all around have began to melt and the river is in torrential flow as the day advances. On the nearby slopes, the mighty Deodars sway in the breeze. Barely 24 hours, and Sangla has already begun to reveal its incredible natural wonders that were once only accessible through the rare footage on the likes of Discovery Channel. The first time I came here was with the college Geography Society. I have returned almost every year since then, drawn like a magnet, to this stunning part of Himachal Pradesh. Now that I can stay in relative luxury, the attraction becomes all the more compelling. If your favourite summer fantasy is mountains. You've come to the right place. A climb to the Kandas (meadows) is the best of the towering peaks and snow clothed slopes. Leave the Swiss-Alpine comparison to the locals. The Kandas, where must dwell, are infinitely better. On the grasslands, herds of yaks or sheep dot the unlimited expanse with the occasional dongris (herdsmen's huts). Here, savour the mountain-fresh air and the scent of the pine trees, with a stray snowflake drifting down from the awesome ranges. At times, sound carry for miles; the occasional whistle of a herdsman and the bark of his mastiff.

The kandas are a day's climb from Sangla. From the camp, these seemed like large stretches of moss, freckled with tracts of colonial pines. It is the last lung exhausting climb through a bushy bridle path, which leads to an oasis of tranquility. For those less adventurous or less fit, the climb can be negotiated with the help of pony. Either way, the sight at the top is worth the effort. The herds of yaks, nimble-footed goats or the churu (a cross between cow and yak), seem oblivious to the else, secure in their own private heaven which, for a brief the magical moment, is yours as well, even though you feel like an intruder. Here, all is well with the world-no crowds or concrete, pollution or panic. Just nature, wondrous and wild, the way God made and intended it to be. Exhausted after the climb? A glass of yak's hot milk is served on arrival and then just sink into the deep pile of the cushioned meadows, smelling the heady fragrance of the distant flowers.

As an orange sun dissolves into a silver sky, the chimneys of the dongris begin to billow smoke as the hearth fires light up. Dongris are the summer home for the herdsmen. They retreat to their permanent homes in lower-lying villages by Dussehra. Like the herdsmen, we rise early, with the sun-anything later would be a criminal waste. Picture the scen as the eyes open-row upon row of brightly coloured flowers stretch into the distance, a dazzling rainbow of colours, bright reds, sunny yellow, baby pinks and purple, pale blues and leafy greens. The bonus is a rosy-cheeked little girl clutching a bunch of flowers, which she offers to my wife. "Phool", is the only world we can understand, but it is adequate. Just as no word can adequately describe this breathtaking place, the little girl seems to belong here, along with the flowers and the meadows, a fairy plucked out of the pages of Hans Christian Anderson.

The beauty of the Sangla is that one is not restricted by well-defined tracks or pathways. Just pick up your camera, some sandwiches, a thermos of juice or water, and start walking in any direction, heading towards the ranges all around. Attempting to reach the end of the meadows is like chasing a mirage. The higher we go, the more the meadows mock at you. At 3 p.m, we decide to call it a day and return to base camp. And what a day it has been! On the way, my dog leads me frantically to a sight rarely seen by man except in wildlife parks a pack of wolves gnawing away at the carcass of a goat. The trek back is literally a breeze. What took us six hours to climb takes a little over an hour on the return journey. Back at the campfire, there's sizzling soft lamb meat and a glass of cider waiting, waiters to attend your needs, life is perfect and at peace.


The camp itself is located on a patch, which is surrounded by the Baspa river on three sides. A 10 minute stroll from the road-head through orchards and over a log bridge leads to it. The camp is near Batseri village and Ojha urges a visit. But my personal favourite is Chitkul village, some 18 km away, to me the most beautiful hamlet in the entire area Sangla valley. It is the last village before the army outposts on the border, nestled at the foot of the trek to Kinner Kailash (a five day walk). The Kailash Parikrama is a solemn occasion in the life of the locals. Bur from Chitkl, the valley expands into a kaleidoscope of images-visible as far as the eye can see and if the winds permit, in the distance, the majestic sight of glacial high-rises.

