About Me

My photo
Lawyer, traveller, musician. Not sure if that's the proper order though.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Forgotten Footnotes in History - 3: Bhimbetka Rock Shelters

Tucked inside the forests guarded by the Vindhya hills and bordered by the Betwa basin, the Bhimbetka rock shelters exist as an ode to human existence over a hundred thousand years. 


Perhaps the oldest evidence of human settlement in India, the Bhimbetka rock shelters lie an hour and a half from the city of Bhopal. I was visiting Bhopal for my friend's wedding and a plan for a day trip to Bhimbetka was made.

The rock shelters of Bhimbetka have witnessed human settlement apparently from when man was homo erectus, the precursor to homo sapiens. Through the various rock paintings preserved by nature over the ages, Bhimbetka rock shelters give an insight into the stages of human evolution.  

Bhimbetka derives its name from Hindu mythology - it means the sitting place of 'Bhima', one of the heroes in the Mahabharata. Of course, since the rock shelters predate the Mahabharata by quite a few thousand years, no one knows what it was called for ages, or how this name came about. 


The Bhimbetka rock shelters witnessed human settlement from about 100,000 B.C. to even after 1,000 A.D. To the prehistoric man, the caves provided a natural protection from wind, rain, sun and the animals. 

The caves of Bhimbetka contain paintings depicting aspects of nature which appealed to the imagination of painter-settlers throughout the various stages respectively. They also, quite instructively, demonstrative how the way of life changed over the years - the tools used, the social life, food habits, religious beliefs and the interaction of  man with nature. 

Possible depiction of war. The painting is high up on a two-storeyed inaccessible rock, so I couldn't get a closer look

We get to see a little song and dance procession here. Music has no script, only depiction

The photograph probably belongs to a later age - since we see a Goddess on a mythical creature, possibly in combat with another such creature. The Goddess has been a symbol since pre-Vedic religion though

The hues are both red and white. The view is hazy but is possibly depicting a hunting scene

Depending on the age, the mixtures and colours used to paint the figures are seen to have visibly undergone a change due to the material used in the mixture. These colours often help the archaeologist to predict the age of the painting, and thereby analyse the social life in that age. 


The painting above is one of the most famous ones at Bhimbetka. It belongs to a prehistoric depiction of possibly a bison. It is only left to imagination as to what the real-life inspiration for the painting could have been. A closer look at the painting reveals that a man is sneaking away in front of the bison. The scale of the man to the creature reveals the gigantic size of the bison that the painter wished to portray. 



There is another, very famous painting that Bhimbetka shelters would urge you to see. This. 



The 'Zoo Rock' at Bhimbetka is almost a collage of paintings of various animals - from elephants to bison to deer. I'm told that this rock has about two hundred and fifty animals and human figures. There are various poses and various interpretations - these animals may have been used for hunting, for war, or for agriculture. But to me, the painting in the scale it is in, stands for one thing - the acknowledgement of the communion between man and other animals. 

Almost all the paintings depict humans, or human-shaped gods, along with animals. This itself evidences a recognition of the ecological balance that man seems to be forgetting today. Gaudí once said, "Nothing is art if it does not come from Nature." 

Bhimbetka could possibly have survived so well only in Madhya Pradesh. Thankfully, even today, one-fourth of the state's land is covered by jungle. I read recently in a travel magazine column that in 'recent years, (Madhya Pradesh) has seen a surge in boutique, eco-conscious properties geared towards making visitors fall in love with the jungle.' That's good. Bhimbetka though, through its caves preserved in a raw fashion, makes you thank the jungle, wonder about history, and (for that bit of the tour at least) make you fall in love with the human being. Man - the survivor, the artist, the wanderer and the discoverer. 

Post-Script:

An aspect of Bhimbetka which I didn't mention before, and which has no relation with the paintings really. When we went on a trip to Bhimbetka, I was with two of my closest college friends. After years. We had all been running at various paces in life, and continue to do so. Visiting Bhimbetka perhaps make me realize the futility of all this running. Here was evidence of the human race over thousands of years, existing at its own pace. 

We sat on one of the rocks overlooking the caves, the jungle, the vast tract of green and one of the Betwa tributaries in the distance. Bhimbetka made me thank it for those few moments when I could sit with my friends to take in the view and feel, "I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to."

It is then that I realized why one should visit Bhimbetka. To be belittled by time, to know of one's insignificance compared to human history that continues to exist. 


