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Having had the good fortune of being born and brought up in one of the most beautiful and picturesque
hill stations in the world (Shillong), other hill stations have never appealed to me. Whenever I had the
occasion to travel to such places, I found myself disappointed, unable to find anything extraordinary or
different from my home town. Nor surprisingly, it is always the sea which attracts my restless soul –
the waves, the beaches and the evening breezes always reviving my spirits. However, Rohtang was the
single exception to this generalization, which I realized when I visited the place with my parents and
brother during a trip to Himachal Pradesh.
The Rohtang trip began with a bright and sunny summer morning in Manali, which we left soon, to
reach calmer, greener surroundings. Far away, the mountain peaks seemed to entice us - the silvery
white strands of snow contrasting with the barren brown of the multitudinous rocky summits, vying
with each other for attention.
As we left the flat roads and ascended along a meandering road, the magnificent scenery opened itself
to our eager eyes. All around, the greenery could not be lusher, the air could not be fresher and we
could not be happier. The road was built in gentle steps instead of steep gradients, due to which the
uphill ride on the mountain(s) did not feel precarious. Majestic pine and fir trees added to the beauty;
standing tall, proud of the splendor they represented. Manali now was a small settlement in the valley
below, surrounded by the protecting peaks.
As we climbed higher, the foliage thinned, the lushness depleted; barren minor cliffs became more
prominent. The clouds played hide and seek with the sun as well as the mountains, sometimes
shadowing the sunshine while sometimes concealing the peaks. Even more often, the clouds drifted
below, hiding the green valleys, making us feel like we were flying over earth. It was only the
momentary glimpses of the green earth between the clouds which suspended our illusions.
The slight chill in the air increased as we went higher. Initially, we had crossed several roadside shops
which hired out fur overcoats and boots to tourists travelling to Rohtang but we had stoutly refused,
deeming the single layer of warm clothing we had on to be sufficient. How wrong we were soon
proved!
The road below was a thin strand entwining the mountain sides between green carpets, stretching a
long way down. Our driver announced a break in the journey - a place called Marhi.
Marhi is the last point up to which travel is allowed post the Indian summer. It is a tiny settlement,
mostly small restaurants which sold the usual chips, biscuits and beverages and meals. There was a
small Buddhist temple on a hill; it seemed so appropriate to the surroundings – a tiny place to place
your faith in, perhaps here prayers were actually heard and answered.
A hot cup of tea later, we were refreshed and back on the roads. It being the best season to visit
Rohtang and Leh, the narrow road was full. At one point, we had to stop because of a block ahead due
to road restoration. We stepped out to stretch our legs. The view was exquisite - a small winding road,
with a deep but gradually sloped descent on our left and a rocky incline on our right. The green slopes
were sprinkled with tiny colourful flowers growing in patches - vivid hues divert attention from the
invariable green, blue, white and brown...
After a while or so, the block was resolved and we resumed our passage. Marhi had now become
another speck, far below in the panorama. The pines had almost vanished, replaced by a layer of only
grass interspersed by barren rocky terrain. A little farther from the road, grazing yaks could be seen,
calm and imposing in their grandeur. Soon, we could see several tents nearby to the road, more yaks,
some mules and definitely more people. This was the final tourist point – one could take horse/mule
rides, drive snowmobiles on a small snow slope or do amateur skiing here. At our driver’s suggestion,
we drove on. The sky was overcast - it started drizzling a little. After a few minutes, we had to stop
because the road had been dug for repair, making it into a muddy swamp. We had reached the end of
our journey…
The moment we opened the doors and stepped into the grassy slopes, the biting cold hit us like a wall.
The winds blew powerfully yet lovingly, its howling sounds devouring every other sound. We could
barely hold on to our jackets and shawls but I hardly noticed - awed by the landscape around me. The
icy summits which had grown since morning, the absence of human touches, the overcast sky and the
wild gusts of winds which threatened to pull us away from the ground – they all made the experience
surreal. What I loved the most was the absence of sounds, other than of the gale which virtually muted
everything else.
