Gateway to heaven

Gateway to heaven

SUDHA MADHAVAN

Perched in the heady heights of the Himalayas, Sikkim offers a blend of breathtaking scenery and a unique cultural landscape…

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Nathu la was also a part of the ancient ‘Silk route' and trade between Tibet and India.

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Sitting cosily ensconced between the erstwhile kingdom of Nepal and the Bhutanese monarchy is the state of Sikkim. An erstwhile monarchy ruled by the Chogyals; due to security and administrative problems it was granted statehood, on May 16, 1975, becoming the 22nd state of the Indian Democracy.

It is an absolute tourist paradise, with all places of interest just involving ‘not-too-long' jeep rides and ‘just- that-little' climb-ups, to place you deftly in the middle of the most amazing monasteries, lakes and the grandeur of the second tallest peak, the Khangchendzonga.

The approach to the historic Nathu La Pass is from Gangtok, situated at an altitude1700 metres, approximately 5,570 feet above sea level. The climate is moderately cool, ranging between 20 and 25 degrees in summers (touching around 6 degrees in winters) an enchanting hill station and the capital of Sikkim. And it affords an easy approach to the Soungo Lake, the Rabendtse ruins of the ancient capital of Sikkim, the Rumtek monastery, the Pemayangtse monastery, the Institute of Tibetology, the Guru Dongmar lake, Do drul Chortem, and the famous Nathu La pass. And of course, the enchanting Pelling, with its breathtaking view of Khanchengdzonga (Kanchenjunga)!

Thrilling experience

Nathu la was also a part of the ancient ‘Silk route' and trade between Tibet and India. Fifty-six km from Gangtok, it is approachable by jeep, the climb up the mountain roads where you gain thousands of feet in a matter of a few hours is thrilling and an unforgettable experience. The pass is situated at the Indo-Chinese border, at a height of 14,200 feet and stays covered with snow most of the year.

The Chang is the local Sikkimese variety of home-made toddy, using millet. Being rich in calcium and iron, it is considered health giving and energising and seen as a good substitute for mother's milk for infants. In Sikkim, this millet is winnowed, cleaned, and then boiled. The swollen grains are then drained, gently beaten with a wooden pestle, mixed with yeast and then left to ferment for three to four days. In this period it gains a wonderful flavour. This is then used to make warm energy filled drinks. It is perfectly delicious, warm and wonderfully relaxing! Not to say, quite as heady as wine! One can keep adding warm water as long as the flavour is not diluted.

The carpets of Sikkim derive their designs from the auspicious symbols of Denzong, and the hundreds of variety of orchids, flora and fauna. Thick, rich and quite heavy, these are hand-woven from wool sourced from Punjab. Each stitch is pressed into place with bamboo strips, kept for this purpose. It is hard labour that needs nifty fingers and sharp focus.

Hand woven fabrics by the Lepchas, in the form of cushion covers, long strapped shoulder bags and belts, wraps, purses and tote bags, uniformly have the traditional designs of arrow heads, hills etc. which are considered holy.

The beautiful river Teesta, which means ‘three streams', flows right through Sikkim and is a source of succour. It is also a great venue for river rafting and water sports. A gentler river, the less adventurous ones can step in without apprehension to indulge in. Rangit, the playful, turbulent tributary of the Teesta, is for the lion hearted to exact the thrill and adventure of the more dare-devil variety and exhilaration!

Hard choices

Several hydel power projects are in the offing to harness the energy resources available. Of these six were targeted in North Sikkim which is home to the original inhabitants, the ancient tribe of Lepchas. They have been actively agitating against the construction of dams on their land, going on a relay hunger strike that lasted more than 500 days. They have been partly successful in forcing the government to take a look at their grievances. Four of the six projects have been shelved.

The Lepchas, the ancient inhabitants of Sikkim are a protected tribe having dwindled to a mere 6,000 or so. The Bhutias, who came later formed a blood brotherhood deal with them to live in amity and peace. But there is an obvious undercurrent of disenchantment in the air now.

The Lepchas, the Bhutias and the Nepalese together form the populace of this beautiful hill state.The Nepalese come in search of work and livelihood. They have no ownership rights. They cannot purchase land or own a house here. Sikkim belongs therefore to the Bhutias and the Lepchas.

West Sikkim is the proud owner of the ancient and highest monastery — The Pemayangtse Monastery. This monastery is a treasure trove of ancient Thangka paintings and Buddhist sacred books and the home of Buddhist culture. The huge prayer wheel is awe-inspiring as are the ‘Thangka' paintings.

The topmost floor has an awe-inspiring pagoda-like wooden structure, the view of heaven, called the ‘ Zangdoplari', which shows the cycle of after life, the various stages that the soul passes through in its life after death!

Ancient link: The historic Nathu La pass

Air of peace

The Rumtek monastery, The largest monastery of Sikkim, provides facilities for study of Buddhism and philosophy with a comparative delving into the Vedic philosophy and the Hindu theology as well. Situated 24 km from Gangtok, it has an air of immense peace and the ideal atmosphere for learning. We had a pleasurable and informative tête-à-tête with two young Lamas, Rishi and Ringzhip, who are studying to become ‘ Acharyas'. The first level being that of the ‘Shastri'. Together the course covers a period of 11 years. The code of conduct for one aspiring to be a ‘Rimpoche' is a strict one and involves the formal severance of ties with family and relatives, as well as going into a retreat for a period of time. The hierarchy of the teacher and taught is followed meticulously, except at meal times when everyone is equal.

The Rabendtse ruins of the ancient capital of Sikkim stand about a kilometre away from the Pemayangtse Monastery. You walk down an enchanting pathway until you reach the perfectly maintained ruins. The view is absolutely thrilling! The sky is a stunning blue and the air crisp.

Tensung Namgyal, son of Phuntshog Namgyal, shifted the capital of Sikkim from Yuksom to Rabendtse in the late 17th century. The ruins of the ancient capital are scattered over a conspicuous spur, in a thickly forested valley, surrounded by a fortification of rubble. Beyond the fortification must have been the settlement for the common people. There is a lake over which is a connecting bridge.

How indeed does one fill up the senses with the sounds and sights of a place like Sikkim? There was the monastery at Tashiding of the Nyingmapa order, the rhodendron froests of Barshay and the hot springs of Reshi, yet to be done! OhYes! We shall come again!

