Footprints on the Mountainside

This post will be split into two, as there is plenty of content. I’ll focus this on the travel and the people and the next can be about the religious experience.

Getting from Sangli to Kule Narshingpur is a pain. First, there is a state transport bus journey to Islampur, which takes about an hour, and then there is the further journey by bus/rickshaw to Kule Narchingpur, which takes another half-an-hour.

We were lucky to find a luxury bus waiting as we reached the bus station at Sangli, and the journey to Islampur was comfortable and quick. Not much to do, except watch the kilometers tick by, and the wierd little conductor interact with the people on the bus in his singsong voice.

This region is all about sugarcane production, and we passed fields with sugarcane standing, or in various stages of being harvested, sugarcane loaded on tractors, bullockcarts, being stored….. whatever - sugarcane - and loads of it.

In Islampur, we gave up trying to figure out further state transport and simply hired a rickshaw to take us to our destination. The road was now bumpy. I guess the parents in law were not exactly comfortable. Raka was sitting on half the driver’s seat in the front, as these rickshaws are designed to seat only three, so I guess he wasn’t too comfortable either, but I was enjoying the ride through the countryside.

Narrow bumpy roads, blocked with bullock cart traffic - pretty heavy - we seemed to be waiting more than moving. Charming glimpses of the river, and all kinds of people chattering with our rickshaw man as we passed them. Very charmingly rural, if you overlook the not-so-charming ruts on the road.

Bullocks and goats seemed to be all over the place. Parked in front of homes having lunch, yoked, pulling carts, being loaded, unloaded…… I’ve never seen so many bullocks in one day.

We reached the home of the pujaris at our destination. Actually, the pujari on duty was someone else, but my parents in law had good relations with another, who wasn’t on duty, but we stayed with them anyway. I was surprised to find a Marathi family - I was expecting Kannada Brahmins (my in-laws are Kannada) like in Sangli. Apparently there are historical migrations and stuff involved and the seeming discrepancy was a normal state of affairs in such issues.

At least I could understand what was being said. I found myself feeling at home. The family were really charming people, complete with a really charming old widow grandmother - a typical joint family.

We visited the temple in the evening, and I have never seen such a charming location in this region (plenty in the Himalaya). What can I say, I’ll let the pics do the talking.

We left Mumbai by train and travelled overnight to reach Sangli. Uneventful, except for a hugely pregnant and very charming lady and husband occupying the remaining two berths in our “room”. We reached Sangli early in the morning and headed to the home of the priest in the temple we were visiting. We got refreshed (bath and silk clothes, etc) and went to the temple.

The temple is at a charming location on the banks of the river, that looks pretty nice, but smells something awful. The priests actually bathe in it as a part of their ritual cleansing - a thought enough to give me the jitters - it is probably cleaner not to bathe. Anyway, we bathed in a bathroom, so life was good.

Leaving the parents with their God, Raka and I skipped off for a quick tea and food break and discovered a restaurant called Swagat (meaning “welcome”) which was amazing for incredibly delicious food, and the lowest bill (Rs.54/- that’s less than a dollar and a half) for two people I have ever encountered for stuffing myself till I had vadas coming out of my ears. Overall, pretty good.

Floating along in the bliss of a stomach full of extremely desirable food, Raka and I returned to the temple to find that the puja was already over. That is really quick and efficient for these temples. We did the obligatory bowing and donations etc and it was time for lunch! I could swear that I couldn’t eat a bite, after what we were just returning from.

Fortunately, lunch at the pujari’s home involved a significant delay as it was prepared. Then it was time to give a “supache vaan” which is something I cannot describe. Suffice it to say that it is a collection of assorted items related with a female’s fortune in Hinduism, that we gave to the pujari’s wife. What I remember is a sari, comb, coconut, betel nut, betel leaves, kaja, rice, dal, jaggery, salt, some money, mirror, etc. Then it was Raka’s turn to give a dhoti and stuff to the pujari, and we were “clear”. Time to eat.

Food was good, except that there was a massive quantity of rice to consume with assorted dals and vegetables followed by sweet rice, spiced rice and finally curd and rice. I’d had enough ric for a lifetime by the time I was done with that meal.

After this meal, the only thing possible was sleep and all the four of us crashed for a nap in unworded agreemment.

My parents in law are staunch theists. They believe in the multitude of Hindu Gods and the places they need to travel in order to obtain their blessings. One such location is this trip, which is actually three locations. These are the family Gods of our clan. No matter where we go, these guys are supposed to have their benevolent eye on us.

Apparently, my father in law had ignored the Gods for many years, as had his parents, and bad times came on the family, when my husband was young. Then some astrologer told them that their fortune will change if they go and meet their roots - the Gods who look after their clan. Full of suitable repentance, and reverence, they did so, and claim their luck has changed ever since. Health, happiness and money flowed.

I am skeptical. Where is this flowing health when my mother-in-law needs to take some 12 pills at one time 2-3 times a day? Diabetes, blood pressure, …. Their explanation is it could be worse. It is a matter of their previous actions that is causing them to come to these experiences now. Heh. It could be worse whether you believe in God or not.

