Chhitkul - Two Miles High!
Three of us made this journey on our motorcycles to Chhitkul in the famed Sangla Valley of Himachal. We went in September-end as it is the best time to visit this area when the apples ripen and the monsoon rains have washed the world clean. Sangla lies in the valley of River Baspa, a tributary of Sutlej. This is the land of esoteric, the abode of Gods; Kinner (smaller) Kailash being the summer Capital of Lord Shiva and Sangla of his pantheon of Gods.
The local legend has it that the Kinnauras were the first people to settle the Earth. They were not only very good looking, honest and saintly but also sang very well. One day as one of them was singing while herding his flocks of goats and sheep some Godlings happened to hear him. They were mesmerised by the resonant voice which was even better than the Gandharv’s. That very instance they decided to make it their summer home and even persuaded Lord Shiva to make Kinner Kailash his summer home. The Devtas and Devis taught the Kinnaura women to weave the incredible shawls and Apsaras taught them to dance: but the Kinnauras taught the Gods, Goddesses and Gandharvs to sing!
We start one early morning, our bikes kitted out in saddlebags and bungee chords. We pass Shimla, Kufri and Theog. The traffic on the road is dense as the apples are being carted down to the plains while the bare necessities up to the mountain towns and villages just before the winter snows close the passes. The vistas open up as we cross Theog. The road snakes along the mountains through pine and cedar forests. We reach Narkanda, which is a very small quaint town with a temple in the middle of the road. The PWD rest house here is an old colonial style Dak Bungalow with an incredible view of the Dhauladhars.
The hills around Narkanda are covered in verdant green forests of pine, cedar and oak. Across the valley, the hillsides are dotted with villages and homesteads surrounded by orchards and terraced fields. At night the valley comes aglow with lights. It appears as if all the stars have fallen down and a lonely pale moon wanders the sky trying to pick them up and put them back!
Hatu Peak, at 11,152 feet above mean sea level, is the highest point in this area and approachable by a metalled road which is a very narrow ribbon, with a steep gradient. It passes through a pristine forest whose majesty makes up for the grind! The view from here is stupendous. Towards the east, the Mahabharata Range stands touching the sky, clad in snow. In the valley lies the famed Kotgarh apple region of Samuel Stokes.
From Sainj, the road follows Sutlej Valley upstream towards Tibet. We drive through Rampur on to Jeori. As we cross Rampur, the drive becomes scary. From Jeori we turn towards Sarahan, to visit the 900 years old Bhima Kali Temple and have a view of the Srikhand Mahadev.
The temple is built in the traditional Kinnaura style and since the old one had started sagging a new one in exactly same style, shape and size is being rebuilt next to it. The magic of Himalayas has cast its spell and spell bound we speed to Bhavnagar. The road here is not for the weak hearted, as it is carved out of a sheer cliff. It is roofed over by the overhang.
The local legend has it that the Kinnauras were the first people to settle the Earth. They were not only very good looking, honest and saintly but also sang very well. One day as one of them was singing while herding his flocks of goats and sheep some Godlings happened to hear him. They were mesmerised by the resonant voice which was even better than the Gandharv’s. That very instance they decided to make it their summer home and even persuaded Lord Shiva to make Kinner Kailash his summer home. The Devtas and Devis taught the Kinnaura women to weave the incredible shawls and Apsaras taught them to dance: but the Kinnauras taught the Gods, Goddesses and Gandharvs to sing!
We start one early morning, our bikes kitted out in saddlebags and bungee chords. We pass Shimla, Kufri and Theog. The traffic on the road is dense as the apples are being carted down to the plains while the bare necessities up to the mountain towns and villages just before the winter snows close the passes. The vistas open up as we cross Theog. The road snakes along the mountains through pine and cedar forests. We reach Narkanda, which is a very small quaint town with a temple in the middle of the road. The PWD rest house here is an old colonial style Dak Bungalow with an incredible view of the Dhauladhars.The hills around Narkanda are covered in verdant green forests of pine, cedar and oak. Across the valley, the hillsides are dotted with villages and homesteads surrounded by orchards and terraced fields. At night the valley comes aglow with lights. It appears as if all the stars have fallen down and a lonely pale moon wanders the sky trying to pick them up and put them back!