Sunday, July 17, 2016

FORGOTTEN FOOTNOTES IN HISTORY - 2: MURSHIDABAD

"We look before and after, and pine for what is not."

                                                                        
                                                                
                        -   Shelley, To a Skylark

Murshidabad is about 200 kilometres away from Calcutta, but it takes you around 9 hours by road. The road to Murshidabad is about as uncared for as the history the town contains. 


Between the time that Bengal was a subah (province) under the Mughals and again a province under the British, it was a principal sovereignty. The period is early 18th century, just around the time the British had purchased the three hamlets of Sutanuti, Gobindapur and Kalikata to establish their hold in the province. The subahdars of Bengal are seen to set up their own establishment up north, in Murshidabad. 

Murshidabad could well be said to be a city of disloyalties. Murshid Quli Khan, the diwan of the erstwhile subah under the Mughals, transferred his capital from present day Dhaka into a city he named after him, and established his own reign there. Towards the half of the century, Murshidabad had seen two other nawabs after Murshid Quli Khan's death, who exchanged the throne between them intermittently. Murshid Quli Khan's Nasiri dynasty was finally toppled by Ali Vardi Khan in 1740, who ruled till his death in 1756, and his 23 year old grandson, Siraj-ud-Daulah ascended to the throne. This was around the time the British were increasing their political stronghold to further trade. Animosities grew between Siraj and the British, resulting in the Battle of Plassey ("Paulahshee", if you want to get that correct). 

On June 23, 1757, Siraj with his army of 60,000 men was defeated by the British army of 3,000 soldiers. The most famous conspiracy for betrayal in the history of the Indian subcontinent involved Robert Clive, Ghaseeti Begum, Siraj's grand aunt, Mir Jafar, Siraj's commander-in-chief, and Jagat Seth, an influential Jain Marwari businessman, who can be seen to have had importance since Murshid Quli Khan's time. Siraj's defeat on June 23, 1757 marks the beginning of British rule in India. 

Time tells its own stories in Murshidabad, among the derelict mansions, mosques and mausoleums. In fact, the most famous historical building in Murshidabad is the one that is the latest addition and deserves the least historical merit and I shall therefore deal with it last.

I suggest you enter the town through the broad archway called the Nemak Haram Deori, the traitor's gate. Most instructively, it was the gateway to Mir Jafar's house. Siraj-ud-Daulah was executed at the gateway soon after his defeat in the battle of Plassey. Jafar himself ran into animosities with the British, which led to his abdication and installation of Mir Qasim. Mir Qasim's conflicts with the British led the battle of Buxar, resulting in his defeat in 1764 and the reinstatement of Jafar, who remained faithful to the British thereafter till his death.

The decrepit Nemak Haram Deori, Traitor's Gate
The house of Jagat Seth is near the Nemak Haram Deori. A visit to the house would highlight the importance Seth commanded 300 years back. A Marwari businessman, Seth was one of the most influential financiers of the time in Bengal and beyond, and this gave rise to his political importance. Jagat Seth's family was beheaded in 1763 during the reign of Mir Qasim.

The entrance to Jagat Seth's house. There is a museum inside with artefacts from the time
Locks from the time have retained their importance 
Marwari businessmen seem to have had flourishing businesses in Murshidabad right up to the 20th century. In addition to the Seths, the Dugars had their mansion located closeby. The Kathgola Bagan Bari is reminiscent of the architecture and the financial flourish of the times. The place is so named since black roses ("Kaath golaap") are said to have been cultivated in the gardens in the past. Its historical importance lies in the fact that it was in these gardens that Mir Jafar met the British after the battle of Plassey to receive payments promised to him as part of the conspiracy to overthrow Siraj-ud-Daulah. 

The Kathgola Bagan Bari


The older parts of the Bagan Bari

The bagan bari is still a beautiful mansion to visit, and has preserved the baoli, a stepwell in typical Rajasthani architectural style. The Jain temple of Paras Nath here is a later construction.

The Baoli, or stepwell at Kathgola
The next stop is another mansion, the Nashipur Rajbari, built by Maharaja Debi Singha. Debi Singha had migrated from Panipat in Haryana to Murshidabad around the time of the battle of Plassey. Having come to Murshidabad for the purposes of trade, Debi Singha soon earned the reputation of a stern tax collector. The Nashipur dynasty was thus formed, under the patronage of the British. The Rajbari was the palace of the Nashipur Raj family. The palace as seen today was completed around 1865. 

