Rafting on the Lidder

It was a hot summer. Our cook was leaving me in the lurch and my vacation was running out.  My children could safely be left to the tender loving care of my mother if I was out of the way. I took a spot decision to join the spouse at Srinagar where he was holed up for days attempting to extract his payment for speedboats supplied to  J&K Tourism. Exercising all my powers of persuasion, I had managed to book myself into the flight despite it being peak season. Phones being what they were in those days, Chandan could not be informed of my arrival. Within 48 hours of taking the decision I was at Srinagar airport. 

 

There was a slight problem here. I was reasonably confident of the name of the hotel but this was based only upon my long experience of deciphering his illegible scrawl. The taxi driver had not heard of such a hotel. I was not sure of the area but was reasonably confident that it would not be too far from the Tourism office. As it turned out, the word I had misread was not Rayleigh but Rajgunje and it was not the name of a hotel but of the region where the hotel was located! But I was in luck. As I walked up, detective style,  to the reception desk of the third hotel in my chosen area, Chandan walked in through the doorway. 

 

Bonding amongst males can only beg admiration. Men from my side of the family had managed to move heaven and earth to inform him of my impending arrival. Only to ensure my safety they assured me sincerely, and who am I to doubt such sincerity so voluntarily spouted? Anyhow, Chandan had arrived too late to find me at the airport. 

 

After the first couple of days of solitary sightseeing, I began to get restive. There were so many more  places we could visit together but this was not to be, for his time was spoken for in tracking files through bureaucratic corridors. It was just at this juncture that the newly formed Adventure Sports department of Kashmir Tourism was embarking on a reconnaissance of the river Lidder towards setting up white water rafting for tourists. Two army veterans were charged with this task. Chandan considered this an excellent opportunity for entertainment of the wife. “Could my wife accompany you? She is an ace swimmer” he asked. The sane reply to this query should have been, “Cool it, man, the Lidder is not a river for swimming”. However, sanity was clearly not their strong suit. Nor ours, it seems,  for I jumped at the opportunity without having  a single relevant item of information.

 

 

 

 

At eight the next morning I was collected from the hotel. I had been instructed via the spouse not to carry a purse and  to wear cotton (for better frictional grip I presumed). In the car I made the acquaintance of the two gentlemen who shall hereinafter be designated Ram and Shyam. There were also two young students of mass communication from the university of Srinagar,  also bent upon the joyride. They shall be named Thomas and Richard. 

 

I had studied the map well. There are two roads towards Pahalgam, far upstream along the Lidder. One of these closely follows the river valley. But the road on the opposite bank veers far off from the river, approaching it only at a couple of settlements. To my utter surprise, the  driver took this latter road. There must have been an educated decision for this choice, I thought. But I couldn’t have been further from the truth. Ram and Shyam were both worshippers of happenstance.  

 

After a couple of hours, the driver pulled over and switched off the ignition of his own volition, at which signal out we poured of the car. But where on earth was the river for our rafting. “Woh dekhiye” was the response from Shyam. And sure enough if one had good eyesight one could spot a glimmer through the greenery way down below and at least a couple of kilometres away. Why was this such a good spot to disembark I wanted to ask, but I held my peace for I was not going to put my ignorance on display!

 

Out came the inflatable raft,  the oars, and the life jackets, et al, and the car was patted off with instructions to wait for us at “the bridge”. The hillside was slippery and I was in sandals having had no inkling in calcutta, that adventure was on the cards. But venturing out to raft on rapids, one can hardly ask for a helping hand to walk on the path. Hoisting manfully my share of the oars down the hillside I went, slip sliding away with much bravado. With a couple of halts on the way down, we arrived at the river in an hour. 

 

The life jackets did not amount to more than decorative value even though I was given the pick of the lot.  These must have been the residue of  WWII, for what was padded at the back did not rise to pads in front and what could be tied at the top could not be tied at the waist. Nobody had thought of bringing helmets. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought.

 

The raft was inflated with a bicycle pump into a bright yellow tubular  hexagon held together with a paper thin sheet of rubber at the bottom. To check for leaks, each side of the raft was held under water. Then it was further inflated, fully submerged in the icy cold water. I was deeply impressed with their grasp of physics. Gingerly I seated myself as directed, behind our Shyam and astride the inflated cylindrical bolster edge on the right side of the raft. Thomas and Richard sat balancing  us on the left. Ram, sat right at the back. As the man of experience, he was our navigator and effectively our squadron leader for this was the first ride on a raft for everyone else. 

