THE LAND OF FLYING LAMAS & OTHER REAL TRAVEL STORIES FROM THE INDIAN HIMALAYA

by GAURAV PUNJ

  Next up was the ‘medicinal meadow’. Apparently whenever the villagers have any pain, fever, or other ailment, they come here and walk barefoot in the knee-length grass. We were obviously not going to miss this opportunity and soon, with our shoes removed and tracks rolled up, we were walking, first gingerly, then with more ease in the swampy meadow. As the snow melts, the tall grass here retains a lot of moisture and that gets mixed with the oils that are secreted to form a potent medicinal potion. This was nature’s laboratory and we could only wonder at all we might have never known or seen. Lamaji’s expertise was herbs and he was like a child in a toy shop, picking up grass strands, showing us how the oil is secreted, and telling us about its pain-relieving, anti-analgesic properties.

  After about twenty minutes of good fun we decided to get out, put on our shoes and continue. This however proved to be easier said than done. The semi-sticky concoction was not going to dry off as easily as water, and without a towel handy, we city-bred explorers looked at each other helplessly. ‘Get down on all fours and rub your legs against the grass,’ Lamaji came to the rescue once again. And so ensued a hilarious ten minute ‘funny home videos’ episode with all of us in different stages of inverted dog posture, on our elbows, then rolling over to our sides, but barely managing to even get the grass to touch our legs, let alone rub them dry. And as it always happens, the Nagling women chose exactly this moment to make an appearance, and laughed uncontrollably again. Dilip, in particular, was the star attraction for his singular lack of coordination. We finally decided the oil was not going to harm us and we should let it be, our dignity was more important. The women were going ahead and we decided to accompany them and see what was in store for us in the fourth meadow – ‘the meadow of snow and rocks’.

  After about fifteen minutes, during which we barely looked down on the path as our attention was totally focused on the snow-covered Nagling mountain and its neighbours, the high and mighty, looming right in front, so close we had to crane our neck upwards to look at them, we reached the mouth of a huge glacier. How much can one take in a span of two hours? (Share our feelings by looking at the photograph on page xiv in the inserts.) It would have been unfair if it wasn’t so stunning as to make our minds go numb. We were now walking on the snow, still in disbelief, trying to make sense of the scale of the glacier.

  After the customary photo session, everyone wandered off in different directions, in their own thoughts, amidst a landscape no one imagined would have existed so close to the village we’d spent two days in. Soon we gravitated towards the middle of the huge snow patch we were walking on, ready to listen to the magical stories of this place.

  ***

  Reality check

  Jahnvi Shah-Carey with Nikhil

  Senior marketing manager

  Not having any preconceptions of the bugyals was a good idea. The second one was unbelievable. It literally left us speechless. I remember most of us just silently sitting there, staring at the view, lost in our own worlds. It almost seemed like a picture straight out of a storybook, with a river flowing next to an endless bed of grass and birds flying and mountains around you, fresh air to breathe. Wow! What more could one ask for to rejuvenate! In fact, a couple of our fellow trekkers refused to move and insisted on staying back to soak in the sun for some more time, saying they would join us on our way back.

  The next was another fascinating bugyal – the medicinal swamp. On our lama’s insistence, we all reluctantly walked into it barefoot and left like hippos/pigs playing in a muddy swamp. After posing for our mandatory pictures it was time to clean our legs that were mucky up to the knees. Now came the fun part; obviously water wasn’t around at that time and drinking water is like amrit on a Himalayan trek, never to be wasted on washing hands, legs, face, et al. So the lama showed us how we should rub our feet on the grass and clean ourselves. We definitely felt like the mules that roll all over on the grass once the luggage is taken off their backs.

  The fourth bugyal was the least expected. When our day started, who would expect thick, dense forest, then beds of flowers and grass, a medicinal swamp and then snow to top it all. The glacier was so large and close and accessible. A few of us walked a little higher on the glacier and slid down a little. Clicked, posed, talked non-stop about how it was the highlight of the trek and went back to Nagling with fond memories of the day before starting our descent to Urthing.