The entrance of the Nashipur Raj Palace 


The palace compound at the Nashipur Rajbari


Despite dilapidation, the colors at the courtyard retain their vibrancy 

We move on to graver structures now. The Katra Masjid (translating to "market mosque", since it was located close to a market) houses the tomb of Murshid Quli Khan, the founder of Murshidabad. The imposing mosque was constructed in a way so as to house 700 Quran readers in its domed cells. Much of the mosque was destroyed by an earthquake in 1897. 







The entrance to the main mosque is through a flight of fourteen stairs, under which lies the tomb of Murshid Quli Khan. An old, repentant Murshid Quli Khan had desired to be buried in the place which would be trodden upon by people entering the Holy Mosque. 
 


The tomb of Murshid Quli Khan at Katra Masjid


The tomb of Azimunnisa Begum has an equally interesting story. Azimunnisa was the daughter of Murshid Quli Khan. Prescribed human liver to cure her of her illness, she became addicted to the dish, and killed numerous children in the deal to get her medicine. When her father found out, he buried her alive. She too lies under a flight of steps to be trodden upon. 

The town of Murshidabad is situated on the banks of the Baghirathi river. The remaining points of historical interest require travelling to the opposite bank on a boat. 


The Khosh Baag cemetery lies on the western bank of the Bhagirathi. It is the resting place of the Nawabs of Bengal, including Ali Vardi Khan and Siraj-ud-Daulah. Despite being associated with motifs of death, the place is called Khosh Baag, or the garden of happiness for a reason I guess. With the breeze from the Bhagirathi and the warmth of the setting winter sun, the garden assures a tranquillity which makes you feel almost glad to guess that the young, betrayed, defeated Siraj finally rests in peace here. 



A few miles away from Khosh Baag and closer to the Bhagirathi River is Roshan Bagh, the 'illuminated garden'. It contains the grave of Shuja-ud-Din, Murshid Quli Khan's son. Roshan Bagh is in an utterly dilapidated condition, left to be taken care of by time and nature. A forlorn mosque is adorned by an unkempt garden. It derives its name from the fact that on a full moon night, the white mosque seems almost illuminated. If you are one of those people who do not like people, and would like to travel back in time, I suggest you visit Roshan Bagh, on a full moon winter night. 

We now cross the river back to the eastern bank to arrive at the least relevant and most advertised historical structure, the Hazarduari Palace. The palace was constructed by the British in the 1830s, and is therefore a much more recent structure. The name would mean, a Palace that has a thousand doors. That is misleading, since almost 900 doors are false. Hazarduari has an imposing structure and a sprawling garden. The museum inside seeks to provide a brief history of Murshidabad and mainly contains relics from the Nawabs, the Zamindars and the British. Hazarduari has the maximum footfall, and sadly the history of Murshidabad has perhaps now come to be identified with the Hazarduari Palace. 

Opposite the Palace is the Nizamat Imambara, which was built in the 1840s, after the old Imambara constructed by Siraj-ud-Daulah caught fire. The Nizamat Imambara is the largest in India. Entry is restricted

The Hazarduari Palace


The Nizamat Imambara

Murshidabad's history is the immediate precursor to the British dominance in Bengal, and consequently India. Yet, the histories are neglected, the structures abandoned. In its abandoned state, Murshidabad quietly narrates the story of betrayal, to those who care to listen.


Post Script:

A slightly longish, unconnected story about roti-tadka. On the way from Murshidabad to Calcutta, I happened to cross Dankuni, the suburb I spent my childhood in. Back in the 1990s, there would be a Dhaba in Dankuni from where my father would get roti-tadka on Friday evenings. The 'anda tarka' is a Bengali-Punjabi fusion food, that has developed on the highway dhabas of Bengal. I would wait for Fridays, to watch Alif-Laila and have roti-tadka. 

We have since moved to Calcutta and I have unsuccessfully tried to locate the familiar smell of that tadka in every tadka that I have had. On my way back this time, I saw the dhaba. On impulse, I asked the car to stop. I was in two minds however, whether to get down and go to the dhaba, or to carry on, lest history is spoilt. I decided to do the former. 