Magnificent

Kanchenjunga reigns royally over Sikkim, now appearing and now disappearing mysteriously from view as one walks along the twists and turns of the winding lanes of Gangtok. We walked around in a daze with our eyes on the tantalising view of the mountains, tripping over things that came in the way! And feeling absolutely envious of the Sikkimese, living veritably under its magnificent presence! The thrill of seeing the sun rise on the peak and turn it golden is out of this world. We got up in the freezing cold and went up to the terrace at 5 a.m. to watch the sun touch the tip and set it afire. An unforgettable experience, indeed!

The hidden Zanskar

The hidden Zanskar

AROON RAMAN

As the little-known Zanskar valley in Jammu and Kashmir comes out of its geographic isolation, momentous changes are afoot which touch everyday lives. Ordinary but enterprising people, like Tashi Dorjai, are showing that with change also comes unique opportunities, and the realisation of dreams never possible before...

Photo: Murtaza Darukhanwala

Riding the wave of change: A monastery in Zanskar.

Some 70 million years ago, the Indian subcontinent, travelling northwards on the Ocean of Tethys, slammed into Asia in one of the greatest geological events in the Earth's history. The immense stresses generated by the impact played out dramatically over the next 50 million years. The Indian and Asian tectonic plates folded and thrust up thousands of metres into the air to form the highest mountain chain on the surface of the planet: the Great Himalaya. Layers of sediment from the ocean floor travelled ahead of the folds rather like foam at the crest of a wave, and settled into convoluted masses of shorter mountain ranges and valleys on the northern flank of the Himalaya. One of these is the Zanskar.

We are camped on a meadow by the Suru river. The looming ice-clad Himalayan peaks to our right tower over the rounded hills opposite, separated by this valley of almost ethereal beauty. It is a late August evening, and the sun sinking into the west suffuses the vista with a contrasting effulgence that is hard to describe. The 7,000 metre Nun Kun massif soaks up the angled light and is aglow with a molten fire, while on the Zanskar slopes, the light is thrown back by the shale in iridescent streaks of ochre and silver.

The Zanskar gorge

Two days later, we are on the Zanskar river, floating on rafts past the ancient gompa (monastery) of Karsha, perched impossibly on the steep mountainside. We are about to enter one of the most spectacular natural formations in Ladakh — the Zanskar valley gorge. The river itself is fed by the glacial melt of summer and flows swiftly at this time of the year, but by November it freezes into an ice-plate of ultramarine blue called the Chador, or blanket, and becomes virtually a road through this remote, isolated region.

The next four days are a not just a journey of physical exploration along a rushing river, but a connecting of the spirit with the stark solitude that permeates this narrow valley whose sheer scale and verticality recall to mind — albeit on a reduced scale — the Grand Canyon itself. Compared to the greener slopes of the Suru, the Zanskar is all sand and rock. The river has eroded the mountainside into fantastical shapes. Giant anthill-like formations watch over the gorge like silent sentinels, and high above, serrated peaks slice into the azure sky. The barren grandeur silences us with its majesty as we float past, insignificant.

In the midst of this harsh desolation, life not only endures, but is found in a myriad forms, adapted to the environment of a high-altitude desert. Janet Rizvi's classic, Ladakh: Crossroads of High Asia, puts Ladakh as home to at least 225 bird species and mammals that are now mostly on the endangered list, including the Himalayan ibex and its variants such as the chiru, whose wool is used in the famous shahtooshshawls.

SEIZING THE DAY: Tashi Dorjai . PHOTO: AROON RAMAN

Tashi Dorjai

The third day finds us camped on a shelf of land overlooking the river. Our landlord (literally) is Tashi Dorjai of Nyerak village, who has seen an opportunity in the fact that winter treks on the Chador are fast becoming popular with Westerners. The winter here is incredibly harsh; the temperature drops to below 20˚ C with cutting winds. Why anyone would trek the Chador for fun in winter is beyond him (and us) but he will develop this flat patch into a regular ‘resort' he says proudly. We sip our tea and listen to his story.

Tashi was born in 1976, one of seven children, to an artisan family. Then, and indeed up to 1990, the Zanskar was almost completely isolated from the external world. Food grew between the months of May and September when the ice-fed streams permitted a short crop. Life was lived at the margin, with meals often limited to one a day. Yet, in a motif that still runs through the people of this land, what the Dorjais lacked in material possessions they made up in their closeness to one another and in their simple yet robust Buddhist faith.

The first winds of change touched Nyerak village in the early 1980s when an NGO called the Leh Nutrition Project set up a makeshift primary school there. This was Tashi's first experience of school — when he was seven or eight years old. Teaching was in Ladakhi, fitful at best, and went up to what was optimistically referred to as 5th Class'. But Tashi's father was determined that his son go further. In 1988, he managed to get a seat for Tashi in the Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya (JNV) in Leh. Remarkably, three girls also secured admission to the same institution.

And so it came about that one bitter winter's morning in March 1988 a group of four children set out to trek the Chador to Leh — a week's walk over frozen ice. “It was difficult to leave,” Tashi recalls. “My mother cried the whole day.”

More shocks awaited the little party in Leh. After having studied entirely in Ladakhi, they discovered that the JNV's instruction was in Hindi and English. “We were back in kindergarten. Everything had to be learnt again.” The girls could not cope and soon went back. Tashi struggled till the eighth grade, but the effort ultimately got the better of him too and 1995 found him back in Nyerak.

But the stint in Leh had changed him, made him aware of a wider world, and he was conscious of a sense of restlessness. One day, grazing his family goats in an upland pasture, it struck him like a thunderbolt. He would realise his unfulfilled dreams through his youngest brother. He would make Konchok Norbu everything he could not become.

Konchok Norbu

Tashi now went about systematically planning his brother's future. The first move was to shift Norbu to the government school in Khaltse, around 50 miles from Nyerak. The school had acquired a reputation of sorts in the area for its two teachers, one a Muslim and the other a Hindu who were not only lifelong friends, but who lived together in the school and were known to encourage their wards to excel in every way. Young Norbu did so well under their tutelage that his Muslim teacher decided that the boy was meant for higher things, and had Norbu admitted to the high school in Jammu. The gentleman now became a steady presence in Norbu's life, pushing the boy's boundaries from a distance, and when Norbu graduated near the top of his class in Jammu, set him what appeared to be an almost impossible goal: the St. Stephen's College in Delhi. In 2005, Konchok Norbu entered St. Stephen's to read Physics, arguably the first Zanskari villager in history to do so.

Tashi leans back, smiling with satisfaction at our open mouths. “He is now at IIT Delhi, Sir, doing his MSc Physics. I think he will sit for the IAS exam.”

