The Middle Land

Ever since travel conglomerates started facilitating economical holidays to destinations in India,the rush to Ladakh is almost menacing. This coveted destination might have become more accessible,bringing the economy in Ladakh on an upswing,but one cannot help but notice the euphoria bringing in abundant intrusion and an inability to handle the sheer numbers. While the hillsides in Leh get carpeted with packets of chips and plastic water bottles,unfortunately only weak judgements can be passed and nothing more.

Compared to the high traffic in Ladakh,the journey to Spiti had been pleasantly ­solitary. The drive in the lower Himalayas of Himachal Pradesh was predictably sinuous but beautiful. The lush topography ­transformed into the dry mountain desert area soon after we hit the Sutlej River. I had never seen such an enraged river. ­Perfect for rafting enthusiasts,it furiously roared over boulders for kilometers with us. One would imagine that it had gnashed its way through the mountains when the region was being formed. The Sutlej accompanied us on the dusty bone-rattling road until we hit Sangla. Like many others,we made a customary stop at the Mohan Meakin factory in Solan,which produces India’s favourite rum,Old Monk. Over copious pegs shared with locals in the village, we clutched onto the anecdotes of the region,hard for any traveller to miss.

After the stop in Sangla is when the Spiti valley visibly shapes into its sobriquet,‘The Middle Land’ — the land between India and Tibet. The composition of the community changes to more Buddhists,who acquired the religious lineage from the eighth century missionary,Padmasambhava. Monasteries like Tabo,Dhankar,Ki and Komik still have well-preserved murals,scriptures,frescos and artwork from centuries ago. The oldest amongst these is Tabo,founded in 996 AD. The Tabo monastery is wrapped in a sense of timelessness. Nine white temples surround a courtyard where one can sit for long,immersed in silence. The unglamorous daily rituals are elegantly performed and are soothing to watch.

Apart from the monastery,the small town of Tabo does not have much to see. Scraggy dogs accompanied us for cups of tea and biscuits from a German bakery. Apart from Maggi,this was the first travel cliché I had experienced on the trip. German ­bakeries that dot the travel topography of India in places like Manali,Hampi and Goa are a physical manifestation of the foreign footprint on these circuits. With nothing German about the cookies that we had,we were off to Kaza.

The eventual destination is even more appealing when you have bounced along on a dirt road for over five days instead of just flying in unceremoniously like one does for Leh. The challenging connectivity to Kaza is its most alluring part. The difficult route has averted the summer rush unlike in Ladakh,and I hope that an airport is not a part of the administration’s plan. Though the new part of the town comprises fresh concrete structures of administrative buildings,the old town is built around the 14th century monastery and is called Kaza Khas. Kaza Soma,the new town,is a few kilometres away and is not an eyesore between the traditional white houses. Kaza is the most ideal base camp for exploring Spiti. Trekking trails to villages like Langza,Komik and Dhankar are scenic and relatively unexplored.

After a night in Kaza,we started our trip to Ki and Kibber. Ki is said to be one of the oldest monasteries of the region and is perched at the edge of the valley,with the Spiti River flowing below. It was hard to miss the crows lazily floating in the breeze above this time-weathered monastery. The frescos here are said to be as old as Tabo but were in magnificent shape. What was really endearing about the afternoon was the community lunch being prepared by the lamas. We were jokingly urged to cut vegetables with them as they told us how one of the boys of the family will be sent to the religious order when he turns four. Many of them were now in their 20s and assured us that they had loved every bit of the rigorous life till now.

Another 10 km from Ki was the village of Kibber with a fascinating address. It is home to the world’s highest post office. The altitude made it slightly exhausting to climb up to this spot,but the game of cricket in a local school re-energised us for a swing by the Langza village next. Neat boards announce the entry to villages and inform people of the number of houses and livestock in the community. It is intriguing to see only a smattering of life so high up in the mountains,sustained by livestock and potato farming.

Stunned by the enormity of sustenance with such minuscule support in the mountains,it was a silent drive to the Komik monastery. It could have been the desolate surroundings,the bleak weather or just the austerity,but the monastery had a confounding aura. The men in the group were allowed to duck below a stuffed leopard hanging from the door,to enter the inner sanctum,leaving the ladies out as per the rules. The disappointment of not having entered the sanctum was compensated by some yak milk tea and a conversation to remember. As the sun collapsed behind the mountains,I brushed away the dust from my clothes and bid adieu to the monk who was showing us around. Though I was weighed by the “last few minutes” syndrome of travellers,I knew I had the ochre robed stories from this young lama to reminisce along the way to Manali.

Supriya Sehgal is a freelance travel writer