Another incredible scene was that of a flock of sheep nonchalantly grazing nearby, apparently unfazed
by the winds – they seemed so oblivious to their surroundings. Further down, the slope finally reached
the edge, ending into an abyss of nothingness - a straight fall into the rocky plains below. Across this
chasm were more mountains, with vegetation decreasing with distance, up to a point when the
remaining visible slopes did not have green at all, just abundant brown.
Masked by the darkening clouds, the higher peaks were not part of this perfect painting. Luckily, the
clouds shifted sporadically, revealing the white and brown summits – close yet not close enough. White
veins slashed across of the surfaces of all these mountains; flowing water frozen till the next summer.
A thin thread of a different colour winded its way across the slopes of the first mountain across; the
continuity of the road which eventually led to the actual pass and Leh.
Near us, a lone person with a flask in his hand offered us tea which we gratefully accepted. Sipping
steaming tea on a chilly mountain slope, warming our freezing hands with the hot glass, all the while
gazing at the almost unreal scenery – I felt on top of the world.
Due to the slight showers, the temperature had decreased even further. Cold and shivering, yet
unwilling to leave these violent yet serene cosmic elements, we lingered on, braving the weather.
Finally, we reluctantly returned to the car, glad of the comparative warmth inside.
We drove back and stopped at the crowded tourist point. Declining the mule rides, we walked across to
the place where there was a path of mud-stained snow - the first snow I had seen and touched. I did not
find anything remarkable in that place; perhaps I would have enjoyed if I had tried offered snowmobile
and ski rides. Nearby, there stood a miniature version of a Buddhist stupa, where there were hundreds
of ribbons/threads tied on strings across – it somehow looked so neglected.
The descent to Manali took a longer time, the weather having turned morose with fog reducing
visibility. We too were somewhat silent; I guess the solemn Himalayan peaks had cast their spell.
The trip had come to an end, but the memories would be cherished forever – the images of Rohtang and
the emotions they invoked in me at that time, remind me that there is, indeed, heaven on earth…
Having had the good fortune of being born and brought up in one of the most beautiful and picturesque
hill stations in the world (Shillong), other hill stations have never appealed to me. Whenever I had the
occasion to travel to such places, I found myself disappointed, unable to find anything extraordinary or
different from my home town. Nor surprisingly, it is always the sea which attracts my restless soul –
the waves, the beaches and the evening breezes always reviving my spirits. However, Rohtang was the
single exception to this generalization, which I realized when I visited the place with my parents and
brother during a trip to Himachal Pradesh.
The Rohtang trip began with a bright and sunny summer morning in Manali, which we left soon, to
reach calmer, greener surroundings. Far away, the mountain peaks seemed to entice us - the silvery
white strands of snow contrasting with the barren brown of the multitudinous rocky summits, vying
with each other for attention.
As we left the flat roads and ascended along a meandering road, the magnificent scenery opened itself
to our eager eyes. All around, the greenery could not be lusher, the air could not be fresher and we
could not be happier. The road was built in gentle steps instead of steep gradients, due to which the
uphill ride on the mountain(s) did not feel precarious. Majestic pine and fir trees added to the beauty;
standing tall, proud of the splendor they represented. Manali now was a small settlement in the valley
below, surrounded by the protecting peaks.
As we climbed higher, the foliage thinned, the lushness depleted; barren minor cliffs became more
prominent. The clouds played hide and seek with the sun as well as the mountains, sometimes
shadowing the sunshine while sometimes concealing the peaks. Even more often, the clouds drifted
below, hiding the green valleys, making us feel like we were flying over earth. It was only the
momentary glimpses of the green earth between the clouds which suspended our illusions.
The slight chill in the air increased as we went higher. Initially, we had crossed several roadside shops
which hired out fur overcoats and boots to tourists travelling to Rohtang but we had stoutly refused,
deeming the single layer of warm clothing we had on to be sufficient. How wrong we were soon
proved!
The road below was a thin strand entwining the mountain sides between green carpets, stretching a
long way down. Our driver announced a break in the journey - a place called Marhi.
