Shesh Nag almost! 

My parents were thrilled to take charge of our daughter, an adorable ten month old dumpling, when we took a three week holiday in Kashmir. Even though her ayah, Mary, was also to remain with her and despite my mother being a supremely fit and capable woman, it was only after a week of evening calls that I began to relax somewhat on the trip. The said dumpling, on the other hand, weathered the parting so well that the parents merited neither a glance of recognition nor the slightest glimmer of interest upon their return. Then she stretched out her palm to investigate the brother’s face and the ice was broken. 

 

It was an unusual holiday for us inasmuch as there were only the spouse and me and our nine year old son. The days were fun filled but our city bred son needed much entertaining  through the hours of darkness in this strange cold habitat. Word making with various twists, buzz, geographical names, twenty questions, memory games, and  a variety of card games were standard  evening occupations. 

 

The  first few days were spent in a houseboat on the Dal Lake. Then there were  the usual forays to Sonemarg and to Gulmarg and Khilanmarg and then onwards to spectacular  Pahalgam where we were to spend a few days. Pahalgam with its open spaces dressed in autumn colours filled with the sound of the breezes whispering in the pines and  the Lidder sparkling and gurgling over the rocks, is a match for any paradise. We struck up a friendship with a Dhaba owner who was a Sirdie ex-serviceman. On daily basis he plied us  with Lidder-chilled beer, fried trout and lots of conversation. 

 

After a pony ride to Aru and a glimpse of the far distant Kolahoi glacier, we were persuaded by our syce to venture on ponies to Shesh Nag, the famed lake on the trekking route to Amarnath.

The pilgrimage season to this shrine is the period of full moon in August, when the tens of  thousands walking on this path, enjoy the support of temporary shacks for rest, food and succour. But we were to venture at the fag end of October into a bleak cold terrain. The syce was pushing for his off season earning at our risk but we were too foolish to know that. The manager of the bungalow was most discouraging. He categorically told us it was not advisable in this season  as there was no help available en route. Furthermore, we needed permission from the Head of the Tourism Office to go beyond Chandanwari. This worthy said that it was against the law to take a child under 12 on this journey. He gave us the written permit but only after we foolishly signed an indemnity bond. 

 

Early the next morning the Syce arrived with our three ponies. Although it looked like a clear day we thought it wise to carry rainwear. From Pahalgam to Chandanwari we gently swayed along 10 km of picturesque   jeepable road with attractive campsites along the river bed, albeit deserted in this season. At Chandanwari, where we were to have breakfast, the tourism bungalow was locked and boarded. The entire facilities at Chandanwari comprised one sheet of canvas over four poles manned by an old man and his grandson. This was the only sign of human life. The fare of coffee and aloo paratta, on offer, did not disappoint, though prices were  justifiably steep.

 

Barely a hundred metres farther the track ran directly to a sheer vertical cliff face and there it disappeared from view! Upwards pointed the syce, and sure enough there was a narrow path went zig zagging up the cliff as far as the eye could see. No straight section was more than ten feet in length and each such section had steps cut into it. The slope was incredible. This was the famed Pissu Ghat – more a staircase than a pony track!

 

Upwards went our ponies undaunted by the terrain. Further and further the level ground receded below us. The animals laboured valiantly along but the top was still invisible. We now understand from google, that this one vertical climb up that one cliff was all of 2000 feet. On one side was the sheer cliff face and on the other there was airspace! 

 

Finally up at Pissutop, we alighted and stretched our limbs, (Santosh Datta style) as the ponies were spent and certainly in need of a break. Tree line being far below, the only signs of life were a few clumps of grass on the craggy dark brown inhospitable mountainside. Our path ahead ran level, clinging by sheer will power to the vertical cliff face and nowhere more than four feet wide. The outer edge dropped into a black hole of nothingness. The terrain was titanic in scale and had an aura of raw elemental malevolence. This was also my first ever exposure to the disconcerting experience of absolute desolation. It was as though we were interfering with nature where we had no business to be.

