The Hindu Business Line : Over the moon…

It’s dawn, and Manali is bathed in a soft drizzle as we get into our Sumo to drive to Rohtang Jot and beyond. The Beas, which flows through the town, is in spate, its waters overflowing the banks and leaving a muddy trail on the road. The deodars, a deep green in the early morning light, rise like tall spires and, as the sun’s rays begin to peek from the clouds, we see flocks of Himalayan griffon, their wide wings spread out to dry.

Bathed in sunlight, the mountains are verdant, the emerald pastures separated by gushing brooks and here and there a foaming waterfall cascading down, the nooks and crannies still white where the ice has not yet melted. Higher and higher we climb, the tyres straining to grip the slushy surface. It’s our driver Raju’s manoeuvring skills that get us past landslips where the road has narrowed, or where an errant stream has decided to cross over...

We’re at Marhi in time for breakfast. This conglomeration of dhabas with their colourful umbrellas, blaring music and the come-hither call of the vendors is a welcome stop — solace to the soul and stomach. While it’s the stuffed alu paranthas (just about the best anywhere) that soothe hunger pangs, it’s the tea — sweet, ginger-laced and piping hot — that pacifies the soul.

Hillside colours

Rejuvenated, we are ready to take on the next lap — crossing Rohtang Jot. There’s a shift in the scenery here. The trees give way to meadows vibrant in an array of hues. The showers have unleashed a spurt of wild flowers and the hillsides are covered in a carpet of yellow, pink, magenta and purple. Soon, however, a dense fog begins to move in and, within minutes, visibility is near-zero. Even though Raju knows every bit of the road, we move at snail’s pace, the dull yellow glow of the headlamps the only indication that a vehicle is coming by.

The veil of mist begins to thin as we descend on the other side, and by the time we are at Gramphoo the sky is clear once again. A break is needed to calm strung nerves, so we sit here for a bit, looking down at the valley where rivulets — slivers of silver — crisscross to create a medley of intricate patterns. There’s a dramatic shift in landscape. Devoid of trees, with just a smattering of scrub, we’re in a high-altitude desert.

Road to Spiti

It’s here too that the track bifurcates — one leading to the Lahaul Valley and the other to Spiti. Taking the latter, we zig-zag downwards in a series of twists and turns, the road is so rough it’s inevitable that we slow down. But there is plenty to take in. Herds of sheep and goats precariously perched, shepherds in repose with their chillums, flocks of orange-billed hill mynahs with their glossy black sheens flashing past, a brilliant blue sky and the mountains all around.

Soon we are at the valley floor, driving along the Chandra river that gushes past in a fury of sound. Alighting a few kilometres ahead of the steel rope bridge we walk the last stretch to Chattru, our camp for the day. It’s great to stretch our limbs and then settle down to glassfuls of lemon tea — a refreshing concoction the dhabawalas of Chattru are experts at churning out.

We set our tents by the river. As the sun goes behind the ranges it begins to get cold, and by nightfall, it’s chilly. Lighting a bonfire we sit wrapped in its warmth, looking at the mountains silhouetted all around, their jagged peaks reaching to the sky. Dinner over, we join in with the locals for an impromptu music session…

Early next morning we are on our way to Batal. The ride is an adventure. We clutch on to seats as we steer over moraine left by glaciers aeons ago, negotiate streams from snowmelt that merrily flow over the road… The Chandra flows by, foaming its way over rocks and boulders, at times its spray splashing on our faces, till we reach parts where the road has simply disappeared.

The river, changing its course, has obliterated it and we have to quite literally make our own way. At others it’s the riverbed we are driving over.

The mountains around us, in shades of ochre and brown, are bare; those further away are covered in snow, glaciers hanging across the ridges. Batal, with its one and only Chandra Dhaba, is our next stop. Barely visible with its low entrance, its warm hearth has been refuge for many a traveller on this trail. We dig into spicy rajma-chawal, chasing it down with hot wild-mint tea…

Azure Chandratal

Leaving our vehicle here, we begin our trek to Chandratal. Over stones, across rivulets, traversing one range after another, we plod along. Deeper and deeper, enticing glimpses of the azure waters luring us on. Our weary feet are about to give up, when round a final bend the lake unfolds — calm and serene, its waters reflecting the mountains all around it. We do no more than sit and stare, taking in the silent beauty of it all. At night, bathed in the pale glow of the moon, it’s simply mesmerising.

Returning to Batal the next morning, we are off on our last lap — to Kunzum La. The road, steep and narrow, winds around hugging the mountainside. The air gets rarer and cooler and, much as we wrap our woollens closer, the chill seeps in. The top wide and flat and barren with snow-mountains surrounding it seems like the roof of the world. The wind whistles and a few flakes of snow settle on us as we walk to the far end, where the brilliant white of the chortens (Buddhist shrines) and the multihued prayer flags paint a surreal canvas.We tarry awhile, captivated, perchance wondering if this were any nearer heaven.

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