December 27, 2008. A Saturday. Day 7 of our over-zealous, over-adventurous trip to Kinnaur-Lahaul-Spiti, Himachal Pradesh. Many a locals had called us stupid, right on our faces, to have gone there around that time of the year. I am quite sure they would have called us much worse behind our backs.
So, a Saturday and we start our journey back towards ‘saadi dilli’ from Sumdo (under the Spiti district of HP). Paggi and Amit (my fellow adventurers) won’t like me mentioning Spiti since we, colloquially, just touched Spiti and decided against going further up to Kaza (A monastery; some 70 odd kms further up). It probably was a wise decision too. We had heard that the roads ahead were even more snow-laden (and probably had ice formed on them too). I hate to admit this but I was scared after what we had driven through the last day. Our Alto had actually slipped some dozen times already. I wasn’t quite ready to experience the same shuddering, trembling feeling yet.
So, a Saturday and we started heading back. We crossed ‘ice-laden’ roads around Maling Nallah quite comfortably I would say. Paggi drove amazingly. The thing with ‘ice-laden’ roads is that the tyres of your vehicle don’t grip onto the surface and spin vehemently without moving forward. So, people either wind chains around the tyres which break the ice when the vehicle moves over the surface or else, much like us, they wait for someone to clear the road for them (maybe a JCB or even manual labour). These ‘ice-laden’ surfaces get much more dangerous when you are descending on them. You cannot apply any brakes whatsoever. Yup, no handbrakes either. Or else your vehicle would continue sliding until it falls of the road (and more often than not into a ditch). You have to keep your steering wheel stable at all times and continue moving the vehicle forward at a constant pace (in the first or the second gear).
So, a Saturday and Paggi drove us through those numerous ‘ice-laden’ roads with superb skill and patience. We had hardly taken a sigh of relief when a vehicle came towards us from the opposite side. The driver shouted that there had been a landslide up ahead and all the vehicles were coming back. “There ain’t any use going down further.” Since, we would have needed to come back the whole distance and probably go back to Sumdo, right where we had started. Right past all those dungeons that we had cleared already. Also, if we would have had returned to Sumdo, we would have had needed to go up to Kaza to fill up on petrol. We were running short of it already. It would have been a big gamble to take the car back. We might not have reached Kaza at all. Maybe, not even Sumdo.
So, a Saturday and the news of the landslide ringing like bells in our ears, we decided to head to the point where the landslide had occurred. It was 2 kms up from Khab. We were thinking that we might just pass through since ours was a small car. But upon arriving at the scene we figured it was not quite what we had or would have wished. It was really bad. Huge boulders were lying right in the middle of the road. We heard murmurs around us. Some saying the road would get cleared by evening since it was one that was used by the Army. Others said, from their experience, that it would easily take 2-3 days if GREF decided to start working on it right then. GREF, probably the same as BRO, maintains a lot of roads around that region. Since, this was a road that connected the Army establishment in Khab to the one in Sumdo, the GREF and the Army really needed this. It was more like a lifeline for the soldiers sitting in Sumdo. (Sumdo is probably an India-Tibet border post.) 2-3 days might seem like a long time but just a look at the enormity of the task at GREFs hand was enough to understand that even that time might not be enough. They say that every year some 2-3 landslides happen around this same stretch. The hill/mountain actually looked like that this should be the first and favourite place for every landslide in the world. We were scared to even stand near the scene fearing another one might happen anytime.
So, a Saturday and having seen the enormity of the situation, we started discussing our options. “Should we go back? Does the car have enough petrol? Or should we just leave the car right there and cross the slide to the other side on foot, find some place to stay the night and come back for the car once the road is cleared? Would our ‘beloved-ALTO’ be safe?” What if someone flicked its tyres after we were gone, after all it had a Delhi registration and didn’t quite fit in the scene back there during that time of the year? After much deliberation, we chose the latter. We left our car behind and started to head towards the nearest living-establishment, Pooh. Incidentally, it was a GREF base too. Some 15 kms from the scene of the landslide.