  ***

  ‘Can you see that waterfall there? No one has been able to figure out where the water goes. Elders claim there is a huge reservoir under the ground and it’s connected straight to the Ganga.’ Lamaji was pointing at a stream of water emerging from under the snow on the edge of a cliff and falling straight down in the ground underneath, also covered by snow. That was it, where that water goes, no one knows. Check out the photograph on page xiv in the inserts to see for yourself. Hmmm, interesting, but we clearly expected a more dramatic story and he could sense it. The hushed tone came back. ‘Focus your eyes on the snow over there,’ he pointed high on the mountains. And soon we could make out tiny figures moving. ‘Koi hai udhar,’ Kinjal shouted. ‘Haan, Nagling ke log, to search for the keeda,’ was the cryptic reply. We let him take a pause, build the tension, and resume. ‘Woh kal se hain udhar.’ No wonder the village had seemed much quieter since last evening. ‘Do you know about the keeda?’ A rhetoric question.

  And this is what he told us: High on the mountains (at about 3500 to 4000m), there lives a keeda, a caterpillar-like being called yarsagumba. During winter it gets buried under the snow and dies, of course. But when the snow melts in early summer, a plant grows from inside its body and sprouts out from its mouth. This tiny plant is one of the most valued herbs in Chinese traditional medicine (as an aphrodisiac of course). This keeda is valued as high as three lakh rupees for a kilogram (latest price is supposedly 10 lakh rupees a kg). It’s found primarily in the higher regions of Nepal and has been a major export (illegally?) to China. Now that those mountains have been over-exploited, the focus is on the neighbouring Kumaun and especially the Darma valley. For the last two years, the locals have been told about the extremely high price this keeda can fetch them and they have started to collect it. The mountains have been divided between the villages and everyone strictly follows the demarcation. But here’s the catch. To get the keeda, the villagers have to climb up very high on the mountains and do so very early in summer, when the snow has just started melting. This means not only very tough and dangerous climbing, but surviving for a few nights at that altitude and cold. And they are paying the price for this with their lives. A casualty a month is par for the course. But the money the keeda brings in is beyond anyone’s imagination. ‘Nepali smugglers are misguiding the simple locals and enticing them to take this risk,’ concluded Lamaji.

  Imagine this situation. The locals in Darma valley, who till 1962 were involved in a thriving trade with Tibet and even had their own currency, were suddenly told that they will have to find different means to live. Overnight, the prosperous valley was left to fend for itself through its subsistence agriculture. But they took it in their stride and adjusted to this life, and to outsiders they were these typically content, happy-go-lucky people like one expects those who live with nature to be. And then after all these years, there comes an opportunity, almost a lottery, to get rich quick. One or two months of work and earn more money than you will need for the rest of your life. Some took it. And they do have more money than they can handle, or know what to do with (last year, the motorcycle showroom of a big brand in the nearest town of Dharchula recorded the highest sales in the entire state). That it comes with a cost will take some time to sink in, I guess.

  We couldn’t make out whether Lamaji was for or against the whole keeda economy, it was tough to take sides even for us, but we could see he found the whole thing ‘risky’. ‘Abhi tension shuru ho gaya hai. Some smugglers from Nepal already know about this and soon the mafia will come here, then it
will be a battleground. So please don’t tell anyone outside about this.’ (By outside, he meant the world beyond Dharchula. We didn’t, till now.) ‘But humko dikhao yeh keeda please,’ Jahnvi verbalized what we all wanted to say. He thought for a while, frowned, and said, ‘Okay, Nagling mein.’ We looked up at the tiny dots in the snow one last time, wondered how they had even got up there without any climbing equipment or training, and started to walk back. We wanted a magical story about this magical place, but were now the keepers of a deadly secret.

  Epilogue: So why have I told this story?

