Amarnath, Kashmir, India - July 1997

AMARNATH YATRA
Sudha Mahalingam


A frequent traveller learns to expect the unexpected in practically every journey. Even so, the Amarnath yatra is not without surprises. If you think the sheer location of the sacred cave, its remoteness and its relative inaccessibility would make for a quiet, contemplative trek through panoramic terrain, perish the thought. The route is crowded – with pilgrims, traders, porters, ponywallahs and the ubiquitous security men swarming like ants escaping from a disturbed anthill. But that is not all. The attendant garbage that carpets the path all the way up to the sacred cave is seen to be believed. The Lidder river, which must have been a gurgling and cheerful mountain stream not long ago, is now a filthy drain choked by tetrapaks, plastic potato wafer wraps and a myriad items of refuse left by the pilgrims. Here, piety comes with a stiff price tag – paid by the ambient environment!

The drive from Pahalgam to Chandanwari is picturesque, with stately pines and winding pathways. The stream that accompanies you is full of pebbles and boulders where your fellow yatris stop and pose for photographs. You move in a c onvoy for the sake of security and from time to time, the otherwise restrained yatris petition the almighty in chorus. As if in communion, vehicle horns join the chorus and you have a cacophony that rents the serene silence of the hills. At Chandanwari, you’re greeted by a confusion of fluttering buntings, banners, festoons and prayer flags incongruously juxtaposed with metal-detector frames. Religious organizations of assorted affiliations vie with each other to greet you and inform you of the arrangements they have made en route to facilitate your pilgrimage. And they insist on feeding you – with jalebis, laddus and pooris and an assortment of sick-looking eatables which guarantee you an extra day along the way necessitated by your abused digestive system.

There is merchandise galore at Chandanwari – mostly of the religious variety. Idols, photo-frames, trinkets, rings, Amarnath memorabilia strewn all along the hillside. Hundreds of stalls have sprung up that do brisk business in plastic-wrapped prasad, rudrakshas and incense burners. The Sadhus with their matted hair, flowing beard and skimpy clothes march briskly, unmindful of the biting cold and the incessant rain even as you shiver through three layers of woolens over your thermal wear. Portly old ladies in their crisp Kota sarees and decked with jewellery hobble along in palanquins while their menfolk cling clumsily to the saddle of ponies half their size.

As you trek towards Sheshnag, your first halt along the route to the holy cave, you have to cross Pissu Top which, at 11,000 feet, offers you a magnificient view of the valley. The trek from the Top is more or less on level ground and you walk single file along a narrow path cut along the hillside. Your bladder groans, after all the tetrapak drinks you consumed along the way from Pahalgam, but even nature seems to conspire to keep you in discomfort. The path is narrow, crowded and the shrubbery, sparse. You have no choice, but to move on. Suddenly through the drizzle, you’re dazzled by a magnificient rainbow bridging a snow range. A little while later, a brilliant sun peeks out of a chubby cloud and the valley below is bathed in its golden light.

What is remarkable about the Amarnath yatra is the fellowship one experiences all along the way. The pilgrims may come from a range of socio-economic backgrounds, from a retired army colonel from Nainital to a doctor from Meerut to a young boy who works as an usher in a remote rural cinema hall in Madhya Pradesh. There is a feeling of community as the yatris willingly share their packet of bujiya, a bottle of water or their crocin tablets. Bhola Ram has traveled all the way from Ujjain leaving his wife to look after his aged parents back home. If he completes the pilgrimage successfully, he is confident that his son would get a Sarkari job. Phoolwanti hopes her asthma would clear once she has had darshan of the holy lingam. Then there is the omnipresence of cops, jawans, BSF constables and other uniformed men sent by the administration to facilitate your jou rney. They are ever solicitous of your welfare, gently encouraging you to go on, regaling you with tales of Shiva, Vishnu, Lakshmi and the assortment of Hindu gods and goddesses. You may have set out alone on this yatra, but you’re never lonely.

