Our Life, Our Times :: 30 :: Lord Louis's carnage

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Writing the other day in Times of India Pankaj Mishra, essayist and novelist, stated that Britain is again up against a problem of partition. Mishra refers to, inter alia, the parttion of India while elucidating the division that the country is facing because of “Brexit”. Holding the British public school boys responsible for the country’s current predicament, Mishra says, it is they who are the “masters of disaster”; that is , it is they  who constitute the Tories and have thought up severance from EU splitting the British society down the middle. He goes on to say that it was they who were behind break-up of the Empire handing down untold miseries to millions of people.

In this connection he mentions, among others, Lord Louis Mountbatten who was derided as “master of disaster” in British naval circles. Mountbatten, according to Mishra, was a member of the small group of British upper and middle classes who enjoyed power much beyond their capabilities. The “eternal schoolboys”, as many have called them, have blundered through running the Empire to managing the United Kingdom in recent years and have ended up with “Brexit” without realizing its economic and administrative consequences, at the same time, creating sharp divisions in the United Kingdom.

 They forgot two vital questions in deciding over “Brexit” – the Irish and Scottish questions. The two regions have a lot of unease about “Brexit”and could send the Britons into a tailspin were “Brexit” to materialize. An improbable and unrealistic time-schedule was drawn up for it much in the same manner as Dickie Mountbatten rushed the Indian independence. While the British Government had announced pull out from India in June 1948. The Lord Louis came and took over as Viceroy and Governor General and advanced it by several months leaving very little time for the administrative work to be completed before India’s independence.

 Though the Indian National Congress had been fighting for independence for several decades but after the announcement of the British Government no one ever pressed him for an early British departure or independence. And yet in June 1947 he advanced in a cavalier manner the Indian independence to take effect on 15^th August 1947 for reasons known to him alone. He was seemingly in a rush – one does not know for what. He did not seem to have any idea that after the partition of the country was decided dividing it was a serious matter and a formidable problem.

But this appeared to no big deal at all for Mountbatten who sprang Cyril Radcliff, an English lawyer, to do the honours for partition. Having never been to India, for Radcliff it was a stupendous problem especially when he was given only five weeks to draw two lines in the West and in the East of the country – the lines that spelt disaster for the millions involved in both parts of the country.

No wonder, it was such a ham-handed job that was done by him that his lines split up villages and homes. Some villagers happened to live in one country and their farms fell in another. Likewise, some villagers had their houses split in an unlikely manner with the houses in one country and their kitchens or toilets in another.

Another major source for embarrassment for Radcliff Boundary Commission was allotment of Karimgunj In the East to Pakistan despite a majority of Hindu population. A referendum was eventually held on the basis of the results of which Karimgunj was transferred back to India. Likewise, Gurdspur in Punjab was wrongly allotted to Pakistan and was returned to India after remaining for 24 hours in the control of Pakistan. These were major embarrassments for the British Government in finalizing the division of the country simultaneously with the creation of two independent nations. All these embarrassments were caused due to unconscionable hurry, puerile in nature, displayed by Mountbatten in dividing a county that had a long history of few hundred years of composit culture.

Mountbatten was rightly called the “master of disaster” in the British Naval circles and his one advice to Nehru exemplifies that as no other. His advice to take the Kashmir issue to the UN condemned India to suffer from a festering cancer for the last 70 years. Nehru, not realizing that the Indian forces were on the cusp of victory, lapped it up with his idealistic world view and referred the matter to the UN where it became a victim of Cold War politics and remained unresolved for around 50 years solely because of a mistake in the reference. The reference did not accuse Pakistan of aggression and hence the UN mechanism for vacation of aggression could not be activated.

The result has been a Kashmir problem that has been festering with no cure in sight. Pakistan’s intransigence was not punished which emboldened it to launch a policy of a “thousand cuts” on India. India is still dealing with Pakistan’s cross border terrorism on a daily basis.

