Malana’s mystique

When Alexander turned back from the Indus after vanquishing Porus, he left behind a motley crowd of tired soldiers. Later, the mercenaries made their way from the land of five rivers to the land of ‘whipped cream’.

The foundations of the oldest democracy were laid on the plinth of monarchy. The remote village of Malana came into existence.

This story caught our fancy and we set out to witness what folklore claimed as the home of Alexander’s descendants in India.

From the left bank of Parvati, we could see at a distance the antediluvian three-tiered wooden structures of the village.

We crossed villagers in their distinctive sheep coloured jackets for men and bright maroon but dusty kimono-type of woollen wear for women.

It was not unusual to find either gender giving a more than generous space for us to pass.

Even the mountain-bred Bhutia dogs had more courtesy than most of us — giving right of way to the tourists to walk past.

The air was crisp and clear with not a trace of cloud. However, our enthusiastic brisk walk was soon reduced to a slow trundle, as we navigated the last kilometre in an oxygen scarce atmosphere.

Yet, nothing could deter us from reaching the exotic land of Malana.

There were signs placed on either side of the main thoroughfare which warned strangers not to touch any artefacts, buildings and children. Failure to comply would attract a fine of ₹2,500.

Thirty steps inside the village, we came across the village square. The recently burnt down but newly reconstructed temple of the village deity Jamdagni Rishi was the one which caught our eye. Diametrically opposite to the temple were the house of the pujari/ sarpanch / chief justice and the chief custodian of the Malana Rishi. These descendants of Alexander were, strangely, Hindus, and belonging to the Rajput caste.

Aman, our driver-cum-guide, hailed us from the balcony of a nearby house. We — hesitantly but excited about meeting Alexander’s descendants — went up, escorted by the lady of the house, who educated us about their customs and practices.

We took off our sneakers and hiking boots and stooped low to get inside the low doors and into the plain but clean living room. In the middle of the room was a fireplace which served as the hearth for preparing tea.

The family spoke to each other in Kanashi, which stories claimed has Tibeto-Burmese roots and is therefore barely understood by outsiders.

We spotted a woman sorting out the leaves from a freshly plucked bush to dry, roll and whip up a frothy cream unmatched in taste and aroma.

It was divine, and belonged there — amidst the Himalayan hills, with the rustling winds of pine and cedar, and the gurgling Parvati stream.

This is a village enveloped in mystery, hidden away from the world, with no media vehicle to bring it to build brand awareness — only tourists who are filled with a once in a lifetime experience of the magic cream.

Taste seekers from the five continents converge here, the home of Malana cream — holding the pride of place in the bars of Amsterdam.

Who would have thought the Alexander story mixed with this ‘whipped cream’ could create such a heady concoction?

In a highly networked society, Malana is an interesting case of destination branding by folklore, disseminated by word of mouth!

The writers are with IMT, Ghaziabad

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