Hatu Peak, at 11,152 feet above mean sea level, is the highest point in this area and approachable by a metalled road which is a very narrow ribbon, with a steep gradient. It passes through a pristine forest whose majesty makes up for the grind! The view from here is stupendous. Towards the east, the Mahabharata Range stands touching the sky, clad in snow. In the valley lies the famed Kotgarh apple region of Samuel Stokes.From Sainj, the road follows Sutlej Valley upstream towards Tibet. We drive through Rampur on to Jeori. As we cross Rampur, the drive becomes scary. From Jeori we turn towards Sarahan, to visit the 900 years old Bhima Kali Temple and have a view of the Srikhand Mahadev.
The temple is built in the traditional Kinnaura style and since the old one had started sagging a new one in exactly same style, shape and size is being rebuilt next to it. The magic of Himalayas has cast its spell and spell bound we speed to Bhavnagar. The road here is not for the weak hearted, as it is carved out of a sheer cliff. It is roofed over by the overhang.
On the open side, the Sutlej flows 
almost a kilometre below!
The new day is just beginning when we ride out for Sangla. This stretch of river is being harnessed for hydro-electric power. Entire hill sides are scarred and river bed dumped with debris. The concrete tunnel openings gape like hungry maws and pylons grow on mountain sides instead of trees, festooned by wires. The roads are a torment with slush, dust and broken rocks scattered all over, making them a biker’s worst nightmare come true! Perhaps the price for development and satiating the hunger for electricity; ecological temperance but a fool’s prerogative (mine) who sits and mopes for the lost vistas! When we commented on this, an engineer firmly told us that life has to get on, these are small prices that have to be paid for economic development and enhancement of the nation’s wealth.
It reminded me of Lateefunnisa, the famous Hyderabad poetess’ lines:
Aaya jawab dil se zamana badal gaya
Usloob-e-rang- nau ko numayan kiye huay
Millat ka dard dil mein na ho jin ke bas wohi
Baithai hain husn-o-ishk ka saman kiye huay
(The heart replied the times now are changed
New ways and moods have surfaced
Only those who have no feeling for the nation
Sit idle and think of love and beauty.)
We skid and fishtail our way to Sangla in three agony filled hours.
Sangla is a picture of serenity and nature’s glory aptly described in the local legend as having been dropped here by heavenly clouds. The PWD Rest House sits on a terminal moraine of a glacier that receded at the end of the last ice age. In the backdrop looms Mt Kinner- Kailash (19,844 ft), touching the sky. Above Sangla is the old village of Kamru complete with its ancient temple and fort. Down below is the picturesque Baspa valley with lush green apple orchards and ogla plots painting the fields pink. The deodar clad mountains flank the valley on the other side while the river flows turquoise blue in the middle. 
Many villages dot the valley with their typical steep slanting gabled roofs and colourful temples. The apple trees are laden with ripe red fruit. Each orchard has a door complete with lintel, guarded by ferocious Himalayan mastiffs.
Garlands of dried grass swathe the deodar branches as the fodder for winters when the vale is snow bound. The nights are chilly but the sky so clear and crowded with stars that there is no place for another!
Finally we make our way to Chhitkul, the last village of India on the ancient trade route to Tibet. The road like all high altitude roads is windy, narrow and barely metalled.
At places it is completely obscured by the debris brought by monsoon flash floods. The bridges have been washed away at three places, so we have to ford the streams and waters are as icy as fresh glacialmelt could be.
The drive is mesmerising through sylvan meadows and forests that are turning the colours of autumn – rust, ochre and gold!
We make frequent stops to let the
flocks of goats and sheep of Gaddis’ returning to their winter homes from upper reaches, pass. They are watched over by fierce mastiffs wearing formidably spiked metal collars like gladiators in a Roman circus!
It takes us about 2 hours to the last bend in the road and when we turn in to Chhitkul, what greets us is a panoramic view of paradise - a high glacial valley surrounded by snow covered mountains.