Pankaj Mishra is, therefore, largely correct in saying what he said in his piece. These “masters of disasters” did masquerade as administrators and policy makers blundered through the Empire spreading mayhem and doom on millions in the former colonies from which many are yet to be rescued.

Kashmir 50 years ago :: 8 ;; Enchanting North Kashmir

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One cold morning I received a telegram (yes, telegrams were used back then for speedy communication) that a village post office up in the mountains had caught fire and everything including cash and mail had been lost. As the amount involved was substantial the matter had to be investigated and quickly. Worse, it was I who  had to carry out the inquiry.

The place was located high up in the mountains of North Kashmir beyond Kupwara. The information received suggested that the hills hosting the office overlooked the Lolab Valleyand was getting steady snow falls. I was aware of the area having visited Kupwara and Lolab Valley several times. Both of them are places of exquisite natural beauty but Lolab Valley had a special distinction of hosting a secular Hindu clairvoyant in the midst of an overwhelming Muslim population.

Next morning with a couple of inspectors I set out for the place called Kalaroos. Proceeding via Sopore and Kupwara, we had our official vehicle parked at a place that was a kind of a pass between two ranges separating Kashmir Valley from Lolab Valley. The road to Kalaroos took off from the pass. Kalaroos was three miles up that road and the vehicle could not have made it as the road had a thick layer of snow on it.

Never have I had the occasion to negotiate such a torturous three miles as the one that I did with my junior colleagues that day. We had to climb a few hundred feet, maybe a couple og thousand, along the pretty wide road that was completely snowed under. Although it was a delightful day with bright sunshine and a bracing cold breeze blowing down the surrounding pine-covered mountains, the road was under ankle-deep of freshly-fallen snow. Walking on the snow is difficult but the effort gets more toilsome if one has to walk in ankle-deep soft and yielding snow with the feet sinking in with every step. Every time one has to pull one’s feet out to take a fresh step. It gets more laborious if one has to do so while walking uphill. Never an athletic type, for me it was nightmarish. The only thing that kept me going was the compelling beauty of the surroundings. Down below was the freshest and the whitest of snow-white snows with the mountain sides and the precipitous valleys dressed in bright green of the ever-green conifers and under the lapis lazuli blues of the sky were, again, snow-capped mountain tops gleaming in the bright February sun. It was ethereal – almost spiritual. Every bend of the road would open up a new vista – a panorama so arresting that one wouldn’t be human unless one stopped and beheld it.

We huffed and puffed our way up and eventually reached the village. It was located in a clearing and I noticed three chairs placed in the sun with a tray with about a couple of dozen shelled eggs. Dog-tired as I was, I made a beeline for one of the chairs and literally collapsed into it. Recovering after a while as I took in the landscape I was amazed to notice an uncanny resemblance with the paintings I had come across of the Holy Land. The thatched rundown houses, the green pines in the background and the tall, extraordinarily fair, heavily bearded handsome men with pronounced Semitic facial features, draped in long ochre coloured clothes, it all appeared to me to be straight out of the Biblical times. The only distinguishing feature was the Islamic cap that some of the villagers had placed on their heads. The whole thing was stunning and picturesque and made the tiring trip memorable. Hospitable as all Kashmiris are, they served us delightfully hot kahawa, the Kashmiri tea and insisted on us to partake the boiled eggs.

After finishing off the work and consuming more than my normal quota of eggs to subdue my ravenous appetite I tore myself away from that incredible setting. Climbing down the mountain was not so difficult. As the afternoon sun was dipping down rapidly we decided to stop for the night at Chandigam in Lolab Valley. The place had a rest house which was said to have been built for the Late Indira Gandhi (This was the second rest house I had come across where she was reported to have sojourned). It had hot and cold running water, a luxury not available in those days in most of the rest houses in Kashmir, and had a couple of extra bed rooms. It was situated at an elevation and hence commanded a panoramic view of the narrow valley in front, dominated by a lone poplar, and the thickly forested hills on its sides. It was a lush green little valley of indescribable beauty, mostly uncluttered by human interventions. The place was known for its colourful chicken which kept darting across the road. Having seen them on the way I didn’t have the heart to eat such beautiful birds.