Almost nothing had changed. The same photos of Guru Nanak hung on the walls, the cash counter and kitchen looked just the same. The walls had probably not been colored since. There was the same darkness of the 90s, and the lorries were parked in the same way as they were earlier. That gave me hope. The cashier had changed. There were plastic chairs in place of khatias now. 

I ordered roti-tadka. Prices had gone up by about eight times. I was now eager to go home and find out if the tadka still tasted the same. And it didn't. In one bite I realized the fallacy behind my hope. Everything had remained the same about the dhaba, except what I had loved about it. The roti-tadka. The taste would just continue to be part of my memory from now on. The taste, along with Alif Laila on my black and white television. 

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Forgotten Footnotes in History - 1: Kangra Fort

For the past ten minutes, I've been thinking of how to start this post and go directly to write about the Kangra fort without mentioning McLeod Ganj, since McLeod Ganj deserves a separate post altogether and does not really fit into the present chapter devoted to forgotten places of historical interest. 

But I've failed to devise a way to skirt McLeod Ganj. So I will simply say here that you should plan a slightly extended stay in the idyllic hill station, so that you have the time to (try and fail and then try next morning, try and ....) wake up to the sunrise on the hills and the chants of the Buddhist monks in the monastery below, have breakfast at the beautiful, quaint cafes which await you if you explore them by walking around the narrow by-lanes, go trekking to not just waterfalls which find a mention on Google (Bhagsu, for instance) but ones that don't (Galu, for instance), make friends and visit the nearby villages in search of green (you know what I mean here if you're into green, at least). And definitely keep a half-day reserved for a visit to the Kangra fort. There! I've achieved two things - avoiding a separate blog post about McLeod Ganj by telling you all that I had to tell about it, and progressing with the narrative on to the Kangra Fort.


McLeod Ganj is situated in the Kangra district, and you have to descend only for an hour by car from there to reach Kangra Fort. For a nominal amount, you get to buy a ticket, and for a hundred rupees more there is an audio-guide to the fort, which I suggest you must opt for. (Audio guides do come with the caveat of being consumed with a pinch of salt, but the legends, the stories, the folklore and the facts all form part of an interesting hour long journey, all for a hundred rupees).

The fort is said to be the largest fort in the Himalayas and probably the oldest in India. It was built by the rulers of the Katoch dynasty, who trace their origins to the Trigarta empire that finds mention in the Mahabharata. Though the exact date of its construction is debated, the Kangra Fort also finds place in Alexander's war records, dating back to 4th Century B.C. 

Ever since it was built, the Kangra Fort has been subjected to invasions, some of them by legendary plunderers like the Mahmud of Ghazni in 1009 A.D. The walls of the Kangra fort have fortunately not disintegrated despite the continuous attempts at invasion and a timeline dating much prior in time to the fort's more celebrated counterparts in Rajasthan.



As I passed through the strong walled entrance of the fort that has withstood attacks for centuries, I witnessed in various places the stamp of the centuries the fort has borne. The architectural patters vary at different places depending on the dynasty responsible for the construction. The Kangra fort has legends connected with the temples, and the families and the treasury within the fort. And one sees all this while being encircled by the Kangra hills, and while overlooking the confluence of the Banganga and Majhi rivers. The fort makes travelling back in time seem almost real. 



The treasury, or what used to be the treasury, is now in ruins. Yet, it is still impressive, and reveals what could have been the obvious seductress for the invaders. A story associated with the treasury and one of the invasions is that when the Mahmud of Ghazni plundered the fort and took away all the gold buried in sacks in the underground treasury, the population of Kangra comprising nine lakh people gifted their saddened Katoch king a necklace by pooling in a coin each. This necklace is said to be the first 'naulakha haar' to have been made. The story is debated since it hasn't been documented anywhere. But if it were true and had made our king happy, let's not mull over the veracity of it. The imposing treasury is of course true and still evident.


Another disputed fact/interesting story is about the Lakshmi Narayana temple at the fort. This temple, constructed about a thousand years ago, contains a structure said to have been the first of its kind, carved out of a single piece of stone.

 

There are Jain temples along side the Hindu ones, demonstrating an era of rule by a dynasty of Jain kings. Discussion on different dynasties reminds me, the different doors and archways were constructed partly during the rule of the Hindu rulers and partly after the siege of the fort by Emperor Jehangir in 1620. Hence, they are named Ahani and Amiri darwazas, but every archway has a temple of Hanuman or Ganesha, the latter being common to other forts of North India too. 