The high peaks have an aura of white, created by snow crystals blown by high velocity winds. Chhitkul is a small village with expansive alpine meadows and spectacular snowscapes. It has a population of about six hundred, living at an altitude of 12,000 ft. The temple of local deity Mathi, dated to be 500 years old, towers over the village. There are a number of eateries and inexpensive “hotels” but the best is a dhaba with a board – Hindustan ka Aakhri Dhaba (India’s Last Eatery)! In October, the fields are empty as the ogla and wheat have been harvested and the wait for winter snow is on. The whole valley is turning the tawny colour of autumn. 
almost a kilometre below!The new day is just beginning when we ride out for Sangla. This stretch of river is being harnessed for hydro-electric power. Entire hill sides are scarred and river bed dumped with debris. The concrete tunnel openings gape like hungry maws and pylons grow on mountain sides instead of trees, festooned by wires. The roads are a torment with slush, dust and broken rocks scattered all over, making them a biker’s worst nightmare come true! Perhaps the price for development and satiating the hunger for electricity; ecological temperance but a fool’s prerogative (mine) who sits and mopes for the lost vistas! When we commented on this, an engineer firmly told us that life has to get on, these are small prices that have to be paid for economic development and enhancement of the nation’s wealth.
It reminded me of Lateefunnisa, the famous Hyderabad poetess’ lines:
Aaya jawab dil se zamana badal gaya
Usloob-e-rang- nau ko numayan kiye huay
Millat ka dard dil mein na ho jin ke bas wohi
Baithai hain husn-o-ishk ka saman kiye huay
(The heart replied the times now are changed
New ways and moods have surfaced
Only those who have no feeling for the nation
Sit idle and think of love and beauty.)
We skid and fishtail our way to Sangla in three agony filled hours.
Sangla is a picture of serenity and nature’s glory aptly described in the local legend as having been dropped here by heavenly clouds. The PWD Rest House sits on a terminal moraine of a glacier that receded at the end of the last ice age. In the backdrop looms Mt Kinner- Kailash (19,844 ft), touching the sky. Above Sangla is the old village of Kamru complete with its ancient temple and fort. Down below is the picturesque Baspa valley with lush green apple orchards and ogla plots painting the fields pink. The deodar clad mountains flank the valley on the other side while the river flows turquoise blue in the middle. 
Many villages dot the valley with their typical steep slanting gabled roofs and colourful temples. The apple trees are laden with ripe red fruit. Each orchard has a door complete with lintel, guarded by ferocious Himalayan mastiffs.
Garlands of dried grass swathe the deodar branches as the fodder for winters when the vale is snow bound. The nights are chilly but the sky so clear and crowded with stars that there is no place for another!
Finally we make our way to Chhitkul, the last village of India on the ancient trade route to Tibet. The road like all high altitude roads is windy, narrow and barely metalled.
At places it is completely obscured by the debris brought by monsoon flash floods. The bridges have been washed away at three places, so we have to ford the streams and waters are as icy as fresh glacialmelt could be.The drive is mesmerising through sylvan meadows and forests that are turning the colours of autumn – rust, ochre and gold!
We make frequent stops to let the
flocks of goats and sheep of Gaddis’ returning to their winter homes from upper reaches, pass. They are watched over by fierce mastiffs wearing formidably spiked metal collars like gladiators in a Roman circus!It takes us about 2 hours to the last bend in the road and when we turn in to Chhitkul, what greets us is a panoramic view of paradise - a high glacial valley surrounded by snow covered mountains.
The high peaks have an aura of white, created by snow crystals blown by high velocity winds. Chhitkul is a small village with expansive alpine meadows and spectacular snowscapes. It has a population of about six hundred, living at an altitude of 12,000 ft. The temple of local deity Mathi, dated to be 500 years old, towers over the village. There are a number of eateries and inexpensive “hotels” but the best is a dhaba with a board – Hindustan ka Aakhri Dhaba (India’s Last Eatery)! In October, the fields are empty as the ogla and wheat have been harvested and the wait for winter snow is on. The whole valley is turning the tawny colour of autumn. 
Women bear the heavy bundles of harvested ogla to the threshing pits from the fields while the red beaked Choughs feed garrulously on the seeds fallen from the sheaves.
We start back reluctantly with the towering peaks in our rear view mirrors –“Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear”!
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