The hill that separated Kupwara from Lolab Valley was thickly forested with walnut trees. In the midst of this forest of walnuts was a resident clairvoyant who was popularly known as Baba. A religious recluse and a Hindu, he was known for being able to look into the future of whoever cared to go and ask him to do so. Having nothing much to do in the evening, we trooped into his lair. A fire was raging in a pit and around half a dozen devotees, all Muslims, were sitting closest to the entrance facing the Baba on the other side of the fire. As we entered the simple and austere enclosure Baba noticed us and asked us to be seated next to the fire. After some small talk about the Baba and his fame in the surrounding areas, one of the devotees told us the story of a Pakistani Lt. Colonel who had stumbled into Baba’s presence.

Lolab Valley was overrun by the Pakistani Army during the 1965 war. The Pakistani Army had also captured the hill where Baba was in residence. They used the top of the hill to fire at the garrison at Kupwara. Keen to clear the hill of all enemies, a Lt. Col. of Pakistani Army came to the Baba’s lair. As soon as Baba saw the officer he told him to get back home as his daughter was seriously sick. Even before he could recover from the shock a messenger arrived to tell the Lt. Col. to report to his headquarters. The officer left, organising a detachment to maintain a guard on the recluse. He did not return for a few days. After a week or so the guards were withdrawn and the Baba was told the daughter of the Lt. Col. had died.

One does not know whether the recluse is alive or not but I have had occasion to hear some local army officers in Bhopal who had had similar encounters with the Baba. Apparently, he was a kind of an institution; his was a much-visited lair by all those who happened to visit Chandigam.

It was only around four years after the 1965 war with Pakistan yet I had visited Kupwara and Chandigam several times all by myself travelling in my own car. Never was there an unpleasant incident. Later, during the twenty-odd years of militancy, however, these two areas became popular with infiltrators from across the LoC (the border with PoK) Now, it seems, the things have quietened down and the Kashmir Government is thinking of opening them up for tourism. One can only wish it Godspeed. Let the tourists enjoy the nature’s bounty in North Kashmir. After all, there is more to Kashmir than just Gulmarg and Pahalgam.

*Photo from internet

Bhopal Notes :: 69 : Criminal waste of water

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The local municipality is an organization with a very thick elephantine hide. Any amount of criticism of its performance, or rather lack of it, just slides off its back and crates a huge muddy pools below it in which it likes to wallow. If one looks at the vernaculat press, the papers are full of stories of its acts of omissions and failures but seldom does it react. The leading vernacular daily, Dainik Bhaskar, brings out every week a special supplement called CITY PLUS. It tells more about the Municipal Corporation’s omissions while carrying out or rendering services than its acts of commissions. It is felt that if the Corporation authorities took up for correcting all that is reported in it every week it would be of tremendous help and perhaps it would bring smiles back on the faces of Bhopal’s citizenry.

Take for instance the matter relating to supply of water to the citizens. It is one of the more important services that the municipality is supposed to render. Monitoring its availability, conserving whatever is received in its reservoirs and then effectively supplying it equitably to all is perhaps a very vital duty. If it does not build roads, if it does not run schools or if does not beautify the shores of the inherited Upper Lake they will not create as much furor as will be raised by non-supply or inadequate supply of water. Water is life and none could survive without it – not even the Commissioner Municipal Corporation and his lackeys, who are sitting on top of multiple sources of water in the city and scores of miles of pipelines that are meant for its supply to the people. And yet it is here that the Corporation shows its ugly face by not simply being lackadaisical but by also being criminally negligent in carrying out its functions.

The newspapers have been reporting persistent leakages of precious water from the pipelines with an unmitigated frequency. Almost every other day there would be report of loss of millions of gallons of water due to leaks in the Munici[al Corporation’s supply lines. Only three days back there was a report that said a pipeline from Kolar reservoir was leaking causing loss of 30 lakh litres of water every day. Kolar Dam is one of the major reservoirs on which the people of the city depend for their water needs.