Tashi moves on, showing us some rugs made by another of his brothers. He speaks with the assurance of a born salesman, and of course, I have bought one before I know it. Now…would I like to see some fine pieces of Ladakhi furniture which are unique…? I reflect on this school dropout who has seen so well into the future and invested in it, first in his talented brother and then in gora trekkers who have discovered the Zanskar.

As we get up to leave, I comment about how much he has achieved, wresting success from this hard, unyielding land. He smiles. “When the road comes through the gorge, there will be change you won't believe. We've waited for it for 20 years.”

The Zanskar road

The sun is still well up in sky, but I am conscious of a sudden chill. What road? Tashi seems surprised. Didn't we know about it? A road through the Zanskar has been a long-standing demand of the Zanskaris, but in the manner of the government, nothing happened for decades. Then came the Kargil War, and the realisation that the main routes connecting Srinagar and Manali to Leh were within the Pakistani and Chinese artillery range. The army needed a road through the interior. “What we Zanskaris could not get our sarkarto do in a lifetime, the Chinese and Pakistanis have managed it for us,” Tashi said drily.

Back at camp we mention it to our guide, Yousuf Zaheer of Himalayan River Runners, who has been rafting the Zanskar for over 20 years. He nods sadly. “You'll see it tomorrow.” Sure enough, we come upon it at noon the next day: a construction site blasted out of the gorge. The roaring of tippers and excavators and the plumes of dust that fly up in the air are a shock; as are the plastic bottles and wrappers that are strewn all along the river. Workers line the river bank and wave cheerfully as we paddle past.

Now the road is with us for the rest of the way. Trucks and buses are a common sight and with them the inevitable dhabas. The sense of loss is almost overwhelming; we have left Shangri-la behind. Will this extraordinary place ever be the same once the tour operators come in a few years? Then I think of the Zanskaris, their faces seamed by hardship and I know the road offers them freedom from an isolation that I can only guess at. I think too of the intractable border politics between India, Pakistan and China and wonder what else is in store for this land. Running through my ruminations is a conviction that we will lose something unique if the Zanskar is not opened up responsibly, in a way that is sensitive to the needs of both its people and the environment. We do not lack for successful examples around the world. We have only to anchor them imaginatively in our unique local contexts. That is arguably our most urgent challenge.

The river curves suddenly and before we know it, the Zanskar has merged with a broad sweep of water that is the Indus. We are at Nimu, close to Leh, and our journey is over. I look back a last time at the ridges receding behind me, at those “terrible, strange, sublime and beauteous shapes” and I know I will be back.

The author is a research and innovation entrepreneur. He can be contacted at raman.aroon@gmail.com.

© Copyright 2000 - 2009 The Hindu

Stark splendour

PHOTO COURTESY E. MADDOCK, HIMALAYAN RIVER RUNNERS

Pensi La.

Covering an area of roughly 7,000 square kilometres and situated at a height between 11,500 and 23,000 feet, Zanskar is in Kargil district in the eastern part of Jammu and Kashmir. The easiest way to reach Padum, the administrative capital, is by the road which goes from Kargil through the Suru valley and over the Pensi La. According the 2006 medical census, the population of Zanskar was a little less than 14,000. Ninety-five per cent of the population practise Tibetan Buddhism while the remainder are Sunni Muslims.

Surfing the sand dunes

Surfing the sand dunes

GUSTASP AND JEROO IRANI

Tighten your seat belts and get ready for a heady ride in the Thar Desert. Dune-bashing is here, at the Sam Dunes near Jaisalmer…

PHOTO: GUSTASP and JEROO IRANI

Zip, roar, lurch, slide, rock …our world tilted crazily; straightened and got skewed again. It was like riding a berserk camel that was high on steroids.

The soft sand rose in spirals and the dunes seemed to move as the wind whistled over them, ruffling them like fingers running through a woman's thick tresses. All was illusion as we sat in our 4x4 vehicles imagining a line of caparisoned camels swaying past in the distance, the hot sun shimmering on the heaving sea of sand. Mirages are the easiest things to come by in the desert, inspiring wannabe painters and poets to give vent to their emotions on canvas or in words.

We were enjoying a spell of dune bashing, Dubai-style, on the Sam sand dunes, 30 km from Jaisalmer in the midst of the Thar desert. Three kilometers long and one kilometer wide, these dunes were the site of the first ever international-style desert safari introduced recently by the Dubai-based Lama Tours .

Rock and roll

Initially, the tyres of the Toyota Fortuners (luxury SUVs replete with cutting-edge technology) were deflated to increase traction and then half a dozen 4x4s gunned into the desert and started to careen over the soft dunes, zig-zagged across the sandy wasteland like drunks who had one too many, slithered down the dunes sideways, spun around and often got stuck. For us, the world shrank and got reduced to the immeasurable sandy ocean around us … We could think of little else barring holding on to our seats, as our vehicle swung and swivelled like a beast in torment, and our seat belt grazed and cut into our necks.

Yet, we had the time of our lives, knowing that at the wheel was a seasoned Filipino driver from Dubai who barrelled down the half-a-kilometer-high dunes with consummate skill. From time to time, the soft sand churned up by the spinning wheels would spray the windshield and make it resemble a Rorschach test.

After that rush of adrenaline, we stopped to admire the desert around us, absorbing the palpable serenity, feeling overwhelmed by the echoing vastness of the blue sky streaked with the myriad colours of the setting sun. We swilled huge gulps of water to soothe parched throats and headed back to the Lama Heritage Village located close by in a dreamy setting.

Here, like oriental potentates, we puffed on hookahs, listened to melodious Rajasthani music, rode a camel and were briefly distressed when our cameleer broke the spell by taking out his cell phone and started on a text messaging spree. Quad bikes and buggy rides were on offer too but we chose to savour a buffet dinner against the backdrop of a landscape drenched in post-sunset colours.

Indeed, dune bashing and other desert safari frills are new reasons to visit the former princely bastion of Jaisalmer. However, the next morning, we were unlocking the historic mysteries of this golden fort, the oldest inhabited citadel in the world, at a leisurely pace — on foot. The fort rose before us in all its honey-gold glory while a couple of Jaisalmer's much-loved cows blocked our way into it. We used the time to take some photographs till the bovines thought it appropriate to move.

The Arabian-nights style vision of towers, turrets and battlements that we had seen from afar turned out to be a labyrinth of narrow streets over which havelis and palaces rose in all their finely carved glory, seemingly etched from lace rather than honey-coloured sandstone. Here, highly made up and bedecked local women in colourful swirling skirts sold delicate silver jewellery in a multiplicity of tongues to foreign tourists.