Marhi is the last point up to which travel is allowed post the Indian summer. It is a tiny settlement,
mostly small restaurants which sold the usual chips, biscuits and beverages and meals. There was a
small Buddhist temple on a hill; it seemed so appropriate to the surroundings – a tiny place to place
your faith in, perhaps here prayers were actually heard and answered.
A hot cup of tea later, we were refreshed and back on the roads. It being the best season to visit
Rohtang and Leh, the narrow road was full. At one point, we had to stop because of a block ahead due
to road restoration. We stepped out to stretch our legs. The view was exquisite - a small winding road,
with a deep but gradually sloped descent on our left and a rocky incline on our right. The green slopes
were sprinkled with tiny colourful flowers growing in patches - vivid hues divert attention from the
invariable green, blue, white and brown...
After a while or so, the block was resolved and we resumed our passage. Marhi had now become
another speck, far below in the panorama. The pines had almost vanished, replaced by a layer of only
grass interspersed by barren rocky terrain. A little farther from the road, grazing yaks could be seen,
calm and imposing in their grandeur. Soon, we could see several tents nearby to the road, more yaks,
some mules and definitely more people. This was the final tourist point – one could take horse/mule
rides, drive snowmobiles on a small snow slope or do amateur skiing here. At our driver’s suggestion,
we drove on. The sky was overcast - it started drizzling a little. After a few minutes, we had to stop
because the road had been dug for repair, making it into a muddy swamp. We had reached the end of
our journey…
The moment we opened the doors and stepped into the grassy slopes, the biting cold hit us like a wall.
The winds blew powerfully yet lovingly, its howling sounds devouring every other sound. We could
barely hold on to our jackets and shawls but I hardly noticed - awed by the landscape around me. The
icy summits which had grown since morning, the absence of human touches, the overcast sky and the
wild gusts of winds which threatened to pull us away from the ground – they all made the experience
surreal. What I loved the most was the absence of sounds, other than of the gale which virtually muted
everything else.
Another incredible scene was that of a flock of sheep nonchalantly grazing nearby, apparently unfazed
by the winds – they seemed so oblivious to their surroundings. Further down, the slope finally reached
the edge, ending into an abyss of nothingness - a straight fall into the rocky plains below. Across this
chasm were more mountains, with vegetation decreasing with distance, up to a point when the
remaining visible slopes did not have green at all, just abundant brown.
Masked by the darkening clouds, the higher peaks were not part of this perfect painting. Luckily, the
clouds shifted sporadically, revealing the white and brown summits – close yet not close enough. White
veins slashed across of the surfaces of all these mountains; flowing water frozen till the next summer.
A thin thread of a different colour winded its way across the slopes of the first mountain across; the
continuity of the road which eventually led to the actual pass and Leh.
Near us, a lone person with a flask in his hand offered us tea which we gratefully accepted. Sipping
steaming tea on a chilly mountain slope, warming our freezing hands with the hot glass, all the while
gazing at the almost unreal scenery – I felt on top of the world.
Due to the slight showers, the temperature had decreased even further. Cold and shivering, yet
unwilling to leave these violent yet serene cosmic elements, we lingered on, braving the weather.
Finally, we reluctantly returned to the car, glad of the comparative warmth inside.
We drove back and stopped at the crowded tourist point. Declining the mule rides, we walked across to
the place where there was a path of mud-stained snow - the first snow I had seen and touched. I did not
find anything remarkable in that place; perhaps I would have enjoyed if I had tried offered snowmobile
and ski rides. Nearby, there stood a miniature version of a Buddhist stupa, where there were hundreds
of ribbons/threads tied on strings across – it somehow looked so neglected.
The descent to Manali took a longer time, the weather having turned morose with fog reducing
visibility. We too were somewhat silent; I guess the solemn Himalayan peaks had cast their spell.
The trip had come to an end, but the memories would be cherished forever – the images of Rohtang and
the emotions they invoked in me at that time, remind me that there is, indeed, heaven on earth…