The inhabitable architecture here consists of wooden houses, raised above the ground, sheltering the local Negis who are of Aryan-Mongol ancestry. They are hardy folk, as they must be, considering the extreme climate and terrain. The valley is snow bound for over three months a year, with mercury dropping to sub-zero levels. Cash cropping and apple orchards have brought prosperity to the area, and with it, education. Each village, including Batseri, takes pride in sending their sons and daughters into the Indian bureaucracy. Polyandry has been socially practiced in the region, but in waning in the face of efforts to keep families together and avoid disputes and divisions of land. Earlier, only the eldest son in the family was formally married. Though the Badri Narayan temple at Batseri is the center of tantra, the dominating visual influence is Hindu idol worship with strong underlying presence of Buddhist monks who alternate among doctors, philosophers and masters of religious ceremonies.

No visit to the region is complete without a trip to Sangla village, above which an amazing piece of architecture clings precariously to the mountainside. Beautifully carved wooden pillars support the tower temple-fort of Kamru. This sentinel of time has zealously guarded the valley's pristine dignity from evil spirits. So the locals believe. Till the Bushahar capital moved to Sarahan and later to Rampur, this was the seat of power. Virbhadra Singh, the present chief minister of Himachal Pradesh, is a scion of the Bushahar royal family. The main gate of Kamru village has an image of Buddha whose blessing are sought before entering the fort. Outsiders must wear red threads around the waist before entering the complex. The weaponry and remains locked through the year. The deities, bedecked in all their finery, are taken out only on festival.

Back at the camp, Sud tries to get me hooked on angling, even fishes out the rods and I nearly bite the bait. Hard-core anglers would ignore all else to spend the day fishing for Baspa's famed silver trout. But they would miss the magical walks into the woods. The camp, however, provides plenty of alternate activity for those happy to just laze around. There are all-day scrabble sessions, volley-ball in the evening, and for the literary minded, even poetry recitals and reading from Shakespeare.

There is still final Shangri La to be explored - Spiti. The road is a series of serpentine curves to Karcham-the confluence where Baspa mingles with Sutlej. Reckong Peo, 26 km from Karcham is the district headquarters of Kinnaur and a good place to replenish rations, chocolates and locally produced chilgozas (dry fruits). I am told chilgoza grows only in Iran and Kinnaur. We depart with greater haste than we arrived, heading for Kalpa and a grandstand view of the mountains. Kinnaur is home to three mountain ranges - the Dhauladhars, Central Himalayas and Zanskar. This is the unique thing about this region: within hours of leaving the Sangla valley, we descend into an entirely different terrain, cold, rock-hard desert. The only features that are common are the rivers.

Our destination is the Banjara property at Tabo. On the way are two notable stops, Ribba and Nako Villages. Ribba's claims to fame are its vineyards and distilleries. We replenish our cider and at local recommendation, add some famed grape brew. Nako (altitude 2950 m), boasts a natural lake where the glacial water flows into a geological bowl. The local monastery has been constructed at the site of the old one, destroyed in quake in the 70s. The village is well known as the resting place of the 8th century Buddhist Scholar Padmasambhava, the first disciple of Buddha to go to Tibet. A pair of feet and hands embossed in rock offer testimony. The drive from here is awesome. The road, ladder-like, is not easy, with bad stretches and dep, intimidating gorges. Descending again, we cross over to the other bank of the Sutlej and the valley narrows into a gorge. The road winds upward into giant overhanging cliffs and intimidating rock formations. Negotiating these curves can be a little unnerving.

From the confluence we part ways with the Sutlej. The river flows from Tibet to the source of the Indus and Brahmaputra rivers-the holy Mansarovar Lake, near Mt. Kailash, the mythological abode of Lord Shiva. The Spiti river flows for 135 km, fed by the glaciers above Kunzum La, the 4575 m high leading to Lahaul district. The checkpost at Sumdo, only 20 km from the Chinese border, is the official entry point to the district of Spiti. We hit Tabo village (3050 m) by sundown.