Your first stop in the trek is Sheshnag, a dazzling jewel of a lake watched over by seven snow peaks at a height of 11,000 feet. The air is crisp, if a bit short of oxygen. The serene jade waters reflect the surrounding mountains so vividly that the scene looks surreal. Pilgrims believe that the lake shelters the mythological seven-headed serpent. A glimpse of this serpent would release the fortunate from the cycle of rebirth. Unmindful of the cold and the sleet, there are groups of pilgrims keeping a patient vigil alongside the lake. You’re told that several pilgrims even stay up all night so as not to miss the appearance of the serpent. You move on to the campsite where you’re greeted literally by a vast sea of tents and people. The site resembles a mela ground and there are langars galore offering you a variety of ethnic foodstuffs that would put Dilli Haat to shame! Your stay in the tent is comfortable, with a blazing bukhari and a warm razaai.

Next morning you resume your ascent towards the Mahagunas Pass, the highest on the route. At 13,800feet, your lung groans and demands a little more oxygen. The ground is slippery. It must have been a glacier in its avatar prior to the start of the pilgrimage, but now is one vast muddy, slippery, slushy expanse. Progress is painfully slow. A glimpse over the hillside offers a scary spectacle of a deep plunge strewn with corpses of careless ponies. In this stretch, few people ride on their ponies, preferring to muddle through the churned up slush rather than risk life and limb on an unsteady pony.

The 12 kilometers from Sheshnag takes you virtually all day and all your will power. By evening you’re in Panchtarni, your next halt. This camp is much smaller than Sheshnag because the holy cave is just 6 kilometers away and people prefer to plod on. You decide to stay back and savour the incredibly beautiful mountain scenery to which the devout pilgrims seem oblivious, their sights set on the holy cave. Panchtarni derives its name from the five rivulets that are fabled to have originated from Shiva’s hair to mingle at the foot of the Bhairav Mountain.

Next morning, as you trek towards the holy cave which is visible miles away, you come across the confluence of the Amravati and Panchtarni rivers. The waters promise to be icy cold, but that doesn’t seem to deter the devout who plunge into it with screams of ‘Bum Bum Bole’ and ‘Om Namasivaya’. A pair of doves spotted at the entrance to the cave sends the pilgrims into a rapturous chorus of ‘Jai Bhole Nath’. For, according to mythology, when Siva and Parvati were headed towards Mount Kailash, they rested in this very cave and that Siva narrated the story of creation to Parvati. The doves are believed to have been privileged witnesses to this narration.

At last, you’re at the entrance to the cave. There are more security men than pilgrims swarming all over the cave site and you’re pushed and shoved just as it happens in most other religious sites in this country. The metal detectors are everywhere, striking a note of incongruity and the security men gently urge you to keep moving. And finally, the moment of reckoning, as you catch a glimpse of the deity. The ice lingam is a stalagmite structure, about two feet tall and is plump because it is the waxing cycle of the moon. The entrance to the cave is festooned with thousands of registration cards of the yatris. You leave yours also there, so that the Lord registers your arduous trek upto his remote dwelling.

Tibet - Mt.Kailash and Manasarovar - July 1996

An Enchanting Experience: Journey to Kailash and Manasarovar
Sudha Mahalingam
(Published in Frontline dated December 27, 1996)