But regardless of their beliefs and ours, I really respect them for not forcing us to conform. Except for this one thing. It is quite common in India. Newly married couples go to the temples in their villages to pray within a year of the wedding and ideally, immediately after. In our case, this didn’t happen. We managed to keep avoiding this tour because we were busy or something or the other. But whoever has lived in India, with Indian parents know, that once the mother decides on something, obedience is inevitable. It is simply a matter of time

Raka and I don’t believe this nonsense. We are both atheists. But we do love our parents, and you know how it is in India…… if your parents insist long enough, obedience is inevitable. We tried all the excuses and explanations we could. We didn’t believe, if God is everywhere, what is the need to go to a specific place…. and so on. Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with our debating abilities. The parents believe that it is our divine duty and it must be done - never mind that we don’t believe - do the actions.

Whatever. We like the region and are ok with travelling there, but so many temples…..? I guess resistance is futile

So here we are. Leaving for Sangli tonight. By morning we will reach there. Then it will be a merry go round of temples and offerings. We will be supposed to show our gratitude to the powers that be for giving us good lives and asking for good lives

This promises to be very different. Stay tuned. I’m going to be back on the 9th and will be writing about this trip.

After a long season of slog, its the good, diyllic times again, before the summer vacations get us. We have plenty lined up for the summer, so Raka and I thought it was time to take a working breather.

Out came the trusty Hero Honda passion, and off we went - just the two of us, journeying because we wanted to, like the old times, and like we rarely get to go now a days.

Out first halt was at the Kamath Residency at Nagothane. It is a place we go to often and consistently like for the comfortable home like environment and outstanding food, which is getting rare, in a world of resorts which taste and feel like all others. We had a hidden agenda here. They are planning an extension of their resort facilities, and want to include an artificial wall as one of the offerings. Naturally, we were in on the discussions, and that was a pleasant evening well spent on talking passion of climbing and planning the ideal climbing wall.

The room itself felt like home. Not surprising considering that we have probably stayed in every room this place has over the years. Raka is trigger happy with the TV remote, and the rest of the evening was pure romance with the old Kamal Hassan, Rishi Kapoor, Dimple film - Saagar. Speak of flash back times, I practically grew up singing the songs from this one. Raka has a huge crush on Dimple, of course

Next morning, we were good to go on. We rode through the Tamhini Ghat, passing the multitude of camping facilities come up recently, right on, past the Garudmachi - the programme location of High Places, which of course was founded by Vasant Limaye, one of the oldest outbound training pioneers in India.

And we rode on….. the two of us and our trusted bike. That’s how we like to travel. Carefree!

The kilometers were ticking, the milestones were flashing, and we were in Pune, in time for the first birthday of the son of a very old friend. It was the time for flashbacks, and backslapping and cheer. We stayed with another old friend in Pune and spent the whole day watching Amitabh Bachchan films, while the poor chap slogged away in his office.

I contacted friends from ISABS in Pune, but didn’t meet anyone. Strange how I called when I was in Pune, but didn’t meet. The calling could have happened from Mumbai too. Go figure. Lazy time passes fast, and it was time to head homeward again, but not before my favourite halt on the way - The Japalouppe Equestrian Center. I usually want to stay here, but this time, we were short of time, so it was a quick couple of hours.

Japalouppe is special to me. I love horses and dogs, and this place has them both. Its a farm house cum riding school overflowing with life forms. The owner Rohan More, is a good friend of ours, and its a special thing indeed to catch up with another horseman and talk about horses - just like the good old times. Scratching dogs and being at peace was the chief agenda.

Rohan is planning a new climbing wall too, when he adds some facilities to the place, so we talked about that. Materials, location, planning…… dreaming is fun. its dreams that make us do things once they get urgent enough. We discussed various materials that could be used for the wall, and different ways it could be utilized in the scheme of things at the ever busy life in Japalouppe.

All too soon, it was our deadline to leave. Since we like to travel on bike, we also like to reach places before dark. its really not funny driving long distance on busy roads with trucks claiming ownership of the whole road, and bikers being as vulnerable as mosquitoes.

So off we went, in the direction of Mumbai. Our quick escapade out of Mumbai having succeeded in a most satisfying way.

This is a memory from a long time ago. Way before I figured out the internet beyond checking mail. This is a time when I was a nomadic horsewoman in the Himalaya.
I was living in the high pastures of the Kullu valley with my herd of horses. We were in the pastures below the Hampta Pass - about a 6 hour walk from Manali. The winter had been rough, and we were just camping out in the high altitude pastures where we leave them for the summers, supplementing their diet with some grain, to help them catch on on their health a bit faster.

What a place to be in! We were camped in the meadows at Juara. Alpine meadows - the air is crisp, the water is crystal clear and flows right through the pasture. A few empty stone structures that would later become nomadic tea stalls plus camps of herb gatherers dotted the scene, with sheer black cliffs rising on both sides in stark contrast with the lush comfort of the place. A place straight from some fantasy tale. Once could believe some nature spirits living here, particularly on moonlit nights, when the scene goes black and white, with the moonlight strong enough in places to register come colour. What a life - the horses living free around me, prancing with their improving condition. Pye, my bitch, by my side and the sounds of the stream for company.