 Such leaks, frequent as they are, are criminal in nature if allowed to continue for long in these water-scarce days. Every week there is a report of how difficult the oncoming summer is going to be in respect of availability of water. There has been rainfall that was scantier than other years and the city’s Upper Lake, the main reservoir from which the water needs of the citizens are met, is drying up fast. Its level at the end of the monsoon season was 8 feet below the full tank level and it has plummeted further on being continuously tapped for supplies during the last four months.What the reports are emphasizing is that the city is going to have a water crisis in its hands next summer and the leakages are going to make it worse. But, the reports do not seem to catch the eyes of those who are responsible for the city’s water supply. The Municipal Corporation seems to be too busy elsewhere or is unconcerned about its responsibilities.

The only remedy they can think of for the problem is to cut the water supplies to various parts of the city regardless of its consequences on various sections of the citizenry. The periodicity of supplies is another matter which needs the attention of the authorities concerned. It is observed while there are areas where the supply is cut down to the bare minimum there are areas where water is available aplenty right through the summer months. Here the prevailing VIP culture comes into play. The area where there is concentration of ministers and bureaucrats get water every day reportedly for longer hours whereas for lesser mortals it is supplied once in two, in some areas even once in three days. That the municipality is supposed to supply equitably to all citizens is a matter that is cleanly overlooked. It is inequity that prevails.

Also overlooked is the fact that there is an undocumented social contract between the Corporation and the people according to which the former is required to meet the civic needs of the people adequately and equitably. It is time that the Corporation is reminded of this contract so that the people are saved from sufferings and privation for want of their legitimate civic needs. They should not need to go before them as supplicants to beg for what is legally theirs and force the Corporation to carry out its functions more carefully so that the natural resource of water that is progressively getting scarcer is effectively conserved for the benefit of the people.

*Photo from internet

Our Life, Our Times ::29 ::ZeeBangla Musical Reality Show

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Monali Thakur, a judge in the reality show

These days I am an avid watcher of the ZeeBangla TV reality show “Sa re ga ma pa”. In fact I have been watching it regularly for quite some years. It is mounted for a few months every year and as the programme nears its end its quality progressively improves, the singers develop better control on their voices and are able to sing difficult songs with aplomb. Only the best selected after careful auditions survive. The singers are all amateur young men and women striving to find a place for themselves in the musical firmament of Bengal or perhaps of India. The format of the show is basically competitive; it is kind of a championship where singers found not up to the mark are eliminated. Winners every week are awarded modest prizes and something more substantial at the end after the finale.

The show is anchored by popular handsome Bengali cine actor Jishu Sengupta. He has been doing the anchoring for around six years now. He had appeared in the Hindi film Piku along with Amitabh Bachchan, Deepika Padukone and Irrfan Khan and is now going to feature in Manikarnika with Kangana Ranaut. The judges are Santanu Moitra, a noted film music director known for his musical scores, inter alia, in Parineeta and Lage Raho Munnabhaim, Monali Thakur, a brilliant exponent of Rabindra Sangit and now working in Bollywood and Srikanta Acharya, a trained singer of Rabindra Sangit and a tabla player of distinction.

The quality of the programme itself has been improving over the years and the format also gets somewhat modified. This year, for instance, the format has undergone a change for the better. None is eliminated without getting a second chance and hence is kept in what is known as the Danger Zone and is discarded only if he/she fails to make the cut in a face-off with another competitor in the same zone. I believe the changes have been made under the directions of one of the experts/judges, Santanu Moitra, Surely, the music in-charge, if I am not mistaken his name is Biswajit, of ZeeBangla channel has had an important role in reworking th programme.

I am sure Zee channel runs the same kind of programmes in other languages too. However, I dare say that this is the least parochial of various linguistic versions of the programme. For instance, of late, all the Indian participants are generally disposed to sing Hindi/Urdu songs and they are none the worse for it. Bengali songs have mostly come from Bangladeshi participants, one of whom even sang a Tagore Song, and that too for the first time in his life, to the acclaim of everyone.