“Buy my jewellery. I have a small business,” they appealed in dulcet tones, their kohl-lined eyes flashing, briefly resembling the princesses of yore who might have looked down at the busy streets of the fort from behind fretted screens. Even for the male vendors, sporting hot-pink, turmeric-yellow and blinding white turbans, the 12th century fort was their stage and they were but actors playing bit roles.

Wall hangings, patchwork quilts, brocades, paintings, mirror-work skirts and rugs were strung against the walls and blazed with colour even as tourists stopped to gaze and sometimes caressed the fabric in wonderment. Men with bristling moustaches and multi-hued turbans played the ravanhatta, a local instrument, and asked us to buy their CDs, claiming in the same breath that they were famous musicians. A wizened old man with a bunch of peacock feathers approached us even as a cow (at times, there seem to be as many cows as people living in the fort) began to chase us for no apparent reason.

Studded with cafes, restaurants, hotels and exquisitely carved havelis, Jaisalmer fort is in jeopardy from leaking drains that are weakening its foundations, related our garrulous guide. Yet at one time, the four-gate fort was almost impregnable and was taken but once. A late starter in the tourism stakes, it is yet swathed in an aura of medieval charm and has the tantalising feel of a place where time has not only stood still but perhaps moved backwards, harking back to the era when Jaisalmer was a transit point on the Spice Route.

Filled with brilliant light and unfathomable shadows throwing the Jaisalmer stone carver's art into obvious relief, the havelisin the fort are an eye-engorging sight. They were built by rich merchants in the 18 {+t} {+h} century and in these stately homes, a sense of space evoked by yawning courtyards is balanced by the delicate carvings on the facades.

Fit for a king

Situated on the main Dussehra square is the palace of the Maharawal, the ruler, a fine example of the stone carver's art with a zenana quarter with exquisite fretted screens from which women watched life go by — unseen and protected from the gaze of lascivious males. (There is even a cluster of three Jain temples which resemble one soaring mass of carved spires.)

We clambered up to the terrace of the palace from where we saw the desert spread out like a dusty skirt all around — vast, trackless and unknowable. Our adrenaline-pumping dune-bashing excursion of the previous day felt as dreamlike as Sonar Kila or Jaisalmer fort itself, with its solid ramparts and towers, which rises in surreal fashion from a semi-desert landscape.

Fact File

The nearest airport is at Jodhpur though Kingfisher Airlines is likely to start a daily air service to Jaisalmer from Aurangabad via Jodhpur and Udaipur.

Jaisalmer is well connected by road with the rest of the country and is a rail junction too.

By way of accommodation, there are a number of options including old havelis converted into modern hotels, state tourism lodges, small hotels within the fort and tented camps near the dunes outside the city. For information on dune-bashing safaris contact Dubai-based Lama Tours which recently introduced this exciting sport in Jaisalmer. Tel: 02992253007 Email:booking@lamaindia.comWeb: www.dunesafari.comOr Rajasthan Tourism at:www.rajasthantourism.gov.in

An experience of eternity

An experience of eternity

GUSTASP AND JEROO IRANI

To be at the Maha Kumbh celebrations at Haridwar is to get caught up in a swell of pure devotion, and rituals that haven't changed since time immemorial…

Photos: Gustasp and Jeroo Irani

Intense moments: Lighting the Ganga Aarti at Har-ki-Pouri

We could feel the pulse start to quicken the moment we entered Haridwar which sits at the foot of the mighty snow-capped Himalayas . It was the second day of the Maha Kumbh 2010 immersions and there was an air of expectancy as people from all walks of life and from all corners of the country started to pour into the eternal city.

Haridwar, considered one of the holiest cities in India, is the point at which the River Ganga leaves the mountains and enters the plains. Ash-smeared sadhus with flowing beards and knotted manes who had descended from their quiet retreats in the neighbouring hills and mountains roamed around the city on foot, astride cycles and motorbikes, participating in a festival that is considered to be the holiest in the land.

Indeed, there was the sense of camaraderie that comes when strangers get together to share a common stage. We found ourselves adrift in a surreal world where different realities overlapped. For, we had checked into Leisure Hotel's luxury tented resort on the terrace of a grand haveli, overlooking a private ghat, buzzing with activity: a holy man in orange robes sat cross-legged on the opposite misty bank, deep in meditation; men stripped down to their underwear and women in dripping saris took purifying dips in the freezing jade-green waters of the Ganga; pilgrims floated offerings of flowers, burnt camphor and incense sticks; sadhus with flowing locks and hooded eyelids pulled on chillums; a young chela washed the feet of his stooped, grey-whiskered guru; others scooped up the river water in containers to take back home… Despite the presence of security men in camouflage uniforms, sporting mean-looking guns supervising the proceedings, we were caught in the swell of unadulterated devotion being poured into the surging river as it swept by.

Special arrangements

And then there were times when we felt a little detached from this pious euphoria as the resort had made special arrangements for our group which included a private river aarti performed by the resident pandit. There were even separate enclosures for men and women to take their purifying dip in the Ganga as it lapped against the steps of the haveli before flowing urgently onwards to douse the great Indian plains with the benediction of its holy waters. The priest alleviated any guilt that might have been attached to our privileged status by reassuring us that what was important to Ma Ganga was that we take a dip in her sacred waters during the Kumbh Mela and not how we went about doing it.

Later we climbed up one level to the open terrace of the haveli resort from where we had a grandstand view of the aartis being performed in all the havelis, temples and shrines that lined the banks of the river: the ringing of bells, the swirling of oil lamps, the chanting of mantras… Later we would cross over to the other bank of the river and marvel at the similarity between this stretch of the waterfront and Venice: the only difference being that instead of opulent mansions and ornate churches, the skyline was etched with grand havelis and the spires of temples and shrines.

We soon realised that trying to reach Har-ki-Pauri, where the main immersions take place, was going to be a futile task. The previous day, the first of the Maha Kumbh 2010 which had commenced with much zeal and an air of organised chaos, security personnel had blocked access to the site as it was brimming to capacity with over five lakh devotees.

So we were there early the following evening (the first half of the day we strolled down the streets of the hyperactive city and visited some of its more important shrines and temples including the Daksha Mahadev Temple that is linked to the tragic death of Sati and a cable chair ride to Mayadevi Temple on the summit of a neighbouring ridge). Though there was no Kumbh ‘bathing' that day, the waterfront swarmed with devotees who had come to witness the aarti that is performed here each day at sunset.