 

We were to  hold on to the guide rope with the outer hand while the arm on the inner side was for guiding the free end of the oar. If our captain shouted “hold,” both hands were to grab the ropes we were informed. Little did we know that sometimes the captain would forget to give that command, when it was desperately needed. Didn’t we need a detailed briefing on the practice? But, what if we got caught in an eddy? He was once caught in a an eddy so powerful that it kept him spinning in circles for 6 hours but nothing happened to him. Therefore there was nothing to worry about. On this cheerful note we cast off. 

 

 

 

 

 

And off we went careening at breakneck speed  over anything that came into our path. There was absolutely nothing we had to do and nothing that we could. The banks of the river raced past us  too fast to see or to register. There was no time even to feel frightened. We simply clung on as directed while the raft did its own thing. 

 

Ricochetting off a boulder after awhile, the raft got stuck at the shallow end of the river. Out jumped Ram and holding on to the raft he ordered us out. Between us we managed to tug the raft on to dry land. It was drawing water through some unidentified tear. We up-ended it to drain out the water. Ram and Shyam walked on downstream to have a look at the rapids ahead while we took off our wet footwear and enjoyed the opportunity to discuss the experience. As we looked upstream in amazement at how the raft had managed to come unscathed through  those furiously foaming rapids, the duo returned with the cheerful news that “agey kuch khatra hain.” But we were not to worry as they were in control. 

 

As we boarded and set off again, the raft raced into a narrow channel and tilted slightly downward catching me completely off balance. I fell into the raft and despite all efforts I kept tumbling back. I just could not climb back on to my seat as there was no purchase on the soft rubber which was going to hit more rocks at  great speed at any moment. Helping hands managed to hoist me back to my place before any damage was done. After a considerable amount of time the raft veered to the shallow edge by sheer  luck. The process of jumping out and upending the raft was repeated along with the survey of terrain ahead. Tribal women came up to inspect us in surprise. And no they were not aware of any bridge across the river. It was late in the afternoon and we were hungry and penniless.  

 

Again we cast off and the river bank became a blur as we shot past. This time we sped on for a considerable time without any interaction with the shallows. As we came close enough to the edge at the deep end, Tom was ordered to grab a big rock in an attempt to stop the motion of the raft. This was an insane move as the current was very strong at this deep end. Before we knew it the poor fellow was left high and dry clinging on to the Boulder as we sped onwards.

 

In answer to our combined prayers the raft ran aground on the same side next time.  Out we all jumped. Dick and I clung to the raft to prevent its escape  while Ram and Shyam ran backwards with a coil of rope to retrieve Tom. It was a feat getting the raft ashore between the two of us. Tom was brought back not much the worse for wear except for scraped knuckles. What had saved him was a   heavy mesh of steel wires holding a pile of rocks together where he got separated from us.

 

Wondering how much longer this ordeal would last we set off again hungry, wet and scared. By the time we next came into the shallows, the weather had turned. The ominous grey overhead made the river appear all the more terrifying. Shyam hailed two children watching the proceedings and asked to meet their parent. Out of the milk of human kindness, this lady brought us a samovar of namkin (salty) chai that looked and tasted like dilute tomato soup. She also gave us a packet of biscuits. She too was unaware of any bridge  across the river. 

 

By now we had the full measure of our heroic Ram and Shyam. Ignoring them completely, I consulted the two young lads on my proposed course of action. The bridge we sought was not likely to be located within the next ten kilometres or else the lady would certainly have known of its existence. Even if the weather held, darkness was about to descend. Should we not terminate this excursion and start hiking towards some village and thence to a connecting road? Ofcourse nobody was carrying a torch. As I huffed and puffed up the long track, I heard Ram muttering to Shyam that these were grade four rapids, not for amateurs! So much for responsible plans of tour planners. 

 

Finally up on the main road, in darkness  we awaited any passing vehicle. Dick hitched a lift with an approaching biker going in the right direction. When he returned in the car which had mercifully waited for us, we were to discover that it was past ten at night. 

 

Finally my control snapped totally as I re-entered the hotel well past midnight. The spouse was pacing outside in acute anxiety. I pushed past and flung at him “the next time you wish to get rid of me, try divorce.”

 

 

  

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