 Besides, on several occasions entire programmes have been dedicated to non-Bengali musicmakers like, inter alia, AR Rehman or Asha Bhonsle. What is more, the programme is secular to the hilt. While a Sikh participant from Durgapur sings Shyama Sangit (devotional Bengali songs sung for Goddess Kali) a Hindu boy sang a fantastic qawwali for whom Muslim accompanists were invited. One might also add that on several occasions non-Bengali experts have officiated as judges. The names of Kavita Krishnamurthi, Alka Yagnik  and Udit Narain readily come to mind. That all of them are fluent in Bengali is another matter.

The stage management is perhaps the finest in the Indian TV industry. While the singers are out in front of the audience the instrumentalists are away from view and become visible only when the cameras pan towards them. The instruments are of mysriad kind, from a regular piano to synthesizers. Obviously the channel pumps in a lot of money into the show as there are numerous violinists and electric guitar players, flutists and players of saxophone. Some new kind of wind instruments were also recently introduced. They were so new that even some of the judges too had not come across them.

Then there is a plethora of percussion instruments; from tablas in dozens to various kinds of ethnic dhols and Western drums, including bongo drums. If the channel does not have the required kind of musicians it does not flinch from inviting them from outside, presumably, on payment. Recently a martial band was brought on to the stage to play along with a song that was nationalistic in character with heavy drum beats.

Apart from the musical instruments the channel puts a great deal of emphasis on choruses. Virtually every rendition is accompanied by a chorus of impeccable quality. Clearly, a lot of time, effort and money goes into finding appropriate singers to join in on the chorus, training them and then thoroughly rehearsing the number. On one occasion there were a hundred school children who formed the chorus to accompany a number sung by a Bangladeshi singer.

I am no musician; I am a self-confessed layman and yet I find this musical show fascinating so much so that I watch it everytime it is aired right till the end till 11.00 PM,  a time that is rather late for an 82-year old. Many of the songs, perhaps, I wouldn’t listen to but for the way these are presented by ZeeBangla. Besides, some of the instrumentalists, like the flutist, a violinist and the Channel’s own two table players genrally give virtuoso performances.

Then, of course, the cameos performed by Jishu every time he appears on the stage that warm the heart. He is humorous and a happy-go-lucky type so much so that he is so popular among the participants, judjes and the audiences. The sponsors of the show, therefore, have no hesitation in opting for him year after year.

Destinations :: Ghent and Brugge (Belgium)

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St. Bravo's Cathedral, Ghent

Ghent and Brugge are two heritage citires of Belgium and are remarkably preserved. The water bodies and the beautiful old-fashioned buildings by their side provide a quaint charm to both of them. Both are in the Flemish region of the country. Ghent is closer – about 50 Kms from Brussels and the best way to get there is by train that takes around half an hour. We had Eu-rail passes and we preferred to use them though the distance to be covered was very short.

Ghent is the capital and the largest city of the province of East Flanders. Its municipality includes some of the nearby small towns and is the second largest in Belgium. The city dates back to the hoary past. At one time it was the biggest city of Europe after Paris, and that too almost a millennium ago. It has a history of woollen industry and is known for its well preserved madieval structures.

On the bridge over River Scheldt

Ghent is situates on the banks of the River Scheldt that originates in France. Flowing through Belgium, it meanders into Netherlands and then drains into North Sea. Somewhere around Ghent it receives the waters of one of its tributaries to become somewhat of a river substance.

We walked around to see some of the mdeieval buildings. The most impressive was the 10^th Century castle complete with a moat. It is remarkably well preserved. We were also impressed by the architecture of St. Bravo’s Cathedral, St. Nicholas Church, the Belfry and so on. The place is ittered with structures of madeival

The 10th Century Castle complete with a moat, Ghent

times and the efforts of conservation have been remarkable.