Tabo was the center of international attention in July 1996, during the Tabo monastery's millennium celebrations and the Kalchakara initiation ceremony led by Dalai Lama. That was the first time I realized that Tabo was more than a visit-it was an experience. The village was bedecked with people of transnational ethnicity: Israelis, Scandinavians, Koreans. Also, the spiritual, the spirited and the Vagabond. A fragrance of colours and sounds pervaded the land, the maroon cloaks of lamas and chomos (nuns) lending the dominant hue. Tabo was the center of a spiritual confluence. And for its simple people, an unending festival of joy. The Tabo monastery, built in 996 A.D. is a complex of nine temples, 23 chortens (stupas) and separate chambers for monks and nuns. The temples, including the Dukhang (assembly hall), has life-size stucco images of the Buddha and other deities of the pantheon, besides sculptures, frescos, murals, ritual objects, thangkas and manuscript. Influences of India, particularly the Kashmir school of art, are reflected in the works. Hence the title-The Ajanta of the Himalayas. This time, however, we are in for a shock. Tabo is a study in contrast. We see the wind-swept silence of an inward-looking culture. Its 100 homes have quietly settled into the evening. There is a forlorn tract on which I drive into the village. The single-storied sandstone and mud building of the 1000-years-old monastery stand in a poll of silence, of darkness. I urgently need the comfort of Camp, a nightful of stars and some cider to get over this desolation that has suddenly gripped me. Ojha, who was also here during the festival, delivers a quick, if grim, diagnosis: "Exposure to two sets of extreme."

The valley around the Tabo flows into an uncharacteristic openness. The barren mountains of scree and rock seem to undulate with the sun's rays as they playfully pierce the clouds. The winds whisper through the distant, snowy peaks, past the green patches of farmlands and the golden poplar leaves, caressing the villages in the valley. And on a full-moon night, nature, in her haunting glory and stark beauty, can strike you dumb. Spiti is sparsely populated- just one person per kilometer. People usually live in flat-roofed, double-storey mud huts, the lower floor mostly occupied by the livestock. Spiti practised a unique system- primogeniture. When the eldest son in the family got married, he inherited all the property and the parents were sent to an out-house. The younger siblings had to turn lamas or chomos. With education coming to Spiti, this custom is on its way out, as with the earlier religiosity.

Spiti's 80 inhabited villages hold many records. The highest motorable village, the highest post office and even the polling station (during the last general elections) in India are all here. Besides, there is also Asia's highest hydel power project at Rong Tong which is a feat of engineering. The Banjara Camps in Tabo are nestled a little away from the village.

We head for Kaza, the district headquarters of Spiti, on our way to Dhankar, Kye and Kungri monasteries. But it is the drive to Kibber, the highest motorable village, that offers the best views-if your vehicle or your resolve can stand the narrow, steep climb. Kye monastery perched on a hilltop is picture-postcard perfect. If time permits, then a trek in the Pin valley and Pin national park, home to the famous snow leopard, Ibex, pika and the Tibetan red fox, is an absolute must. The mobile unit of Banjara camps had left this morning to set up camp for us at Sagnam, just a kilometre beyond the road- head (Mikkim). So our trip to Pin can only be for one night. It is clearly not enough, Pin is beautiful beyond imagination. Mostly barren, like the rest of Spiti, but dotted with junipers and poplars. And flowers, covering entire slopes. Time passes too swiftly to catch sight of snow leopards or savour the beauty around us, and we say a reluctant farewll to Pin. I agree with Ojha's observation: "The sanctuary is so beautiful, human entry should be banned here." With some honourable exceptions, of course.

The Sangla Spiti sectors were opened to tourism very recently. For centuries these areas were islands of a rich, unspoilt civilization. The bio-diversity of this geographical mass and the social milieu of these tribal belts require extremely sensitive handling. These valleys are, in tourism terms, the last frontier. Only the adventurous have ventured here in the past. This has helped preserve the region's natural beauty and breathtaking scenery. Now, with the added advantage of well organised and eco-friendly tented camps like Banjara, these valleys combine adventure with comfort and the opportunity to spend an unforgettable holiday in the lap of the gods.