The days were pretty idle. Feeding the horses a couple of times a day was no pain - they used to come happily enough for the treat. Beyond that…. not much to do. Cooking, enjoying the paradise I was living in, early to bed, early to rise. Perhaps an occasional visit to Sethan - the last village on this route, and the only fully Buddhist village in the entire Kullu valley, where my god-family lived. A timeless idyll.

Occupation came in an unexpected way. A gaddi camp was passing by, planning to camp a little higher than the pasture we were in. I recognised the shepherd, and invited him for a cup of tea. When he saw me, he decided to camp near our camp itself.

Over a cup of tea, I realized why.

A filly of his, had been attacked by a bear a week ago, and had been hurt badly. Originally, believing that she would die anyway, he hadn’t taken her to a vet. But she hadn’t yet died. She was in a bad way, with her wounds infected, and was struggling to keep up with the moving camp, to follow her mother. This was creating a problem, as the mare used to keep waiting for her, and slowing the caravan.

I had already gained a solid reputation as an animal lover, and my animals were often a point of interet for local livestock owners for the glowing condition I used to maintain them in. Plus, I was gaining a reputation as an enthusiastic “unofficial vet” from the knowledge of animal medicine I used to gather for the well-being of my horses in a land where vets were not easily available, and often very far from the place of need.

He wanted me to take a look at the filly and see if there was any hope for her, as well as see if she could be put down, if there wasn’t. I refused flat out to put her down, as I am not of the opinion that animals should be killed when they are fighting to recover. Plus I lacked the kind of knowledge and equipment it would take to put her down. I agreed to take a look and see what I could do for her.

We went out into the pasture and unloaded his horses to set up camp and then look for the filly. She was in a bad way. She was sleeping, exhausted at the end of the pasture without even coming to join the herd, once she saw that they had halted.

We got her up and brought her up to my tent and tied her in front of it. I started to take a good look at her and see what it was that I was up against.

She was a beautiful, black filly. Three months old, lovely conformation - she would have made a fine mare when she grew up, if she survived this scenario. Her rump and neck was covered with deep gashes from the bear’s claws, and a week of neglect had allowed infection to settle in. Most of the gashes had developed pus, and a couple had maggots in them. My whole being recoiled at the thought of having to clean up this mess.

If I had to save this filly, I had to do it, no matter how repulsive it was. I felt a surge of anger at the shepherd for neglecting her treatment like that, and vented my fury in choice words, yelling at him and his wife for being callous to the very animals that made their livelihood possible.

The filly stood there shivering from the early morning air and her exhaustion.

I made the couple promise to rest in the pasture for at least a week, before I would touch the filly - it was pointless to begin something, if it wouldn’t be sustained. As an incentive, I praised the quality of the filly, and asserted that she would become a very valuable animal and bring him good money and work very well, if she was helped to recover. This seemed to strike a note of interest.

I had some anitbiotic injections in my animal first-aid kit. I gave her a shot. She hardly noticed. Then I knew, that I had to get over my nausea and actually deal with those wounds, and took a look at my medical supplies. They were minimal. The anti-septic I had, would hardly deal with half the wounds she had before running out. The same with the creams. Now what? I shoved the supplies back into my sack, and kept only the bottle of phenyl. The rest would have to be home remidies (which was what I preferred in any case).

I made a strong solution of tea in a huge pot and used that to clean the wounds. Yes, I just plunged in, and cleaned them all thoroughly, pus, maggots and all, till the flesh showed clean. Some of the deeper wounds still harboured maggots - of that, I was sure, so I used some gauze soaked in phenyle on them to dress them. On the rest, I applied a light film of honey and stuffed them full with crushed garlic.

All done, I walked away from the tent area and puked.

The evening saw a repeat performance. On the next day, the maggot wounds were clean too, and they received the honey and garlic treatment, and by that evening, some of the lighter cuts had begun to heal, and the filly was acting more interested in life, and giving me trouble to catch for treatment But she seemed to understand that I was trying to help, so she flinched and nudged with her nose, if it hurt, but never tried to kick at me or hurt me in any way.

After that, I taught the couple how to do what I was doing, and told them that they would have to repeat this till ALL the wounds were healed, and that the filly could probably begin walking in a day or two.

They seemed to have got the point, and the two days were uneventful - so to say (not counting one of my fillies who seemed to be jealous of all the attention this one was getting)

The time was up, and the gaddi camp moved on, and the filly became another memory, until a few years later, when I ran across the same gaddi again. There was a beautiful mare in his herd - the one I had treated. I recognised her instantly and was happy for her. The couple put camp once more, to spend some time with me, and that evening, I was invited to a special dinner, where they thanked me with tears in their eyes for saving their beautiful mare.

Their animals also looked better cared for, since the last time. I was happy, that things had worked out well, and that they had developed some love and concern for the living factors in their “business”