So anyway, it was early may then. The big plan was that Sri was supposed to come to Chandigarh with a couple of her friends (and my acquaintances), we were then to go to a place called Chindi in himachal for 2 days, and then while those two would take a direct bus to delhi, Sri and I were to get back to Chandigarh and drive to delhi the next day. so that was the plan. When more efficient people make plans, I happily concur and at most assuage my guilt by doing what I am told- make a phone call here, or an enquiry there.
But this was not to be. the plan, as plans often do, fell through. The 2 friends weren’t sure why they need stopover in Chandigarh; they were probably feeling awkward about the fact that they hardly knew me or thought the time could be better spent by directly reaching chindi. And Sri, in her completely sorted out thought process, decided that come what may she will land up in Chandigarh on Friday night. This she tells me on Friday morning, and added that we were both to think about where to go as it would make no sense to now go to Chindi. I had read about Shoja long time back in some magazine, so did a brief search in my colleague’s computer. My room had not still been wired into the net. Some random site that came up in the search spoke about trout fishing in the tirthan river near Shoja. I jumped at the mention of a river and did another search but it threw up some info of a guest house which seemed very expensive. Places to stay in Shoja seemed even more unaffordable. There was no way to call, as no phone numbers were provided.
Sri arrived by late evening, we had dinner, and were all set to sleep because we had to leave early morning to the bus stop. But what exactly were we to do once in the bus stop- that minor detail we had not yet worked out. So we sat down to review options. The easy alternative was a drive to Kasauli, both me and my car were confident of doing that stretch. But that didn’t appeal, as we had both been there before. So with the info we had from my meagre research, we decided to take the bus to Aut, from where we were to find buses to Shoja. Happy to have taken this decision, we slept and reached the bus stop on time and boarded the bus. Looking back, I wonder at how little we thought about where we were headed. While I appreciated that kind of wanderlust approach, I had never done it before. Of course, Sri and I had done a couple of trips before from the completely planned (tickets, accommodation all booked) trip to Landour to the trek to Valley of Flowers where we made no bookings but had the itinerary worked out. I guess, that May morning, we felt that we had graduated to the next level.
It was nearing 2 pm when we got off at Aut and crossed the road. Now that road is no longer there, it has been submerged by the larji hydro electric project. At that time the construction was going on, and the water was of a brackish colour and hence hardly inviting. Enquiries revealed that we needed to get to Banjar to reach Shoja or the tirthan region. So we waited and took the bus. That was another two hours by the local bus which stopped too frequently. We tumbled out in Banjar and began enquiries, now more earnestly for we could see that the day light was not going to last. The moment of decision had come. We were told Shoja would take an hour and half and no one knew when the next bus was scheduled. At least not for an hour, locals confidently informed. We turned to the taxis now, the time to spend had come. To the taxi guy I asked the question which had drawn a blank in Aut- did he know about a place called trout house. And he pointed to the logo in his taxi, and indeed it was that very place. We decided to take the chance as it was closer than Shoja, and hopped in. I later realised that the choice was between the higher mountains and the valley, and we had opted for the valley. The river doesn’t flow by Shoja.
Almost as soon as we drove out of the banjar market, we were along the tirthan river. This was a different river. Clear and fresh, noisy, flowing over white rocks, forming little rapids all along. And pretty little villages perched on the mountains admist forests and meadows. some ranges were rocky and barren. Quaint wooden bridges and the iron basket ropeways connected the two banks of the river. Both of us knew that even if we had to return to Chandigarh that very evening for lack of accommodation, this sight was worth it. I was busy calculating if we could just go to the river side for a half hour before turning back. And as the road got worse and worse, the view got more enchanting. Soon we reached the Himalayan Trout House which was just across the river, by the road. The taxi driver left us staring dazed at the river, to find out if there were rooms available. And there comes a man in a blue kurta, Christopher, one half of the couple who run this place. The place was full, but since one occupant happened to be a friend of the couple, he was asked to vacate and move to the tent (or the house) and the fancy room made available. It was a tad expensive by our previous budgets, but we realised we could do it. One look at the room and the conversion was complete. It had been freshly made, and smelt of fresh pine with tasteful décor. After a cup of tea, we went to the river side. As we sat on the rocks with our feet in the ice cold water, I felt so many things at the same time and yet such peace. Intense excitement. A sense of discovery as if the place had been conjured up right at that moment of our arrival and specially for us. Achievement. Gratitude- for those two who changed the plan- and triumphant, for if they hadn’t, we would not have made it here and look what they missed out. And finally, I could think back on the horrors of the past month, and sitting there, found the energy to cope with it all.
We wandered about the rest of that day, spent time by the campfire among the assortment of people collected there, and the next morning trekked up to a waterfall, which is according to me the best waterfall in the world, and returned to the river once more before we left on Sunday evening. As the taxi took off, I knew I would return.
This April, two years later, I did return. I started the last week countdown to my 30th birthday with a drive with my sister. Six and half hours later, we were along the tirthan river. I had fulfilled a promise, to myself and to my sister who had in the time of 24 months reminded me about 24,000 times about it. I think I cant now be burnt at stake for being a bad sister at least on this count.
All along the drive, I was unsure about my feelings. I was not sure how I would react to the place. In the past two years, I had carried a certain image of the region, it could collapse. I was reminded of how it took me time to even react, forget assessing my feelings, to Bombay, the city of my childhood, when I had returned after many years. But the river, the rocks, the villages, the bridges and mountains above gently rested anxieties. Sure the place had changed, there were much new construction, some of them rather ugly. I hope it doesn’t meet the fate of the touristy destinations in the country. As of now, it retains all its charm, self confident in its power of seduction. You can’t as tourists say, ‘do’ this place, it opens up its secrets slowing, enticingly.
That evening, after we had to leave the river side due to sudden rains, I sat under the now covered gazebo, hearing the patter of rain, facing the river and called Sri. I hadn’t spoken to her in over a month. She had no idea where I was. As she picked up the phone, I said, no preamble nothing, ‘guess where am I?’. Sri took just a second, and her voice assumed a zing tone as she exclaimed, ‘ tirthan!’.
Epilogue:
I returned again in May. And this time, after 2 days of being spoilt by the trout house, went to Shoja. The drive to shoja was beautiful, through thick deodar forests, pretty villages, and awesome views of layers and layers of huge imposing fold mountains. It was so lovely, especially the sunset. And yet, I could not stop myself from a mental thank you to the local bus service for not scheduling a bus to Shoja at the time we had landed in Banjar on that may day two years ago.
