Gurgaon, in April – May, is a veritable dust-bath. It can be best likened to a sauna whose temperature controls have failed. The hectic construction activities in spate at this time result in perennial palls of dust and smoke that even fifteenth-floorers cannot seem to escape. And, trapping the inexorable heat of the day, life comes close to succumbing permanently to a dull, inactive delirium in front of the idiot box. Thankfully, the arrival of my in-laws gave us ample reason for a much-needed holiday. Having only a few days, we opted for holiday destinations that were at a driving distance of 4 – 6 hours, and uncluttered by the ever-hankering hordes of tourists. And, in the mountains, to be sure, so that we could beat the heat. That last clause considerably narrowed our options, but we were not entirely disappointed. Tucked away in the last paragraphs or miscellany columns of travel webpages on Himachal Pradesh, was a name we discovered – Kasauli.
Kasauli was built in the latter half of the nineteenth century as a sanatorium-cum-summer retreat for the British garrisons in the surrounding regions. Thankfully, it remains to this date, uncorrupted by the cankerous commercialism that has spread over most of the oases of natural beauty in this world. Located about 4 kms down a fork in the Delhi
It is very easy to tick the attractions of Kasauli off your fingers, but though limited, they are by no means a meager fare. In fact, they’re the real luxuries of the world today – tranquility, cleanness, mountain breeze, wild flowers, and birdsong. An enterprising entourage of monkeys for those who grow bored of peace easily. And a short and charming Mall Road
We sauntered through the Upper and Lower Mall Roads, halting briefly outside the Central Research Institute, the Army canteen, and the nineteenth century Christ Church
Day 1 – Yungdrung Bon monastery
The first journey was the longest. Solan is another town half way between Kasauli and Shimla and famous (or infamous, if you please) for its rum breweries, especially Old Monk (many cheers in the background). Another thing that Solan seemed to be famous for is button mushrooms that are found aplenty in the region. From Solan, we decided to play it adventurous, and, guided only by a few intrepid webpages on Google that mentioned the na,e, we decided to hunt for the Yungdrung Bon Monastery, about 4 – 5 kms from a place called Dholangi, in Ochchghat village. Now, only a few people in Kasauli had heard of Ochchghat, and fewer still knew of Dholanji. And only one soul, in Dholanji itself, seemed to know where the monastery was situated. To get to this place, there is a dirt track that goes down from Dholanji, wide enough to allow a large car to pass through.
After traveling miles on miles with dry, stunted vegetation around, the monastery appears out of nowhere like a multicoloured butterfly against the brown monotone of the background. It is a small, self-contained setup, providing for all the necessities required by the quiet community, including a school, a medical centre, few scattered shops, and even a restaurant or two, for the odd few (like us) who chanced upon it or found it by effort.
Painted in resplendent colors, the monastery seems to compensate for the striking lack of color around it. When we were there, the monks were chanting in the prayer hall, their shaven heads bobbing and their multitudinous voices resounding in the dimly lit, incensed hall, while a seated Buddha smiled and watched the world with his half-closed eyes. There is a certain magnetism in the world of the ascetic, with its all-forgiving, all-embracing affection, its childlike, nodding rhythms, and its sense of complete oneness with the large universe around it, untouched by the ‘sycophantic, phlegmatic, pusillanimous’ minds that inhabit it. We left the Yungdrung monastery just as the monks dispersed, clad in dark plum-coloured robes, and casting querulous glances at us. Some smiled, while the rest watched us depart, with thoughtful, world-weary eyes.
On our way back, we also saw the Vishal Shiv Mandir, in the village of Jatoli
Abandoning the idea of climbing the meandering flight of narrow, uneven stairs leading up to it, we went back to Kasauli to spend a restful evening, finishing off with an amusing dinner at a nearby restaurant. As to why it was amusing, that will make up for another post altogether!
Day 2 – Manki Point
Manki Point, or Monkey Point, but more likely Man-ki Point, is a temple. It is perched right at the summit of a hill (if you consider Kasauli to be at the foothills of this ‘hill’). The legend is that the Hindu god Hanuman (‘Monkey god’) placed his foot atop this hill on his way back after procuring the Sanjeevani plant. So, the hilltop was moulded to resemble the shape of a foot. Whether or not the hilltop is shaped thus, of course, could not be corroborated except by an aerial tour of the place, which we could not take. However, the legend does suggest that ‘Man – ki – Point’ (in hindi, meaning ‘the Point of HanuMan) is probably the more accurate (and respectable) name for this site, rather than the dismissive ‘Monkey Point.’