Spontaneous reaction

The urgent tolling of temple bells sent a thrill of anticipation through the crowd and the frenetic activity around the ghats came to a grinding halt. Even the setting sun appeared to pause. The priest who had been priming the oil wicks of the many layered lamps set them on fire and started to swirl the flames in unison right across the ghat.

The Ganga aarti — a ballet of fire — was a totally spontaneous happening, sustained by pure, untainted devotion. Indeed, it captured the essence of the Kumbh and the city it graces this year — raw yet brilliant like an uncut diamond.

The evening aarti

The origins

The Maha Kumbh dates back to the creation of the universe. According to Hindu mythology, the devas and the ashuras once decided to set aside their eternal differences and together retrieve the Kumbh (pot) that contained the nectar of immortality from the depths of the ocean. Using a giant serpent as a rope the two groups started to churn the ocean. Almost immediately the waters started to release its many treasures as well as other evil elements. Just before it was ready to finally surrender the nectar of immortality, a cloud of vish or poison escaped and threatened to contaminate the entire universe. At that crucial moment Lord Shiva stepped in and swallowed the vish in one large gulp. But rather than consume it, he held the deadly poison in his throat and as a result his body turned to a deep shade of blue.

When Dhanwantari, the divine healer, finally appeared with the Kumbh in his hands, a great fight broke between the two sides, each one trying to wrest the pitcher for themselves. During the fierce battle that raged across the sky, a few drops of the immortal elixir fell at four different places in India: Prayag (Allahabad), Nasik, Ujjain and Haridwar.

Ever since, when the configuration of the stars and planets are just right — when Jupiter enters Aquarius and the Sun is in Aries — the waters of the rivers that run through these cities once again turns into nectar. It is believed that a dip in these miraculous waters at this point of time heals and cleanses the soul and body. This event, known as the Kumbh Mela, happens once every three years and in rotation between the four cities.

Over a period of three months, there will be 10 ritualistic snans or bathing days that coincide with auspicious days of celestial significance. The festival reaches a crescendo with the Royal Baths on February 12 and 15 March 15 after which it tapers off; the last ‘ bath' taking place on April 28. It will be another 12 years before the Maha Kumbh returns to Haridwar again.

Fact File

Haridwar is 214 km by road from Delhi, which is the nearest airport with regular scheduled flights. The city's station is an important railhead on the line between Delhi and Dehradun and is connected by direct trains to Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Varanasi and Allahabad. By road, Haridwar is 24 km from Rishikesh, 52 km from Dehradun, and 90 km from Mussoorie. The city has a wide range of accommodation to suit all budgets, including Leisure Hotels' luxury tented resort that sits on the banks of the river. For more information visit the official site of the Kumbh 2010 at www.kumbh2010haridwar.gov.in.

Bathing dates

The main bathing dates of the 2010 Kumbh Mela at Haridwar: January 14, 2010: Makar Sankranti Snan - First Snan (bath) January 15, 2010: Mauni Amavasya and Surya Grahan (Solar Eclipse) - Second Snan January 20, 2010: Basant Panchmi Snan - Third Snan January 30, 2010: Magh Purnima Snan - Fourth Snan Feburary 12, 2010: Maha Shivratri - Pratham Shahi Snan - First Royal Bath March 15, 2010: Somvati Amavasya - Dvitya Shahi Snan - 2nd Royal Bath March 24, 2010: Ram Navmi - Fifth Snan March 30, 2010: Chaitra purnima Snan April 14, 2010: Baisakhi - Pramukh Shahi Snan April 28, 2010: Shakh Purnima - Snan

In a land of legends

In a land of legends

SOFIA GHORI SALEEM

Some of the best beaches in Malaysia, scuba diving, snorkelling and a wealth of fascinating folklore when you want a break from it all – Langkawi has all that and more…

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The final curtain call act was when the trainer successfully inserted his hand inside the croc's open jaws.

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Photos: Sofia Ghori Saleem

 

Worth it: The Mangrove cruise.

Malaysia's Langkawi is a land of a myriad legends. This beautiful Malaysian archipelago of 99 islands lies in the Andaman Sea, some 30 km off the mainland coast of northwestern Malaysia. Situated just minutes from the Thai border, Langkawi is well endowed in some of nature's best known landforms as well as steeped in old folklore. The legends of Langkawi stretch on detailing curses, battles, fairies and vampires. The brown eagle from which Langkawi gets its name stands as a tall proud statue guarding its capital town of Kuah.

Langkawi is particularly known for its beaches which are among the best in Malaysia. The beaches are picturesque with seemingly unending stretches of fine white sand. Some beaches are fringed by rocky outcrops and others with a backdrop of limestone mountains — they offer a wonderful combination of forest and sea.

We checked into log cabins which were set in a jungle habitat right close to the beach, so we could get the best of beach and forest. All night long we could hear the tapping of critters and unique jungle sounds of humming, buzzing, scratching and whistling. The cicadas in particular were very vocal, calling to their mates with shrill high pitched sounds of over 120 decibels.

A visit to the crocodile farm was a matter of intense interest and curiosity for my kids. The crocodile trainers entered the lair of a family of visibly aggressive and uncooperative crocodiles — the 1,000-kilo male crocodile was initially swishing his tail and snapping his jaws in a most belligerent manner. The trainer gradually built trust, staring in its eyes and stroking him on the forehead until the croc had mellowed down enough to allow him to ride his back and brush his teeth. The final curtain call act was when the trainer successfully inserted his hand inside the croc's open jaws.

View from the top

Langkawi is so close to the Thai border that on a clear day you can see parts of Thailand from certain places in Langkawi. Another way to get a great aerial view is by riding the cable car. The Langkawi cable car offers a panoramic view of the entire sea/forest landscape beneath — a must for avid photographers. It takes you up to the very peak of the Gunung Mat Chinchang mountain.

Langkawi is also a great spot for a bit of scuba diving and snorkelling. The Pulau Payar Marine Park is tailormade for these sport. Marine life is prolific in Langkawi waters and so are corals of various kinds.

For people who love to shop, this island is Duty Free and cheaper than the rest of Malaysia. The Night Market is a vibrant bazaar that comes to life every evening in certain parts of town. Here vendors bring in their wares and sell home-grown goods in a self-spun cottage industry that is noisy, clamouring and bustling with activity.

In 2007, Langkawi was given a World Geopark status by UNESCO. Even though the island of Langkawi is pretty small, having barely an area of 470 sq km, it is home to an interesting array of scenery, including tropical jungle, waterfalls, rainforest, unspoilt beaches and exotic Mangrove.