  Two things have happened since 2008. The government got involved in this whole business and took steps to regulate the trade. The locals are not happy about this and they feel the government is offering them a price much below the market value, but that’s a different story. In 2010, Nat Geo published a major exposé on the keeda economy as their cover story. Although they focused primarily on Nepal, they did mention Kumaun and Darma valley as well. In addition, the keeda economy has now spread to nearby valleys and even in Garhwal pretty much everyone is aware of it.

  Lamaji did show us the keeda while it was being cleaned up by the villagers. It looks very similar to a caterpillar and you can see it on the internet now; just google ‘yarsagumba, the Himalayan viagra’ ;-).

  ***

  Raju, the Guide

  Short mein bole toh, Darma valley supplies you with a lifetime of stories.

  More reading

  Some easily-available books and guides that I have read and gained from:

  Title

  Category

  Author

  Remarks

  High Himalaya, Unknown Valleys (2001)

  Travel / exploration

  Harish Kapadia

  Along with the Kumaun peaks and passes, the three valleys are covered in as much detail as possible.

  Rediscovering Himalaya (2004)

  Travelogue

  Chandan Ghosh

  Covers Darma valley along with his other travels in the Indian Himalaya.

  What to do in the three valleys

  Trekking – Roads are being constructed but you will still have to walk most of the time to explore the valleys. There are multiple treks; here are a few known ones apart from the Darma valley trek:

  Kailash Mansarovar – Yes, the great and the oldest trek passes through this region on its way to Tibet and Mansarovar. It’s the traditional way to go there (most people now go by road via Nepal) and takes a total of twenty-one days back and forth. You can do it only through the government of India.

  Jolingkong – An off-shoot of the Kailash trek is to Adi-Kailash (old Kailash) or more specifically to the high-altitude pastures and lake at Jolingkong. On the way you pass Kuthi, a village surpassing even Nagling in its history and stories.

  Rafting – The Kali river, which runs along the border between Nepal and India is now being explored as the next big thing in white water rafting. From Dharchula you can start on an expedition along the Kali for plenty of chills and thrills.

  Point to be noted

  Darma valley is at the critical stage that all destinations go through: it’s now more popular than ever and more and more people want to go there. But the valley can handle only a certain number of trekkers at a time and they have to be very sensitive about the locals’ way of life, ensuring neither they nor their teams leave behind any bad habits or garbage. The government will hopefully try and come up with some regulations, but it’s the self-regulation that is more important. Go in small groups and bring all your garbage back.

  Local service providers

  If you want to trek in this region, you can do so either through the government agency KMVN or get in touch with Laxman Kutiyal, a local organizer who – apart from organizing everything – will tell you all the stories you need to know about these valleys. His number is 9968276771.

  To stay: Dharchula is the last place with a government guesthouse (KMVN) and hot running water. From there on, it’s best to stay in villages with locals.

  Story 8

  Darjeeling Hills and the Story

  of a Brave Girl

  Hand-drawn maps for representation purpose only. Not to scale.

  The setting

  Darjeeling and the surrounding hills, a land that is culturally vibrant, politically zealous and geographically profuse. It’s where man clashes with jungle, native with incumbent and logic with rigidity, pretty much the story of planet Earth you would say, correctly, but played out with a bit more passion and with a bit more heartbreak in this jumble of hills, tea plantations, thick forests, tribal villages and proud people.

  If you look at the map above and the location of Darjeeling hills vis-à-vis Sikkim, Bengal and Nepal, you can straightaway deduce that there has to be cultural intermingling and political intrigue in its past. Here is just one incident from recent history (in 1835 to be precise): Darjeeling was ‘leased’ to the British by the Sikkimese king in exchange for ‘one double barrelled gun, one rifle, one 20 yards of red-broad cloth, 2 pairs of shawl – 1 superior quality and the other of inferior quality’. He was made an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  Setting the record straight

  But was Darjeeling always a part of Sikkim? Here is a simplified version of the complex history of this region in the words of Smrithi Rumdali Rai of Pokhriabong village, Darjeeling hills (this is an account passed down the generations from her great-great-grandfather’s time):

  Long ago from the Mahabharata days (there is ample reference of them in the epic) there was a bunch of people called the Kirats. These were people of Tibeto-Burmese origin. These people were also called the Shawn Mokwan. As a nomadic tribe they wandered around a bit and then slowly settled along the foothills of the Himalaya. To cut a long story short, there were two kingdoms to the east of present-day Nepal. The kingdoms of Khambuwan and Limbuwan.