We completed our round of the town as fast as possible as the day’s outing had two places on the agenda – Ghent and Brugge. We had to catch a train and therefore rushed to the station. Ghent is half way between Brussels and Brugge. So, another half hour in the train and we were in Brugge.

Brugge is situated in the North-West of this tiny little country. While Ghent is in the East Flanders, Brugge is in West Flanders.

A view of Brugge from the boat

Both are Flemish and both have more than a millennium old history. That is why these two cities are crammed with buildings of heritage value. Precisely for this reason they have been nominated as heritage cities.

Brugge, like Amsterdam, has a canal system round wich the life of the locals revolve. Because of its canals and the sea up north it was also known as “Venice of North”. Brugge or Bruges (the Dutch

Another view of Brugge with the  tower of the Church of Our Lady dominating the landscape

name pronounced Bruzh) are the two ways to call the city. I prefer tAnother vie of Brugge with the tower of Our Ladyo call it Brugge, its German name, as I have heard them pronoune the name as such on the public address system of the trains. I think it is here that famous satire on the Indian godmen “PK” was filmed for its initial introductory shots. But I could be wrong.The shot of Anushka Sharma cycling down a road along a

Church of Our Lady, Brugge

canal couldn’t be from any other town. She was also shown on a brifge over the canal watching a boat go by.

Most of the tourists take a ride on the canals. We too joined them and it was fascinating. The boat took us through to the city, through the historic city centre which is a World Heritage Site.Some of the sites I took photographs of as best as I could in the murky weather but we missed out on the street scenes as we were riding the canal waters. There appeared to

Gabled houses of Brugge

be some fascinating medieval buildings in immaculately preserved condition. In fact the medieval buildings of Brugge are considered to be some of the best preserved structures.

 The town is old and the canals too are old. The City of Brugge had its golden age almost a thousand years ago because of trade through what was known as the Golden Inlet – a tidal inlet from the sea. Known for their maritime prowess, the merchants of Brugge travelled far and wide in pursuit of commerce

A canal in Brugge

and wealth and made a lot of money. It is all evident in the city with its buildings, their architecture and décor.

Some of the remarkable buildings are the Church of Our Lady, the spire of which seems to dominate the city’s skyline. The other popular tower is the Belfry. Apart from these we had some fascinating sightings – one of a row of pure old-style Dutch gabled houses that were colourful.

Kashmir 50 years ago :: 7 :: Ladakh (Part 3)

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A Ladakhi couple

The landscape from the verandah of the Signals Mess in Leh was beautiful though it was stark and devoid of greenery. It was, after all, the Indus Valley; River Indus flows by its side The jagged peaks of distant mountains formed the background from where one could see some white valleys and occasionally a snow covered peak. It was September and at the rarified elevation of more than 11000 ft it was hot during the day and pretty cool at night. In the foreground was the huge open dust-laden space with a few occasional structures. The wind that was virtually devoid of moisture blew across it persistently making the body dry and my lips were so badly cracked that it became painful to even smile. The Army personnel used a kind of lip salve to prevent them from severe cracking.

 Despite this minor inconvenience Leh physically was a pretty site with its rugged landscape that appeared to me somewhat macho and its men and women in their colourful Ladakhi tunics with thier peculiar Ladakhi head gear. One cannot fail to mention the heavy ethnic jewelry that adorns almost every Ladakhi woman. Perhaps in the stark and somewhat dreary surroundings the colourful costumes and heavy ornaments break the monotony for the locals.

Next morning we were to leave for Srinagar but only after visiting Hemis Monastery. Hamis is about 20-odd miles away from Leh. On the way we stopped at a superstitious stop. It is said that an army convoy driver was asked to halt by somebody but he did not stop and later he met with an accident. Since then, it seems whichever army vehicle did not stop for a couple of minutes at that stop it met with an accident.  Hence, the superstitious stop.