A trip worth taking is the Mangrove cruise down the Kilim river. Our boat was laden with a mix of Japanese, Chinese and Australian tourists and a naturalist who pointed out the lush evergreen mangroves and dense deciduous forestation on the volcanic limestone mountains. The river meandered through large dense growths of mangrove, providing home to mudfish. These are ancient prehistoric fish which use their fins to “walk” up the banks. Along the banks were families of long tailed macaque monkeys who swam up to our boat looking for scraps to eat. We stopped as the arch of the river got broader and brown Brahminy kites and gigantic sea eagles swooped down to catch fish from the surface of the waters. You can feed eagles at this spot — they eagerly grab chicken skins that visitors drop in the waters.

Rare fish farm

Lunch was at the Hole on the Wall fish farm which is the only floating fish farm on the river. The farm offers a fantastic opportunity to see the marine life found in these waters and enjoy a good meal of freshly cooked sea food. Around the fish farm are many moorings which are docking points used by yacht owners around the world. These boats which can stay tied for up to a year have stayed safe and even made it through the tsunami of 2004.

There are many caves to visit in the Kilim Geoforest and plenty of legend attached to many of them. Most caves are accessible by boat and the elaborate stalactite and stalagmite limestone formations add to the aura of mystery.

We sailed back to shore after that long view of history — a first-hand look at a land that took hundreds of million years to form. What we have in Langkawi today is a land that took years of weathering ever since it was brought to the surface around 500 million years ago. The limestone mountains that tower above us all around the Kilim river are from the PreJurassic period before dinosaurs came along.

And that is truly legendary.

Getting there

By Boat: Langkawi is an hour and a half by boat from Southern Thailand.

By Air: There are quite a few options of national airlines and local carriers. Langkawi is an hour's flight from Kuala Lumpur.

Places to stay

There are luxury hotels by the beach as well as budget hotels and bed and breakfast places. Cenang is a busy central area and has quite a few accommodations to meet a spectrum of requirements. Kuah is the capital town of Langkawi and is quite close to some good beaches.

Things to see/ do

Mangrove river cruise/ eagle feeding/ bat caves Langkawi Cable car Helicopter ride Snorkelling and scuba diving in

Pulao Payar

Cenang Night Market

Crocodile farm and underwater world

KIRIBURUR NAAM DILAM PUGMARKS

কিরিবুরুর নাম দিলাম পাগমার্কস

তখনও ‘মুলা রুজ’ উচ্চারণ করতে শিখিনি। পাহাড় চুড়ো মঁ ব্লাঁ’র নাম শুনলেও পেনের নামটা মাউন্ট ব্ল্যাঙ্কই পড়তাম। ‘জাঙ্ক ফুড’ শব্দটাই ছিল না-শোনা। ন্যাশনালে প্রতিদিনের হচপচ (ডিম তরকা আর মাংসের ঝোলের খিচুড়ি), ঘুগনী গলি, নেতাজী কেবিন থেকে ফুরসতই মেলা ছিল মুসকিল। বেদুইনের রোল তখনও টানতে পারেনি আমাদের উত্তুরে লোলুপ জিভকে। স্বপনদা, শ্যামলদার রোলের স্বাদই তখন লেগে থাকে সর্বক্ষণ। কারো কোনো কাজ সেরে দেবার ‘পারিশ্রমিক’ হিসেবে মাঝে মধ্যে অনাদির মোগলাই। কখনও সখনও ডেকার্স লেনে চিত্তদা’র ‘স্টু’। কারো জন্মদিনে বড়জোর চাচার হোটেল নয়তো প্রিন্সেপ ঘাট স্টেশনের গার্ডন রেস্টুরেন্ট। নীলার ওপরের ঘরে হ্যাম-স্যাণ্ডউইচ (ব্যবস্থাপনায়: অনীশা), সেও আরো কয়েক বছর পরের কথা।

একবার অনুপমের দিদির এমনই একটা কাজের ‘পারিশ্রমিক’ অনাদির মোগলাইয়ের টাকা সিনেমা আর সিগারেট ফুঁকেই শেষ। অগত্যা দু’জনের ভুখা পেটের দাওয়াই ময়দানে ট্রাম লাইনের ধারে খোট্টা ছাতুয়ালার বিষ-টক আচার সহযোগে ছাতু মাখা— একেবারেই শ্রমিক শ্রেণীর খানা।

বলছি, সেই বাউণ্ডুলে সাজার সময়কার কথা।

সিনেমাটা দেখা হলেও সাদা-কালো অক্ষরে ‘অরণ্যের দিনরাত্রি’ তখনও পড়া হয়নি। সন্দীপনের ‘জঙ্গলের দিনরাত্রি’ তো কোন ছাড়! বলছি, সেসময়ের কথা, যখন স্ট্যাণ্ডে স্ট্যাণ্ডে ট্র্যাভেল ম্যাগাজিনের এমন ছড়াছড়ি হয়নি। সেই অল্প জানা আর অনভিজ্ঞতাকে পুঁজি করেই এক রাতে উঠে পড়লাম খড়্গপুরের ট্রেনে, ফিজিক্সের এইচ এস-এর উসকানিতে। ঐ একটা মানুষ, যত না ফিজিক্সের থিয়োরি পড়িয়েছেন, তার চেয়ে ঢের বেশি মন্ত্রের মতো মুখস্ত করিয়েছেন, উচ্ছ্বল, উদ্দাম হয়ে বেঁচে থাকাটাই জীবন।

সেই হরিশ সরকারের বাতলে দেওয়া আইটিনিয়ারি মেপে লোকাল ট্রেনের টিকিট হাতে চড়ে বসলাম আমেদাবাদ এক্সপ্রেসের সংরক্ষিত কামরায়। শুরুতেই গচ্চা। অঙ্কটা এখনও মনে আছে পাঁচ-ঊনিশে পাক্কা পঁচানব্বই টাকা। সেদিনের বাজারে অনেকটাই। টিটি’র হিসেবটা শুনে তখন হাতের তাশ ফেলে বাইপাস খুঁজছি। যদু হঠাৎই ক্যাশিয়ার সিমলাইকে বললো, নে একশো টাকা বের কর। সেই নোটটা দু-আঙুলের ফাঁকে রেখে নাচাতে নাচাতে বললো, রশিদ কাটুন। আমাদের মুখগুলি ততক্ষণে কার্টুন-পাঁচ। রশিদ পকেটে এমনভাবে ঢোকালো যেন মাধ্যমিকের অ্যাডমিট কার্ড সামলাচ্ছে। বললো, ড্যাব ড্যাব করে দেখছিস কী? ও ফোর নো-ট্রাম কল দিয়েছে। —আরে বাবা, একদিন নয় খাবো না!