Over the centuries, the Kangra fort has endured many dynasties attempting to lay siege over it - the Mahmud of Ghazni, the Mughals, the Rajputs, the Sikhs, the Gurkhas and then the British, who took over the fort from the Sikhs and were stationed there till the earthquake of 1905. The Katoch kings have ruled it for the longest time, and I am told that there still exists a royal family in Kangra. 

Today the fort lies, beautiful as ever, enveloped by the Kangra hills and guarded by the Banganga river. It doesn't have too many visitors frequenting it apart from photo-enthusiastic Japanese and Bengalis (Yes, I know). Somewhere, the importance of Kangra Fort could not find its place in our mainstream history books, to be told to the country. Beauty is perhaps often best left neglected, but I am not sure if I can say that about history.

 

Post-Script:

My driver told me that not far from the Kangra Fort is the famous Kangra-Mata temple, thronged by devotees. It is believed that the Goddess would grant the wishes of the one visiting her at this temple. I decided to take a tour, not exactly sure why, despite protests by my travel companion. We had to take off our shoes and walk through yards of carpets made wet by spilt milk to be offered to the Goddess. We couldn't go inside the temple because there was a line of about half a thousand people, some standing, some crawling. None of them would be visiting the fort, I thought.

Are we really so sure about God's residential address?

Sunday, January 10, 2016

The Bhutan Narrative

I do not know whether you find or lose yourself in Bhutan. The sounds you most often hear are the rustle of the leaves, the gurgling of the river, the slow rhythmic chants of the monks on the monasteries on the hill, and the song that plays in your head.








Paro airport welcomes you with the embrace of mountains around you. That's the first sight that you see on disembarking. That, and the ever-smiling tomato-coloured  faces of the Bhutanese children.

Paro is just almost as big as my college campus. There's a single main street, and small distributaries jutting out, containing the markets and the humble hotels. There are bridges under which the river flows. At the cost of sounding poetic, the mountains smile from a distance, sometimes revealing their snow caps. The shops are few, and portray a middle class contentment.

If you cross the bridge and walk a little further, you come across an old temple. They say it's 1200 years old. It may be less. It preserves the faith of the people in religion.

Paro itself sleeps by 9 p.m. Sleep comes early in the mountains. Perhaps it's because there is nothing much to do otherwise. But there is no sense of urgency. Everybody helps you, and people go about their own work which would give the illusory impression that they are busy (even if they are not occupied).

Never have I seen the people of a place so content with their life. They seem to want no development. They are happy living in the hills, in the small hamlet they call their town.

- May 09, 2015.



It was a clear day. The journey to the Chelela pass provided so many beautiful images that I wouldn't have minded if the destination were a little disappointing. It is even a great experience to stop the car and take a leak at a random corner in the hills. It's not often that the bathroom promises such freshness in the air you inhale.

We reached Chelela pass, and the mountains shone with all their magnificence. The snow capped peaks afar were as beautiful and unreachable as the happy memories of a long-lost love story.

During the descent, our driver very innocuously asked us if India has a king. He was very disappointed when we said it didn't. He was of the firm belief, like the rest of his countrymen, that the presence of the king prevents crime. How can India, being such a big country, not have one?

I broke my travelmate's glasses while attempting to take a photograph. The problem has been temporarily resolved though. Paro has two optical shops. The kinds you found twenty years ago in a small Indian town.

- May 10, 2015



Tiger's Nest is said to be the main attraction here, and the biggest tourist draw. It is not a difficult trek really, but it's rather long. The trek ends at the monastery, which is the site where Guru Rinpoche is said to have reached on the back of a tiger and meditated. 

Throughout the journey, I kept wondering as to why the Guru could not choose a more convenient place to meditate. But just when I reached the monastery, after a lot of huffing and puffing, I felt I knew the answer. You can see a waterfall from the monastery, probably flowing into the Paro river. The monastery, jutting out of the hill, overlooks the valley. There are two sounds - one of the tourists in their various languages, the other of the monks in their prayer language. Both would have been absent 1200 years ago. The place would have been eerily deserted. I guess the wise man can find salvation only in such quietude.

During our descent, we were the only people around. And then, I could only hear the rustle of the leaves. For the entire journey downward. I would stop at various intervals to take in the feeling. I had never felt tranquility from so close in my life. For an antisocial like me, it seemed a perfect place to set up a house. I kept looking at the monastery from below to visualize what it must have been for a man all those years ago to come and meditate here. Scary? Difficult? Serene? All of these? What was it that was revealed? Someday I wish to return here, or go to somewhere similar in search of peace. Till then, I shall keep traveling.