As you slide down the snowy slopes of the 16,750- foot high Lipulekh Pass on the Indo-
Tibetan border, you are greeted by a breathtaking view of the Gurla Mandhata with its
powdery white crown of snow, a view that stays with you throughout your two-week
soujourn in Tibet. Three hundred and forty- four kilometers from Almora in Uttar
Pradesh across the McMohan Line stands the 22,028-foot Mount Kailash (Kang
Rinpoche in Tibetan), in mythology, the abode of Siva and his consort Uma. At its base
are two shimmering lakes – Manasarovar and Rakshas Tal – which, in a setting almost
surreal, mirror the silvery summit of the mountain in their placid turquoise waters.
Referred to as the Tso Mapham or Tso Mavang by Tibetans, Manasarovar, according to
geographers, is one of the oldest lakes known to human civilization (it existed, for
instance, long before Lake Geneva). The antiquity of the lakes and peak situated on the
highest plateau on the earth has given birth to many legends. The lake is situated at a
height of 14,950 feet above sea level and spans an exp anse of 320 square km in Tibet.
The remoteness of its location enhances its appeal. For the religious minded, Mount
Kailash and Manasarovar are imbued with divinity and spirituality and are considered to
be the ultimate pilgrimage destination; for others, a visit to Kailash Manasarovar offers a
most memorable trekking experience.
After two days of traveling by bus from Delhi, you reach Tawaghat, a border village on
the banks of the river Kali separating India and Nepal, in Pithorgarh district of Uttar
Pradesh. The trek begins here. The climb to Pangu, the first of the nine camps, is the
steepest. The nine day trek to the border is remarkable for the variety of scenic beauty it
offers en route including a breathtaking view of the Annapoorna range bathed in the
golden light of sunset at Shirka.
As you climb higher, the green canopy disappears suddenly and you are greeted by
progressively shorter shrubbery. The route from Gala to Malpa is no wider than two feet
in many stretches with a boisterous Kali coursing down with a deafening roar into a
gorge on the right and the dynamite-blasted mountainside on the left. Balancing on the
narrow slippery steps even as one waterfall after another crisscrosses the path requires
concentration. The ‘Om Namasivaya’ chant gets even more strident as the rocks
dislodged by the trekkers hurtle through the mountainside and add an element of thrill to
the day’s trek.
During the trek on the Indian side, you are never too far away from the sound of the Kali
river which at times subsides to almost a whisper, only to bounce back with a steady roar
at other times. The lack of sufficient oxygen slows you down at Gunji which is at an
altitude of 15,500 feet. The makeshift tents can barely screen the fierce wind which
almost knocks you down when you come out into the open. At Kalapani, the source of
the Kali, the mighty river is a tame trickle that disappears under the Kali mandir which is
bedecked with hundreds of many-sized brass bells. The steeple of the temple and the
bells cast a stunning reflection on the moonlit Kali.
Navi Dhang is the last camp on the Indian side before one crosses the border and enters
Tibet. It offers a spectacular view of Om Parvat on whose peak the word “Om” in
Sanskrit is etched in snow perennially. You leave Navi Dhang at 3 am and trek by
torchlight to the accompaniment of a steady drizzle and biting cold. The incline to
Lipulekh is gentle but appears interminably steep because of the inclement weather. A
thick snow carpet blocks your descent into the Pass. You have no alternative but to slide
down the snowy hillside to reach the Chinese team awaiting your arrival on the glacier
below. A half kilometer trudge across the glacier is followed by a brief and bumpy horse
ride at the end of which, a swanky bus awaits you.
The scenery as well as the weather change dramatically at this point. Bright sunshine
replaces the drizzle and the landscape is absolutely bleak and bare. It is a curious contrast
to the verdancy on the Indian side. It takes three hours to traverse the 18 km to Taklakot
in Purung Valley. Taklakot, once the capital of the Guge Kingdom, now houses the ruins
of a monastery and exquisite cave paintings. The hillside is dotted with mud caves which
double as dwellings for the local people. The town itse lf is a curious contrast of modern
glass and chrome buildings constructed by the Chinese and the captivating ethnic huts of
the local Tibetan people. The Karnali, a muddy stream, crisscrosses the town whose
earthy monotones are relieved by green patches of barley and peas.
The same bus takes you to Taarchen the next day. En route, when the turquoise blue of
Rakshas Tal comes into view, it takes your breath away. Legend has it that Ravana did
penance on the banks of the Rakshas Tal to propitiate Siva. Unlike Manasarovar, Rakshas
Tal does not attract pilgrims as its waters are considered to be poisonous. As the number
of visitors to Rakshas Tal is few, its pristine splendour has been untouched, unlike
Manasarovar whose banks are strewn with broken bottles and other refuse. The sky is a