Hemis is a mountain-side monastery and one has to climb up and down. What were striking were the huge images that were painted in bright colours. The monastery is of 17^th Century and one wondered whether the statues that were installed there were painted like they are now. Apart from the monks there were hardly any non-Buddhists around. Now, of course, it is different; Hemis has become a thriving tourist site, as indeed Leh is. Flights from major Indian cities have flights to Leh and there are some international destinations also that are served to and from Leh. Hemis has an eponymously named annual festival too.

From Hemis we drove down for sometime before we hit the road

Ladakhi women prparing for a dance

that was euphemistically called a highway for Srinagar. We were late and, it had become obvious we would have had to stop over at Kargil. We were at Fotula when the sun had already sunk behind the mountains and a chance glance gave me an opportunity to shoot a “picture of the year” had I had a camera. It was a captivating sight; the dazzling full moon rising over the mountains with a pyramidal peak just by its side and the silhouettes of mountains in the foreground. It was an amazing sight, like of which those who take the aerial route to Leh tend to miss.

Another drive of more than a couple of hours and we crossed Mulbek. Near Kargil we were at a higher elevation and its cantonment lay sprawled below us like a medieval army laying a siege. The bright moonlight gave away most of the features. We drove around a hill and descended to the cantonment and were lodged in the Signals Mess.

Next morning sitting out on the lawn with a captain for coffee after breakdast I happened to notice the mountain behind him which seemed to dominate the cantonment and the surrounding areas. The captain told me that it was known by its elevation that was 13620 ft and was in Pakistani occupation and hence the enemy was at an advantage. It could take pot shots on people down below, even us as we sipped our coffee. He said it was captured during the war of 1965 and the Pakistanis were dislodged from the peak but under the Tashkent Agreement Indians had to give it back to the Pakistanis.

 The captain continued and said that the officer who had won it during the operations shed copious tears for many of his friends and collegues he lost in capturing the peak. Strange are the ways of diplomacy. The India-Pakistan conflict has always been victim of Cold War politics and interference by Big Powers. In this case it was the now-defunct USSR which brokered the peace, insisted on status quo ante. The Indians had to withdraw from the areas they had won in the war that was not of their making and, more importantly, most of them legitimately belonged to India but illegally occupied by Pakistan. Such is the price that we had to pay for being weak and infirm and dependent on the help of others who were basically unscrupulous. Mercifully, Point 13620 was recaptured during the 1971 War with Pakistan and it has remained with India since then.

We left for Srinagar the next morning. I was somehat happy to get away from this arid vastness of Ladakh where people surprisingly have chosen to set up their homes. Though the landscape was spectacular with colours changing as the sun moved from horizon to horizon yet it was too dry for my comfort. Nonetheless, I felt that whatever views and images that I happened to decord in my “hard disk” would remain as parts of me right through my lifetime. I, therefore, feel that those who fly in and out of Leh miss so much of the country which by far is far too deserving of the long haul of a journey by road.

Soon we left the arid Ladakh behind and the green hills after Zojila came in view. As we descended down the mountain road the greens of the Baltal valley seemed to soothe my nerves.

(The 3- part write-up on Ladakh concluded)

*Photos from internet

Kashmir 50 years ago ::6 :: Ladakh (Part 2)

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Lamayuru (from internet)

Next morning in Kargil was taken up by official work and at noon we had to attend an interesting session with the local Brigadier. He had organized a lunch on the banks of the Suru River that flows by Kargil. Suru is a tributary of the Indus and it originates from a glacier. Covered with a lot of foliage, the banks were very pleasant. The Army bandobast made it more so. The occasion was a visit to the Army establishment by a Parliamentary Committee headed by Nandini Satpati, who later became Chief Minister of Odisha.

While the lunch was typical army fare the discussions were interesting. The Brigadier seemed to have a congenital dislike for the netas and he let loose his artillery barrage at them. That the Army fifty years ago was operating under great stress with shortage of men and material couldn’t be gainsaid. Then, the general inefficiency of the civilian control over defense matters made it worse. The Brigade Commander obviously had a lot of grievances and he did not mince his words.