এই একটা ডায়লগই যেন রাতভর খড়্গপুর স্টেশনে বঙ্গো, বাঁশি, মাউথ অর্গান যুগলবন্দীর মজলিশের সুরটা বেঁধে দিল। গোড়াতেই একদিনের খাবারের টাকা খুইয়েও উৎসাহে কোনো ভাটা পড়লো না। তার ফুরসতই বা ছিল কই? জামা-কাপড়ের থেকে তো বাজনার বন্দোবস্ত বেশি ছিল। সিমলাইয়ের বাঁশির পুঁটুলিটার ওজন আমার স্যাকের থেকে বেশি ছিল। দেখলে মনে হবে বাজনদারের দল। অথচ পাঁচজনের দলে আমার আর রাজুর গলা চিঁড়ে ফেললেও সুর বেরোবে না, এমন অসুর আমরা। বাপ্পা সৃজনী কালচারাল ফোরামের সদস্য, কিন্তু সুরের ব্যাপারে বড়জোর ঐ ‘নবসাক্ষর’ বলা যায়।

বাজনার সেই লটবহর ছাড়াও সে ট্যুরে আমাদের লাগেজ বলতে এক পেটি ওল্ড মঙ্ক, তিন কার্টুন মত সিগারেট। দু’বোতল ব্লু রিবন জিন, বেশ কিছু নিমকি-চাট আর একটা জলযোগের অর্ডারি কেক। যদুর প্ল্যান, পঁচিশে ডিসেম্বর জমিয়ে সেলিব্রেট করতে হবে।

সেইল গেস্ট হাউসের ভিউ পয়েন্ট থেকে যে পাহাড়সারি দেখা যায় তার সংখ্যা নাকি সাতশো। আমরা যদিও গুণে দেখিনি। সেই সাতশো পাহাড়ের দেশে প্রথম দিনেই আটশো বাধার পাহাড় ঠেলে সেলিব্রশেনের শুরুটা খুব একটা মন্দ ছিল না। অন্য জিনিসের চাপে ভাঙা টুকরো মোমবাতিতেই ক্যান্ডেল লাইট সেলিব্রশন চলছিল ভালোই।

গণ্ডগোলটা বাঁধলো ড্রেসিং টেবিলের ভাঙা আয়নায় যদুর নিজেকে ছত্রিশটা জোকার দেখা থেকেই। ভাসিয়ে দেওয়া টয়লেটে যদুর বমি সাফাই অভিযানে নেমে ঘন্টাখানেকের মধ্যে রাজু আর আমিও নিজেদেরই কাজ বাড়ালাম। পরের কয়েক ঘন্টার সবটাই ডেফার্ড রানিং কমেন্ট্রি। ভাষ্যকার বাকি দু’জন—সিমলাম আর বাপ্পা। ‘কিচেন থেকে খাবার আনতে গিয়ে ওরা বাইরেই আটকা পড়েছিল। তারপর নাকি সিমলাইয়ের অসীম শক্তিতে দরজার তলার দিক ফাঁক করা, সেই ফাঁক গলে তখনও রোগা পাতলা বাপ্পার ঘরে প্রবেশ, ছিটকিনি খোলা...বমির মানচিত্রের মধ্যেই বসে সিমলাইয়ের দিশি মুরগী সহযোগে আমাদের ভাগের রুটিগুলো সাবার করা...’ হুঁশ যখন ফিরলো, অন্ধকারে ঠাওর পাওয়া মুশকিল। হাতরে বুঝলাম, স্যাকটাই এখন মাথার বালিশ, শুধু তার থেকে বেরিয়ে এসে জ্যাকেটটা বনে গেছে স্লিপিং ব্যাগ। তবু ঠাণ্ডা মানানো দায়। হরিশ স্যারের বলে দেওয়া দু-তিন ডিগ্রি যে অতিরঞ্জিত নয়, তা প্রথম রাতেই মালুম পড়লো। অগত্যা নিচের কার্পেটটাকেই লেপ বানিয়ে ফেলা। সারাদিনের ধকল অবশ্য সেই কার্পেট-ওমেই পালিয়ে বাঁচলো।

আগের রাতটা খড়্গপুর স্টেশনে। রাতভর জলসা শেষে ভোরের মিটার গেজ ট্রেন ধরে বড়জামদা। পাইশ হোটেলে লাঞ্চ সেরে বাসের অপেক্ষা আর চলতে থাকলো মাউথ অর্গান জলসা। বাস বলতে মানুষের সহযাত্রী সেখানে ছাগল, মায় মোরগ-মুরগীও। ততদিনে অবশ্য বাউন্ডুলে জীবনে বাসের ছাদটাই আমাদের সুপার বিজনেস ক্লাস হয়ে উঠেছে। বাসের পেটের ভেতরটা তো নিতান্তই ক্যাটল ক্লাস। লটবহর নিয়ে তাতেই যখন চড়তে চলেছি, হাঁক পাড়লেন এতক্ষণ আমাদের পাইস হোটেল জলসার দর্শক-শ্রোতা এক দম্পতি। ভিলাইয়ে সেইলের বড় কর্তা। হয়তো বেশি বয়সে বিয়ে। সুন্দরী স্ত্রী খুব বেশিদিন কলেজ ছেড়েছেন বলে মনে হলো না। হোগলা পাতার মঞ্চে যদু-সিমলাইয়ের সঙ্গতে তিনিও দু’কলি গুনগুনিয়ে দিয়েছেন খানিক আগেই। ওঁরাও যাচ্ছেন মেঘাহাতাবুরু। সেই বৌদির আমন্ত্রণে সাড়া দিয়ে সুপার বিজনেস ক্লাসের মায়া ছেড়ে যে সেইলের জিপে উঠলাম, সেটাই আমাদের নামিয়ে দিয়ে গেলো হোস্টেলের সামনে। সেইলের বড়বাবুরা এখানে থাকে না, ওরা থাকে সাতশো পাহাড়ের দেওয়াল ঘেঁষা এক পাহাড়ের মাথায় অভিজাত গেস্ট হাউসে।