brilliant blue and the water so placid that the name Rakshas Tal strikes you as utterly
incongruent. Rakshas Tal is the source of the Sutlej; it also flows into the Manasarovar
through an underground stream.
Taarchen resembles a caravanserai in the midst of this wilderness. Bustling with tourists
and pilgrims from many parts of the world, the Pajeros and Land Cruisers strike a note of
incongruity in this desert country. A tent bazaar does brisk business while genuine
Tibetan antiques and exquisite Tangkas jostle for space alongside jaggery and yak buuter.
The Kailash Parikrama (circumambulation) starts from Taarchen. Since the peak cannot
be isolated for doing the parikrama, you have to go around the Kailash range from Lha
Chhu and Zhong Chhu, covering 42 kilometers in three days . The Kailash peak is
tetrahedronal in shape and stands out from the rest of the peaks in the region both because
of its shape and its perpetual snow cover.
Taarchen is also the point where pilgrims can hire yaks – if they dare to. The yak is an
unpredictable animal which prefers the dangerously steep inclines to the level route. Not
only must the rider constantly resist the beast’s untiring attempts to dislodge her, she
must also resort to constant acrobatics to save her legs from being smashed by the
dangerous boulders that dot the route. Doing the parikrama by foot is definitely more
comfortable than the yak ride, if you are not too breathless because of the low oxygen
level.
Kailash is watched over by five Gompas. Chhuku in the west, Dira phuk in the north,
Zutul phuk in the east and Gengta and Silung in the south. The first day’s trek presents a
vivid view of the peak at close range. On this day, the snow has begun to melt because of
the intense heat and the usually white peak is now streaked black where the snow has
melted. At every curve you are presented with a new and tantalizing view.
The halt at the spartan Dira phuk camp is followed by the most arduous trek so far. The
ascent to the Dolma La at 19500 feet. The Dolma Pass is the highest point in the journey.
Dolma itself is an uninspiring boulder strewn hill. You gasp and groan at each step as
your lungs strain to draw in more oxygen. Mercifully, it is not very cold here. Dolma is a
riot of colours with a profusion of streamers that have been put up by pilgrims.
The descent from Dolma offers a fantastic view of the oval-shaped Gauri Kund below
with its shimmering emerald waters. Our enterprising Tibetan guide sprints down the
boulders with the agility of a mountain goat to bring a sheepskinful of the crystal clear
water. After coming back to Taarchen, a bumpy ride in a an open lorry takes you to Zeidi
from where begins the two-day Manas parikrama. Manasarovar is a sheet of water that
changes colour and contour every few minutes. The sky and the lake vie with each other
to dazzle the eye with myriad shades of blue.
The lake is a study in contrasts. One moment you can see the fish and weeds on the lakebed
through the crystal waters, the next, it seems to have become sullenly opaque.
Trudging 74 kilometers in two days in the heat can be extremely enervating, but you
hardly notice it, entranced as you are, by the serenity of the lake. Gracefully swaying
Brahminy ducks and barheaded geese abound. Manasarovar too is surrounded by
Gompas: Gossul in the west, Chiu in the northwest, Cherkip, Langpona and Ponri in the
north, Serlung in the east and Yerngo and Thugolho in the south. The glaciers around
Kailash which melt and mix with the waters of the lake, are the source of the Indus, the
Karnali and the Brahmaputra. Swami Pranavananda, who has completed 26 parikramas
of Manasarovar and camped on its banks for several months at a stretch, has written the
most authentic book on the region. He claims that even the Ganga has its source in a
glacier in this region from where it flows underground upto Gangotri. You ford all these
rivers at some point during the parikrama. Luckily, the rivers are not in spate. At every
point around Kailash, you have a grand view of either the Kailash or the Mandhata or
both.
Your pilgrimage ends with the Manas parikrama. The spell cast by the two-week
peregrinations through Tibet refuses to break even after you have been herded back over
the Lipulekh Pass and handed over to the waiting Indo-Tibetan Border Police.

The First Post

Hi, my name is Sudha Mahalingam. I am an Indian - not the red variety from Americana, but the brown one from Asia. I live in New Delhi. And I am footloose. That's right. My feet won't stay in one place and chase after my fancy which roams free. I am a passionate traveller, on the move although not as frequently as I would like to be. I am neither rich, nor young as you can very well see. Married, mother of two, and holding a full-time professional job, it has taken some doing - on my part as well as that of my family - to keep my wheels turning.

But turn they do and here I am to share a decade of my travel experiences with you. Come, see the world through the eyes (and lens) of a footloose Indian woman journeying solo on a shoestring budget.