I couldn’t see much of the town. Whatever little I saw of it appeared to me more like Central Asian towns we had seen in pictures. The people were more or less of Central Asian stock and were mostly Muslims, very courteous and hospitable.

Next morning we left for Leh. About 10 miles away was a town called Mulbek. It was at that time the last outpost of Muslims and after Mulbek it was all Buddhist country. Quite a few miles after Mulbek we came across a bridge over a small river guarded by three soldiers – two on one side and one on the other. For miles around there was no sign of human life. We were told that these guards would be changed every month and sometimes the relievers wouldn’t turn up for days. Their isolation, particularly at night, was so oppressive that one wondered how these soldiers kept their mental balance. In the overbearing cold it should be worse and unbearable.

After another few miles we crossed Fatu-la, the highest pass on the route,. The pass is at more than 13000 ft. We had not even got over the fact that we had crossed the highest pass on the way when we came across a descent that was most interesting. Called Hungroo Loops the road descended to scrape the bottom of the valley taking eleven loops only to climb again another ridge. Vehicles do have a tough time on this road climbing up and down on rough roads in rarified atmosphere.

After Hungroo Loops there was something more stunning that was in store for us. In a valley on the right side of the road were some Buddhist structures the tops of which were at the road level. The rest of the structures were in the valley. The place is known as Lamayuru. Here the mountains all around are stark and bald, and not a blade of grass grows; the place is just devoid of greenery barring a few patches of green at the bottom of the valley. The mountain sides are, however, of brilliant beige colour.  It has a monastery which is famous among the Tibetan Buddhist. Legend has it that in prehistoric times the place had a water body. The water just happened to disappear leaving the place for the small town to come up. Sounds far-fetched but fossilized stone fragments could be picked up from the road even fifty years ago.

 What was once a sleepy Buddhist settlement has now become a thriving tourist site. There are special buses for Lamayuru from Leh and hordes of motorcyclists, the adventure tourists, throng the place. Hotels and home-stays have since come up bringing the place up in the tourist map of Jammu & Kashmir

Lamayuru to Leh was more than a hundred kilometers and it was a good three hours drive. By the time we left Lamayuru after a very brief halt it was already late evening. Soon it was dark and with no mountains to keep us company on the sides it appeared as if we were speeding down a road on the top of the world. We hit Leh around 9 o’clock in the evening.

We got two days in Leh that were mostly spent in official work. There was no time for sight-seeing. The town was like any other Buddhist Central Asian town. The Old Town was dominated by the  Leh Palace built in the 17^th Century- which the tourists now flock to Fifty years ago it looked lonesome and isolated and Leh itself was not a bustling town like it is reported to be today. In fact, one did not ever think of Leh as a tourist spot then as, firstly, it was a prohibited place and secondly, travelling to it was not easy. Planes were only from Chandigarh and mostly for armed forces.

I remember two things about Leh. The Army people had a farm that grew vegetables. I had never seen such magnum sized cauliflower, pumpkins, radishes and numerous other kinds of vegetables. These were all consumed in the Army mess. Then there is one thing I must make a mention of and that is the moonshine in Leh. The moon was only about three days away from maturing into a full moon. I happened to wake up very late one night because of the bright light falling on the bed through the open window. It was the moonshine – very bright, almost dazzling. At more than 11000 ft there was nothing in the atmosphere to obstruct the moonlight. I went out to the verandah and took in  the sight in front. The whole plain in front was bathed in bright moonshine – a fabulous sight.

The same verandah of the Signals Mess offered a very good view of  a maidan that seemed to extend to the mountains  beyond. Sitting there one morning after breakfast I saw a caravan of fully loaded yaks and ponies trudging from one side to the other. The men driving the animals were dressed up like the Mexicans I happened to have seen in Wild West movies many years ago. Their high boots kicking up a lot of dust and their what seemed like rough leather jerkins resembled what the Mexican roughnecks would wear. I was told these men were Tibetans and were on their way from one of their settlements to another. Ladakh has a substantial number of Tibetan refugees