Dusk at Dalhousie—a jewel in the Himachal hills
We
had arrived from Kolkata two days ago. My friend made plans for me and Tukai to
enjoy the Himachal hills along with our stay at his
Jammu house. I had heard lots about Dalhousie. It still is one of the renowned
old-time hill stations in the Himalayas. Though my friend spent many years in
Jammu, it had been more than a decade now he moved over to Himachal on work.
His weakness for Himachal was apparent, to which I also became a party.
In
Jammu and Kashmir Himalayas, Kashmir is one famous tourist place, but Himachal
is all dotted over with many popularly known and not so well known tourist
spots of great natural beauty. Overall on the basis of variety, Himachal was
favored. And which place should be the first? It was easy to decide—Dalhousie
was still considered a prime hill station in India.
We
started after breakfast from Jammu towards Dalhousie. We would have to travel
along this national highway 1A a number of times in near future. We could
maintain a good speed through the plains of Jammu and Kashmir. First halt would
be at Kathua from where we would turn north towards the hills and Dalhousie.
Though
we were not conventional tourists, we looked forward to our first destination
Dalhousie where we would stay back for three days and then my friend would take
a break from his work and join us at Dalhousie for the next part of our trip.
Me and Tukai would be on our own for two clear days at Dalhousie before bidding
goodbye to it.
As
the car sped across the plains we looked out to the ripe golden crops swaying on
both sides of the road. This was harvesting time. Shortly harvesting will
start. But now stalks full of grains filled our vision.
At home we live
amongst a forest of brick and mortar. Here the open fields made us happy and
want to stop the car. It always feels nice to stop on a road cutting across
open nature and walk around awhile in it. I went down for a short walk into the
golden stalks.
 |
| Golden crops |
The narrow path curved left to the village hidden in
the clump of trees. This is our countryside, typical. The area type being
Punjab, Haryana, Jammu and Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh, the crop most probably
was wheat or bajra. Good thing about these croplands—you could walk easily
inside if you wish. Back home we are used to rice fields which are not so easy
to negotiate.
But leaving aside the
ease of walking in, these fields, be it wheat or rice, never fail to stop me in
my tracks with their quiet deep charm. To feel this charm you would have to go
down to the level of the stalks and sit amongst them for a few minutes.
 |
| Feeling them |
Turning
back I joined my friends. Straight ahead lay the road through two rows of
overhanging mango trees on the two sides. I call this a mango avenue—another
of my favorites on the Indian roads.
 |
| Mango avenue |
After we
crossed the avenue, scenery changed. Low hills came into view. The first hills
always create a sense of excitement.
 |
| First hills |
Far away from the bed of river Ravi rose low hills. This is Ravi
valley. It was inhabited as it should be. Most civilizations started along a
valley. The wide expanse of the spot where we stopped gradually went down to
the valley. The flowers reminded us of home. These wayside flowers are spread
all over our country.
 |
| Surprised flower buds |
The buds must have been very surprised to be
photographed first time in their short life. But that’s Tukai.
The
road moved straight ahead rising slowly, with Ravi valley accompanying us on
the left. A little ahead the valley narrowed and the river came nearer. The
road still moved straight. But this can’t go on indefinitely. We had to rise to
an altitude of about 6500 feet. The valley had no other option than to get
narrower as the river rose.
Suddenly with a cry
of surprise we stopped the car. Ravi had surprised us with a sharp bend to the
left. Looking down we had to acknowledge it as a blue beauty.
 |
| Blue beauty |
The color
of the water bore the stamp of permanent ice high in the mountains. Ravi is a
proud perennial river. Looking up, the spectacular horseshoe turn greeted me.
 |
| Horseshoe turn |
You may understand a river flowing straight down, but
it takes a while to absorb the complexity of the events and circumstances that
brought in this unnatural shape. This I call—nature’s will. All in all, this
will is what keeps life interesting.