So, a Saturday and we flung our heavy bags on our shoulders and started walking towards Pooh. Yeah, we couldn’t have reached there on foot. So we were now faced with the problem of ‘how to get there?’ We had missed the bus that was going back. We asked quite a few local car-wallahs (who were waiting to cross to the other side) to give us a lift if they decided to head back. We had our stale bread-cheese slices while those car-wallahs pondered upon their options. Just then one local, Mr. Thapa, asked us if we needed a lift to a place X (don’t rem. the name), which was on the way to Pooh. We had absolutely no option but to say yes. This dude drove us there in his Indica showing little, if any, respect to any of the curves on the roads in that landslide prone hilly region. Zoom. And there we were in X. Stranded yet again. Pooh was still some 5-odd kms from place X. Walking, actually, limping would be the apt word, was still no option with the luggage.
So, a Saturday and the conveyance problem again. We waited there anxiously for something to carry us to Pooh, somehow. A GREF truck, coming back from the slide-scene after dropping labour, came to our rescue. It was a ‘nice’ bumpy ride. It dropped us at the GREF camp in Pooh. We asked for directions to the PWD Guesthouse from the camp. Ain’t sure till this day whether that was a good idea or not. They made us trek an-almost vertical stretch (maybe, around a km of length) with our heavy bags around our shoulders. They called it the Shortcut. To my surprise, and possibly his own too, Paggi, who faces breathing problems at high altitudes, beat Amit and me both and reached atop first. I was huffing and puffing all my way up that steep ascent. We reached the PWD guesthouse after dragging ourselves for another 2 kms. But the man in-charge at the Guesthouse told us that all the rooms were full and he couldn’t accommodate us anywhere. We waited, fought, tried to use whatever ‘jack’ we could but to no avail.Ahh, I almost forgot about this. While we were trekking a really pretty girl (a local) came up to Amit and me and asked us what were we looking for in a taunting tone of voice. “Yeah, lady, I know. We shouldn’t have come here during this time of the year. Spare the sarcasm. And tell me where we could find a place to stay.” Naah. I was too tired (and she was too pretty) to say all this. She had a strange glitter in her eyes. She told us that there was another Guesthouse up ahead and we could try our luck over there. Before any of us could have decided who goes and who stayed behind, Amit threw his bag and headed into the dark with that girl. ALL FOR A GOOD CAUSE. Now, can’t blame him either. It was probably for the first time during our trip that a girl had talked to us. If it hadn’t been for my tired reflexes I would have done the same thing probably. After a while had passed, Amit came back. He had a smile. No, he didn’t find any place where we could have had spent the night. He was happy because he found his way back to us. I still think it was Paggi’s love that pulled him back, through that ‘darkness’ (PUN INTENDED!!! Ask me if you still don’t get it.) On a ‘lighter’ note, the girl had warned Amit that he ought to be careful on and watchful of ice on his way back in the dark. If he had slipped, no one could have ever found him.
So, a Saturday and it had started to get dark. And we were still out there. This was the strangest of all times, I remember. “What if we don’t find a place to stay the night?” I had explored all the possible answers to this question and none seemed feasible:
“We can sleep in the car. But we can’t head back to the car now.”
“We can head to the next inhabitable place. Yeah, but can’t go there too. There’s no taxi service that operates here.” Nobody would have taken us even if we had offered them ‘good’ money.
But I just wasn’t allowing my mind to come to terms with this fact – “WE ARE SCREWED.”
Just then Paggi stumbled on something. We might have had begged the locals for a room, a shed, a tabela or whatever, to spend the night if Paggi wouldn’t have found this snug little place some 1 km downhill from the PWD Guesthouse. Don’t remember the name of the hotel but I am sure one of these guys would. Amit? Paggi?
Nothing much happened after that. We ate dinner. Watched a chick-flick on the TV. And finally, fell asleep. The over-dramatic Saturday came to a not-so-dramatic end.
By the way, Amit and Paggi would also understand the obsession, inherent in the blog, with Saturday. Now, wouldn’t you guys? You surely got me into believing your beliefs that particular Saturday.