The second thing of importance about Manki Point is the fact that it is an Army base. The base is situated all around the hill where the temple is located, with the result that security is high, and visitors are screened thoroughly, including an identity check, and mobile phones and cameras are disallowed inside. So, I had to leave my trusty camera in our car, as we walked into the base, and along a clean, well-maintained road leading up to the hill in the distance. Everywhere around us, military colours and insignia mingled with the natural greens and browns, and the only thing to suggest anything remotely religious about the place was the faint melodies of the “Hanuman Chalisa” being played over loudspeakers along the stony stairwell etched on the hill.
At the base of the hill is a small cafeteria that claims to sell ‘dhosas,’ ‘idli,’ and ‘momo’ - an incongruous combination with the aim of attracting the motley group that visits the temple. There is also a kind of departmental store you would probably find in Thakur Sahab’s village in ‘Sholay’… the goods therein can rightly be called artifacts - brands from some bygone era which probably have exhausted their shelf lives twice over. However, coming from a sleepy hollow like Kasauli, it only seems an extension of the forgetfulness that seems to have permeated the entire little world contained on the mountainside.
Of the temple, there is not much that meets the eye. It is like any other North Indian Hanuman temple you’ll probably visit, with idols made of white marble, with shiny eyes and colourful costumes. The priest sits staring at the new faces, for his job admits of little more entertainment than that, and scooping small quantities of holy water and prasad into outstretched palms. Curious devotees enter to see the idols, close their eyes and fold their hands in prayer for a few minutes, take their prasad, and leave. Jai Shri Ram! Jai Hanuman!
Being at the top of the hill, the surroundings of the temple offer an unobstructed view of the mountainsides and the flatlands beyond. In fact, I do not remember ever seeing such a vast expanse of land stretching for miles and miles on all sides, as far as eyes could see. The view was only obstructed by a gloomy cloudiness which could have been the result of clouds, dust, or even smoke from the forest fires of Shimla, which were raging on just then.
Day 3 – The Mall
Kasauli’s ‘Mall’ stretches along a narrow cobbled lane, laid out with smooth but uneven rectangular stones, like the type you could see in the older parts of Calcutta, especially along the tram lines. Tiny, and crooked makeshift shops are stacked closely on one side of this lane, with their topsy turvy roofs of corrugated metal sheets, forming a funny cavalcade, as if dusty old men in uniform were sitting side-by-side, jostling and elbowing for space, and grinning at you with toothless grins. The funny yet somewhat sad spectacle of this so-called mall was further saddened by the complete lack of any ‘authentic’ or imaginative memorabilia that one could purchase as gifts or keepsakes from a place that otherwise resembled a figment of imagination. The vendors hawked their quasi-urban goods with near-sincere enthusiasm, pointing out their shiny faux-leather bags, Kareena-Kapoor-style harem pants, flip-flops in fluorescent shades, unenviable woolen garments, and a whole load of bric-a-brac that one will hardly bat an eye at. The only things of any worth were some wood work items that could be procured at throwaway prices, and a candle shop selling esoteric shapes and sizes in candles, packing and carrying which could bring irreparable damage to the candles themselves. I also saw in that shop a variety of brass wind chimes and bells, and, quite surprisingly, a large (and only) packet of dried chopped onions, containing, as the shopkeeper claimed, “13 kgs of the best onions available”.
We bought nothing from that shop. We stopped at a few eateries, munching on the idiosyncratic Indian pakodas and drinking tea. I even sampled a few momos, but overall, the mall proved extremely ordinary and rather disappointing. My wooden bangles, however, gave me immense happiness and a sense of peace with the world.
Return
Leaving Kasauli was somehow not tinged with the usual mellow feeling of sadness and regret that I can feel at the end of a holiday. Maybe because Kasauli was so close that coming back to this place would only be a matter of time. Maybe also because I had the contentment of having thoroughly explored it, and left nothing to the imagination. But most probably because I had come without much expectation, and I was leaving with satisfaction of having found peace among nature and among the beauty and majesty of the mountains.
1 comment:
Bhavani, well written. is it maddening crowd or madding crowd.
sorry, I could read your article only today, as uaual nothing done in time by me these days.
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