 

As we enjoyed our nicotine fixes, the syce recounted his experience of the previous year when he had come with a “gora sahib” who  went to Shesh Nag  to study plants, taking 6 pony loads of equipment with him. By the time they reached Pissughat it had started snowing. Here at  Pissutop all was covered in snow. He advised going back but the sahib refused to listen. Our man asked to be released and barely managed his way downwards groping his way through flurries of snow. The corpses of the sahib and the remaining Scyces were discovered at Sheshnag next year after the thaw. What time of the year was this, I asked. The 7th of November he said. We were three days away from November. I looked at the gathering clouds overhead and suppressed a shiver. 

 

Far ahead in the ravine skeletons of a couple of four legged animals were clearly discernible. I asked our man, “ woh toh gira tha hoga?” He answered,” Hota kabhi kabhi” with a casual shrug as we started moving forward.  Chandan led the way followed by Budu. I brought up the rear. Whenever the hind leg of one of the animals veered close to the outer line, clumps of earth and stone would break off from the edge of the path under the offending hoof and tumble into the abyss. Staring obsessively at the right hooves of the two animals in front traumatised me as we wound our way forward for the next couple of hours. The syce cheerfully informed me that snow leopards were common in this region. “Laykin iss time nahi. Woh toh siref sardi ke time aatey hai.” He proceed to reassure us. It occurred to me that we could disappear right here by fair means or foul, with none the wiser. This was an ill considered escapade, I realized. 

 

 After a couple of hours of unrelieved stress , we arrived at a torrent descending almost vertically down the sheer slope but the bridge across it was washed away by the looks of a few planks lying around. The unbridged gap in the path would be no more than the length of a bed but the chasm descended directly  into a bottomless abyss below.  A single plank no wider than the length of a palm lay across the gap wedged in between two vertical walls. This was to be our support across, while the ponies remained behind. Urged by the syce’s assurances, spouse and son tottered across. But by the time we arrived at this point my nerves were shot to hell and I was not going to attempt this tight rope walk! I sat astride this plank and inched my ungainly way forward with the spouse pulling in front and the syce pushing at my posterior!

 

I was gasping for breath as much from insufficient oxygen as from exhaustion, but most of all from the sheer tension related to our plight. Once across, within a few steps, the bright blue expanse of the Shesh Nag lake came into view but access was a far cry as it was a long way downward  from where we were. Going down there was not even a remote possibility for I would never be able to climb the thousand feet back to where we were. Besides which, it was already well after two o’clock, and nobody in his right mind would wish to take on Pissughat in the dark. 

 

We sat upon a windswept rock that was freezing upon the fundament. My bangle was already in the purse. The rayban followed suit as its metal frame was unbearable against the skin. The rasping of the wind merely served to heighten the eerie silence and  the overpowering might of the landscape.  We quickly ate what we could from the packed lunch. The finger chips cracked like biscuits in our numbed fingers. Everything was icy in the mouth. Within a few minutes sitting became more problematic than moving. And the prayer this time was,  let it not go dark till we are down at Chandanwari. My guardian angel took charge once again as we inched our path across the waterfall. 

 

In answer to my prayers the sun, though low down,  still held its grip in the sky when we arrived at Pissutop. No way were we going down that path on ponies! I held Budu tight and Chandan holding my hand served as anchor on the inner side with his other hand holding on to some rocky projection or shrub vegetation. We tip toed down almost holding our breaths. One had to keep a watch out for the right position for the foot. This kept the open ended downward slope continuously and dizzyingly in view striking terror in our hearts. The descent seemed to last eternally but it the last trace of daylight had not quite vanished from the sky when we were down on terra firma at Chandanwari. 

 

Ofcourse our safe return to the jeepable track warranted a short break and the fortification of a hot cuppa but the old man and his grandson had disappeared.  A prayer of thankfulness on mere nicotine had to suffice. The last leg of a couple of hours ride back to Pahalgam was under a steady drizzle in freezing cold now through inky darkness. But the ponies seemed to be sure of the route which had seemed benign by daylight. To us this journey in the dark was as carefree as a sunny  Sunday on Red Road. 

 

Not a soul had we met in the entire journey once we left after breakfast. Clearly this was a journey no tourist in his right mind would undertake. And this was not even the first foolhardy adventure chalked up to my name. Nor would it be the last. 

 

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