  As time went by, the Khambuwan and Limbuwan people had various kings and their territories grew and lessened under the various rules. At one point in time the borders of Limbuwan extended from the Dudh Koshi river in the west to the Teesta river in the east (Teesta is in present-day Sikkim), and Khambuwan from Dudh Koshi river in the east to the Bagmati river in the west (both Dudh Koshi and Bagmati rivers fall in Nepal now).

  China, Sikkim, Bhutan and the East India Company have had their parts to play in the politics that happened in Limbuwan and Khambuwan. The Nepalese king Prithvi Narayan Saha wanted to unite all the kingdoms into one consolidated country and this triggered the decline of the Khambu and the Limbu kingdoms. When he finally succeeded, Khambuwan and a part of Limbuwan went to present-day Nepal, and the Sikkimese got the British to help them defeat the people of Limbuwan. The British used Limbuwan lands for tea etc. and paid a nominal sum to Sikkim for it.

  Thus the lands that Darjeeling is originally a part of, the Limbuwan kingdom, ceased to exist after 4th December 1815 under the Treaty of Sugauli where the Nepal raja and the British divided the Kirat kingdom of Limbuwan. When the British left, Darjeeling fell within Indian borders and in the Bengal province, hence we now have to answer questions like how many generations ago did we migrate from Nepal to Bengal. We didn’t; we belong here!!

  (The name Darjeeling is said to have originated from two words in the local Kiriti dialect, ‘dhulo’ or big, and ‘lung’ or stone/rock which was there below Mahakal Dara above Chowrasta. You can see it at a painting at Keventer’s, an old, well-known restaurant in Darjeeling. Thus it is said Dhulo-Lung became Darjeeling.)

  The stage

  In the heart of Darjeeling hills lies a tribal village called Pokhriabong. It has its share of forests, tea plantations,
tribal rituals and such assorted qualities of a typical village and would have been an anonymous one, but for a brave native girl and her family. Smrithi Rumdali Rai grew up in this village, but unlike everyone else like her who had the means for a proper education and moved on to cities and jobs, she decided to stay back in the village and help out with what she felt is the biggest thing holding the locals back: lack of good education. She started Riverdale, an orphanage-cum-school for children from nearby villages who have lost their parent(s) or who have no means of getting an education.

  With a brilliant self-designed curriculum which is a mixture of practical knowledge and its application in real life, using English as the medium of instruction along with a strong emphasis on understanding their identity and culture, the kids are prepared for higher education in their chosen field. In addition she has started a campaign to educate villagers against indiscriminate cutting of trees and linked it to the survival of the pangolin, an ant-eater found in the forest nearby and whose meat is a delicacy in south-east Asia. Save the pangolin, and you save the forests.

  The cast

  Apart from Smrithi, her cousin Nazim, her extended family and friends, her twenty school kids, all the inhabitants of Pokhriabong and some from the nearby villages, and twelve of us, amateur runners and wannabe trekkers.

  The act: The day we ran for the ant-eaters

  ‘How come there are penguins in Darjeeling?’ Atul said – his idea of a joke – as we sat outside a coffee shop in Darjeeling. ‘They’re pangolins – an ant-eater.’ ‘Is there even a thing like that? Eating ants, wow.’ This was just an exaggerated version of what most of us felt about ant-eaters. Which, to put it clearly, was not much. And to run 10 km in a remote village deep in the Darjeeling hills in their support, well, these guys must really love me, or more likely, were not sure what they’d signed up for. It was 2008, I had just started CWH, and most of the people who travelled with me were friends and acquaintances. Runners, in fact, as all of us were training for the Mumbai half-marathon with Rujuta.