We moved on and up
the bare hills. Now I knew why I all but forgot the road to Dalhousie. In early
April it was barebones rocky hills practically devoid of any noticeable green tree
cover.
 |
| Barebones hills |
The road
hugged the hills and rose. All along the path rose the river. Time to time the
river vanished from sight, again appearing a few minutes later. A rare wide
patch on the river bed had attracted the farmers. It looked picturesque.
 |
| Farmers' delight |
This was a special mountain road, not like others.
Take for example the road to Darjeeling. The way twists and turns and rises all
the time. The view changes every few seconds. That is the usual Indian mountain
road. Locally we call this a ghat road.
Today we were not on
such a usual Indian mountain road. Turns were few, the road mostly rose on straight stretches. All around it was drab grey. Hillsides were
covered with shrubbery. Occasionally, the barebones hills were dotted at the
top with a few stick like trees further accentuating the bareness. The uncared-for
wayside flowerbed somehow saved the day for Tukai.
 |
| Wayside flowerbed |
We decided against any further halt. It was hunger
call. The car passed through lower Dalhousie which was clean and neat, and
quickly reached the upper Dalhousie. It rolled forward on level road, went down
a bit at a fork, and at last, there beckoned our hotel. Room was fixed beforehand
by my friend from Jammu. We finalized our lunch order and retreated to our room.
Now
I felt tired and cold—without much heed we had risen quickly from the hot
plains to about 6500 feet.
After
lunch I retreated further inside the quilt. Tukai pulled me up, pushed me out
and we boarded the car again. Some amount of daytime was still left.
As the car moved
slowly on the narrow level road on the Dalhousie mountain top I wanted to move
a bit away from the main town into trees. That we found after a short walk from
a point where we parked the car. It was in a way outskirts of Dalhousie town.
 |
| Dalhousie outskirts |
The hillsides were dotted with signs of habitation.
The place was good—full of greenery and generally level. Now the streams were
all dry, but water supply would come not from natural streams but from civic
water supply system—the perennial river Ravi still lay on one side, though a
few thousand feet below.
While I was with the
green hillsides far away, Tukai focused his attention nearby. The day was near its
end and light weak. I liked his attempt to capture the play of golden light on lime green young fronds.
 |
| Play of light on lime green fronds |
Tukai looked up and asked, “Where is the snow view?”
It was a desire natural to him. I knew little about Dalhousie except that it
was an old renowned hill station. I asked a gentleman passing by. It turned out
that the road running one level up near our hotel was one of the main roads and
from there only we could have snow view.
We
turned back and left the car a little before our hotel. Dalhousie was built for
walking leisurely, and not for zooming about riding in modern day demons called
cars.
Truly there was a
snow view, though far away and looking small and weak.
 |
| Dalhousie snow view at day end |
For me it was no disappointment—in my long life, I had
seen some great snow views of Himalayas. Tukai also seemed to be unaffected. We
turned and walked on, crossed the fork going down to our hotel and stopped
together.
Now we liked the
view. The old trees lend a lot of charm to Dalhousie and we both are fond of
old trees. At this moment the grandeur of the trees could only be felt in
fading low light, not seen. From tomorrow onwards we would see them in full
glory. I felt happy.
 |
| Looks good |
A bit of
slow walk helped us adjust to the surroundings. Now we felt comfortable and were
in no hurry to return. At least till the daylight remained. Tukai not only
looks near at his feet but also looks up to the sky time to time.
 |
| Dusk at Dalhousie |
It was
dusk at Dalhousie. Tomorrow we would hopefully wake up to a brightly lit
morning.
Author’s Note: This
was a trip from Kolkata to Jammu where we had about 12 days. We went from Jammu
by car to Dalhousie first. That was our prime destination. From Dalhousie my
friend picked us up for Khajjiar for a one night halt. From Khajjiar we
returned back to Jammu via Jyot.
Later we made a short visit to
Dharamsala and then ended the whole trip with Patnitop. Except Patnitop all the
places were in beautiful Himachal.
Memories of those days come back
to me vividly with scenes of tall mountains covered with high altitude trees,
winding ghat roads along the hillside, down below occasional thin silver streak
of a river flowing through the green valleys and glimpses of majestic Himalayan
snow peaks.
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