Why is it that since time immemorial, men have been attracted towards the risky, the unknown – the mystery that lurks beyond the horizon?
Why is it that every highway, even every tiny thread of a barely visible road, shouts out to be conquered? And why is it that we always answer? Perhaps, we will never know
When I and Ravi from the Car India team set off on a planned, four-day, 1,600-km drive from Delhi to Manali and beyond, little did we know how this journey would touch our lives, perhaps even change it in some ways. Our arsenal: a brand-new Hyundai Santa Fé workhorse (read 2.2 L CRDi engine-based automatic) and infinite enthusiasm. Both would be put to their ultimate test.
The drive from Delhi to Kurukshetra was 172 km of fairly high average speeds, wide six lanes and monotony. Since we’d left rather late, we decided to take a pit stop at the Youth Hostel at Pipli, Kurukshetra. A basic accommodation, it still served our immediate need – a night of peaceful sleep before we hit the road again to brave the mountains. Setting off about 7.00 am the next morning, we crossed the Aut Tunnel (about 3 km) around mid-noon and reached Kullu early in the evening. The Beas now flowed noisily to our right while the Himalayas, from which this stretch of the highway has been carved, loomed formidably over us. When we drove into a petrol pump about seven km before Manali around 7.00 in the evening, we felt a sharp chill in the air. While the attendant re-fuelled the car, adrenaline flowed through our veins. For the night, we checked into a modest hotel on the Club House Road, the Dee Bellagio. Sanjay, the establishment’s owner, narrated a brief tale on the demise of my favourite Manali restaurant – Tibet Kitchen. Of course, neither Ravi nor I are the kind to be gastronomically demoralised. We headed right away to Johnson’s Café. Knowing that we’d possibly subsist on Maggi and chai for the next two days, we ordered a gourmet dinner of baked trout and cheesy pizzas.
Since May 5 this year, crossing the Rohtang Pass requires a transport permit from the Manali SDM’s office. While it was a slightly protracted affair, securing the permit itself was a cakewalk. I wondered why the bureaucracy in every State in the country isn’t as affable. Never mind. Thirty-six km on the way to Rohtang Pass is the checkpoint of Marhi. The pass itself remains closed from 10.00 am to 2.00 pm for the Border Roads Organization to work on this stretch of a nationally strategic highway. We tried to impress the security personnel with our luxurious tank (the car) and our press credentials into letting us pass before the other vehicles. And they did. When we finally crossed Rohtang Pass about 3.00 pm, we did a little navigational prediction on when we expected to reach Kaza – say, about 5.30 pm. Boy, were we wrong!
Driving through the Spiti Valley is like going to war. You go in equipped with the right gear, count on years of combat training and then a frenzied series of frame after frame of visual razzmatazz is lobbed at you with unfailing regularity, benumbing and overwhelming all your senses. Except, you always want a war to end. Here, you never do. What we expected to be a highway turned out to be little more than a track cobbled with jagged rocks and dust. To the left were looming cliffs; to the right, down 100 feet drop, quietly flowed the crystal waters of the River Chandra. Obelisks of granite, frozen icicles of water, icy cold winds whistling through narrow valleys – the sensuality of the experience is poetry in motion.
When we crossed Kunzum Pass at 14,100 feet, the temperature dial read -20 C. The clock 7.00 pm. This was when Ravi’s skills in the driver’s seat, the Santa Fé’s suspension, handling and braking were all subjected to a grinder of a test. Driving at around 14,000 feet on a rugged rocky road, with only your headlamps lighting up the stretch immediately ahead, is possibly the best rally driver’s worst nightmare. Thankfully, all of them came out clean! When we pulled into the ghost town of Lossar at 9.00 pm, it was -30 C outside. We stopped a few km ahead. On my cue, Ravi switched off the headlamps and we stepped outside. For sheer lack of a metaphor, the sight that greeted us is perhaps best viewed by astronauts in space. At 15,000 feet, a clear night sky is a celestial vision. Countless orbs look down upon you from the heavens, as shooting stars streak through. The Milky Way, bent like a lazing serpent, challenges the limits of comprehension. Existential questions on the universe’s grandeur and your own insignificance run amok through your mind while a deafening silence prevails outside.
When we finally pulled into Kaza town, it was 10.30 pm. We’d obviously not have found a place to rest for the night had it not been for a chance encounter with the village’s former panchayat pradhan. Rural magnanimity always surprises city slickers like us. But the Good Samaritan’s generosity went beyond that. He virtually coerced the owner of a local homestay to take us in. When the latter whipped up a simple fare of rice and lentil with some vegetarian chow, the travellers’ joys knew no bounds. At 12,500 feet above sea level, it was highly delectable!
We left Kaza at six o’clock the next morning. Our target: Chandra Taal. The temperature dial read -70 C. Chandra Taal means the Lake of the Moon. Situated at an altitude of about 14,700 feet, the cirque of the lake is nestled on the Samudra Tapu plateau. The River Chandra originates at this lake. Interestingly, the water has no visible source. There is a visible outlet, though, indicating that the lake’s water originates underground. A barely motorable 16-km road cuts in right from Batal on the way to Chhatru. As we found out, you can actually drive for only about 12.5 km, after which you walk. Legend has it that Chandra Taal is the place from where the Lord Indra’s chariot picked up Yudhishthira, the eldest of the Pandavas, in his ascent to the heaven. Hindu mythology claims that Yudhishthira is the only human being to have journeyed to heaven in mortal appearance. While I am not qualified to check the veracity of mythological claims, I’ll give Chandra Taal this – no human hand could have created a sight more divine. After a bone-jarring and extremely risky drive, followed by an arduous walk of almost three km, when the lake finally opens up to view, you go back into the time of innocence and feel yourself echoing man’s first utterances of awe and bewilderment when, in the infancy of the world, he witnessed the grandness of creation.
Suggested images:
Image I, II: Views of the River Beas from the Mandi-Manali highway
Image III: Driving on the Kullu-Manali stretch
The drive from Manali to Rohtang Pass (Use images from 2929 to 3056; or from 3532 to 3564)
Driving through the Spiti Valley (Use images from 3056 to 3209; from 3329 to 3349; and again from 3224 to 3420)
Views of the Kunzum Pass (Use images from 3421 to 3450)
Driving from Lossar to Chandra Taal Lake (Use images from 3358 to 3468; and again from 3484 to 3507)
The magnificent Chandra Taal Lake (Use images from 4497 to 4551)
Image IV: Headboard display showing ambient temperature
Accommodation
Kurukshetra: Youth Hostel, Pipli (Rate: Rs 500/night)
Manali: Dee Bellagio (Club House Road, Manali) (Rate: Rs 900/night)
Kaza: Sakya Abode (Rate: Rs 500/night)
Food
Highway dhabas: ~Rs 300/person
Manali: Johnson’s Café (~Rs 350/person)
Spiti Valley: Highway eateries (~Rs 100/person)
Story & Photography: Saptarshi R Dutta