It had started raining and I had to see the Drukgyel Dzong, a 14th century ruined fortress. Drukgyel, I am told, means "Victory of the Druk". With the Dzong being absolutely run down, with not a soul in sight except me and no sound except the pitter patter of the raindrops, the place seemed haunted. I cannot write more here, since I am always scared of such places, and their memories. But notwithstanding all that, it is an experience which I recommend everyone should have, and if possible, in a way similar to mine.

- May 11, 2015.
Drukgyel Dzong - The ruined fortress

Thimphu, the capital, is an obvious way markedly different from the other places. To begin with, it is much larger than Paro, and a large part of the valley has been cleared of the vegetation to accommodate all the important administrative and commercial centres. Unlike Paro, which can be exhausted on foot, Thimphu has avenues, one ways and all such things befitting a capital city. However, the essential culture is retained in the architecture.

A good vantage point to see the valley is the Changangkha Lakhang. Sit on one of the benches and look down, breathing in the city. Drive across to Buddha Point, which is still under construction, where the huge statue of the Buddha looks over the city. Did you say Rio? There's something really serene and calm about the smile of the statue, which in turn lends a certain calmness to the entire atmosphere. Make a visit to the Memorial Chorten. It is the biggest Chorten in Bhutan; the queen mother built it in memory of her deceased sun. The square is surrounded by hills, and it is worth a visit.

The Takin is the national animal of the country. It is a harmless herbivore, with the appearance of a cross breed between a hippopotamus and a goat! The Yadkin reserve offers you the opportunity to say hello to the Takin.

Roam around Thimphu for the shopping; there are numerous shops lined along the main market area selling touristy paraphernalia. Make sure you bargain. Try exploring the city by walking around the main market area. Have momos at Zambala café. You’re lucky if you get a table by the window at the Ambient café; that’s another recommendation.

-          May 12, 2015





The Tiger’s Nest to be trekked at Paro has become the most popular sight in Bhutan due to its magnificent views. From Thimphu, there are similar treks to monasteries on the hills. They are often way lesser traversed than Tiger’s Nest. Treks to the Tango and Chagri (or Cheri) monasteries offer the same quietude (perhaps even more), the same dried-leaves-on-the-way trek, with the additional sound of the gurgling of the river. Tango and Cheri are located on two separate hills, though they are close by. Which means one has to trek twice. However, the trek is easier and shorter than Takhtsang.

While I was descending from the trek, Pema, our driver, suggested that we play a game of ‘Khuru’ by the river. It is a primitive version of the dart, with the aim being a piece of wood, and the prize being a piece of cloth to the winner. After the game, I stopped by the Wang Chhu river, just to sit on one of the rocks by the river and see it flow by. It felt like I had stopped there for an eternity, just to gaze at the river and the forests surrounding it like a protective parent.

The evening was spent walking around Thimphu. But I would recommend you to go to Taj Tashi for dinner. Believe me, it’s not a snobbish suggestion. If you wish to have good, authentic Bhutanese food at reasonable prices (Rs. 1,800 all inclusive for two), try Taj Tashi. And yes, they haven't paid me to write this here.

Make sure you drill it into the mind of your hotel manager that you will be late if you will be later than 9:30 p.m. in the evening, er, at night. Everything shuts, including your hotel, so make sure your manager has really understood you. I don’t wish you to have the same experience as I did. You don’t want to be banging your fists on the shutters, crying, “Hello, hello, hello. Is there anybody in there?”

-          May 13, 2015



It takes more than four hours to reach Punakha from Thimphu. Unlike other occasions, the route this time is not particularly pleasing to the eyes. There’s congestion, dust, repair work – all things that are offshoots of landslides primarily. Fantasies apart, the hills are not so easy to live in.

Our first stop on the way is the Dochula Pass. Hidden in the morning clouds are a hundred and eight Chortens. As one climbs up, there’s a panoramic view of the mountains. I knew we were getting late and there was quite some way to be covered, but I guess for some time I let such thoughts be. What is a vacation after all, if we follow routine? It was just nice to sit on the grass amidst the innumerable chortens, watching the clouds swaying above in agreement with my happiness.

We carried on to Punakha district, and stopped next at the Chimi Lakhang. The Lakhang is a popular religious reference point here in Bhutan. Chimi Lakhang is the fertility temple, consecrated in honour of the ‘Divine Madman’, who blessed couples with boons of fertility so that they could beget children. That the temple is the fertility temple is made a bit in-your-face obvious with images and structures of erect penises all over. This I suppose is the symbol of fertility. (Somehow, the penis seems to be quite an important symbol in another religion too). Pema says he too was blessed with his son after a visit here, and he comes every year with his family now. His son was named Kile Rabge, as the priest here told him to. Kile will turn three this year, and he loves cheese.

The Jacaranda tree flowers around this season in Punakha, and so all around the Lakhang, I saw purple spring flowers. This view was slighted by more imposing views of the purple-blue Jacaranda flowers at the Punakha Dzong a little later.

The Punakha Dzong is situated on the confluence of the Mother River (“Mo Chhu”) and the Father River (“Po Chhu”); the identification being of the father being fairer (no pun intended) than the mother. The fairer river being male is no coincidence – Bhutan is inherently a patriarchal country. 

One enters the Dzong through the cantilever bridge overlooking the rivers, surrounded by hills. To enter the Dzong, which is one of the largest in Bhutan (and clearly the most impressive), you need to pass through the garden of Jacaranda trees, and the crowd of tourist-photographers. Inside there are huge temples dedicated to the many Buddhas and Bodhisattwas (Oh yeah!). There are administrative centers, hostels for monks, more temples. And there’s quietude.

We headed to our hotel – Punatshangchhu Cottages. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy on seeing a hotel room. But I have never before seen a room which overlooks the river, with the hills in the background, and the town that can be seen in the distance. I could open the broad window to step out of the room into the grass, which goes down to meet the river.

I’ve always had this dream of spending my life alone in a valley, overlooking the river, with the hills in the distance and civilization at a week’s length – I continue to have it. For this one evening, I get to live the dream. I read a few lines from my book but mostly stared outside. The urge to live a life in such a place grew stronger. I wish to grow old and die somewhere here, alone in a valley, overlooking the river, with the hills in the distance and civilization at a week’s length.

We were having dinner and there was a group of Maharashtrian tourists, led by their tour operators, Kesari. The tour operator had promised its clients ‘Aamras’ in Bhutan – there was aamras for dinner. I’m told their USP is providing Maharashtrian Poha to their clients under the Eiffel Tower. Depressed, I head back to my room to see the view once again, to take in a sight that will last me a lifetime, even if my dream doesn’t ultimately fructify.

-          May 14, 2015




It is in every sense a village, this place where I am staying today. Somewhere close to the Phobjikha valley. A small road leads to the cottage where we are to stay. Alongside the road there are a few small shops selling biscuits and chips. They cannot believe it that I bought junk food worth a hundred rupees – didn’t want to take chances.

My room on the second storey has the most basic look. It has wooden walls and a window that offers a view of the valley. The only meat available in this place is beef; thankfully I am not religious. There is a run-down Dzong just opposite the cottage. Very basic again, nothing impressive. But I’m told that this is the place where the young monks are trained. Despite the rustic look, there is something attractively simple about this place.

I have nothing much to write about the day. Except that I perhaps needed it. Away from all the touring, hidden away in a silent corner, watching the night descend quietly on the countryside. I guess sometimes one even needs a break from travelling while travelling.

-          May 15, 2015


The only thing on our agenda today was a ride to the Phobjikha valley. As we descended down to the plain land from the U-shaped valley, it offered a panoramic image, with violets (viola? What are those plants called?) on the ground. Lots and lots and lots of them. There are small brooks flowing along the narrow, winding road.

Pema got a log from somewhere, and within seconds he was ready with a Khuru dartboard. So the violet valley became our playground, with the brooks and flowers next to us, and the hills and a Dzong in the distance.

On our way back we stopped at the U-shaped valley. For another round of khuru. The Buddhist flags fluttered away, and there was the river below, and the hills afar. I had the ground to me – to build another imaginary house on.

Not finding lunch anywhere else, we returned to our cottage. The rest of the day was just spent reading Gabriel García Márquez’s short stories, and staring out on to the valley from my room. I tried some ‘Ara’ at dinner – the local drink here. They cautioned me against consuming too much, since it was apparently too strong. Nonsense!

-          May 16, 2015



Post-Script