বলা হয়নি, প্রথম রাতের ঐ আস্তানাটা ছিল আমাদের টেম্পোরারি। হোস্টেল সুপারের নামে যে চিঠিটা পাঠানো হয়েছিল তা নাকি এসে পৌঁছায়নি। অল ইন্ডিয়া রেসলিং কম্পিটিশনের জন্য আজ রাতের জন্য হোস্টেলে ‘নো রুম’। সুপার পাণ্ডেও এখন শীতের ছুটি কাটাতে বাড়ি গেছেন। খোঁজখবর নিয়ে জানা গেলো, আপাতত সেইলের এই ইউথ হোস্টলের চার্জে রয়েছেন সাম ভট্টাচার্য। সিমলাই আর আমি তাই টাউনশিপের পথে। ঘন্টাখানেকের মধ্যে একেবারের ভট্‌চাজ্জি মশাইয়ের কোয়ার্টারে। বাঙালী আর কলকাতার ছেলে শুনে উষ্ণ অভ্যর্থনা। বাজার থেকে ফিরতেই ভট্‌চাজ্জি পত্নীর কড়া নির্দেশ— ওদের একটা ব্যবস্থা করতেই হবে। সেইল কর্তাও কথা না বাড়িয়ে ফোন তুললেন।

যে কেয়ারটেকারের দূর-ছাই শুনে রাজু-বাপ্পা জঙ্গলে ক্যাম্পিং গ্রাউণ্ড খুঁজতে ব্যস্ত হয়ে পড়েছিল, ভট্‌চাজ্জি মশাইয়ের বাড়ি থেকে ফেরার পর সেই ঝাঁ বাবুই হাতে পায়ে ধরতে লাগলেন— আজকের দিনটার মতো ম্যানেজ করে নিন, কাল থেকে আপানারা চাইলে প্রত্যেকে একটা করে করে রুমে থাকুন। আপাতত আজ রাতটা এই ভাঙাচোরা আসবাবের ঘরটা...ভট্‌চাজ সাহাবকে জানাবেন না, প্লিজ। ভাঙাচোরা বলতে ড্রেসিং টেবিলের আয়নাটা ভাঙা, আর গদিহীন একটা খাট। শুরুতেই আবার জানলার একটা কাঁচ ভেঙে ন্যাচারাল ভেন্টিলেশনের ব্যবস্থা করে দিল যদু।

পরের দিন সকালে সত্যিই কথা রেখেছিলেন কেয়ারটেকার ঝাঁ। আমরা অবশ্য আড্ডা মাটি যাতে না হয় তার জন্য মুখোমুখি দুটো ঘরে গিয়েই উঠলাম। ততক্ষণে গোটা মেঘাহাতাবুরুই আমাদের চিনে গেছে। তার পরের দিন সাতেক (এখন মনে নেই, ঠিক কদিন ছিলাম ওখানে) অবশ্য আমরা যেন সেইলেরই অতিথি। ভট্‌চাজ্জি মশাইয়ের আতিথেয়তায় শুধু অবাধ ঘোরাঘুরি, কিংবা ভি আই পি ব্যবস্থাপনায় ওপেন মাইন্স দেখাই নয়, একটা রাতের খাবারও জুটে গেলো তাঁর আমন্ত্রণে, মানে ঘাটতি বাজেটটাকে খানিকটা সামাল দেওয়া আর কী! আর চুটিয়ে প্রকৃতিকে দুমড়ে মুচড়ে নিঙড়ে নেওয়া।

দিন সাতেক প্রকৃতি আর তার বুক খুঁড়ে খনি, সঙ্গে বাঘ থেকে ভূত— বাদ রইলো না কোনো অ্যাডভেঞ্চারই।

ভূমিকাতেই হাজার ছাড়িয়ে গেলো। তাই ধড় তৈরিতে এবার একটু রাশ টানতেই হচ্ছে। হয়তো দেখতে বড় মাথার ল্যাকপ্যাকে সিং হয়ে যাবে, কিন্তু কিছু করার নেই লেখার ইচ্ছেটাও একটু একটু করে কমতির দিকে। তাই পাঠকের বিড়ম্বনা না বাড়িয়ে তড়িঘড়িই শেষ করছি।

বাঘ-ভূত— সব গল্পই অন্য আরেকদিন করা যাবে।

কিরিবুরু-মেঘাহাতাবুরু যাচ্ছি শুনে অন্য বন্ধুরা ঠাট্টা করে সে জায়গার নাম দিয়েছিল কিরিগুরু-মালাইকারি।

ঘুরে এসে আমরা পাঁচজন তার নাম দিলাম— ‘পাগমার্কস’।

বছর তেইশ পর এখন নিজেদেরই গাম্বার্ট মনে হচ্ছে। সারাণ্ডার জঙ্গলে বাঘ নেই তা নয়, তবে...। বনবেড়াল অবশ্য অগুন্তি। সম্ভবত তাদেরই একটাকে ‘বাঘ’ ঠাওরে আমাদের সে কী অ্যাডভেঞ্চারিজম!

Heady cocktail

Heady cocktail

VAASANTHI

South Africa is all set to host the FIFA Soccer World Cup in June. With the added attraction of a temperate climate, the beaches, mountains and the vineyards, it makes an ideal getaway this summer…

We are convinced that the Atlantic coast of the Cape Peninsula is the most spectacular coastal scenery in the world. The combination of mountains and beaches is irresistible.

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Photos: Vaasanthi

Perch with a view:Hout Bay, South Africa.

South Africans love folk tales and Cape Town is full of them — you have dime a dozen for every occasion, every mood of even the weather. You can never be sure of the weather whatever may be the season. You could have, in fact, all the four seasons in a day, says Ella, our guide. That is because of the play of the devil. A Dutchman went out to smoke his pipe. A devil came and they started playing poker. They played and played and smoked and darkened the sky. When there is a cloud, people say that the devil's poker game is on.

When you see the pearly white beaches and the brilliant aquamarine blue of the seas fringed with frothing, snow-white water bubbles, the awe-inspiring Table Mountain as a backdrop, the chilling winds wafting from the Atlantic, and the low-roofed, spotless, grey-coloured Dutch houses that are more than a hundred years old, it does seem you are in a bygone secluded world that is pure and pristine, uncomplicated and idyllic, that makes any tale of yore seem plausible. Yet, this is the land that was witness to a turbulent 350 years of recorded history, its pages taking a dramatic turn with the entry of the seafaring Europeans, the resultant conflicts, greed, terror, aggression, settlements pushing away the natives to the interiors, colonial rule of apartheid — brutal racism at its worst, that lasted till 1994 — the rise of mass revolt under the iconic Nelson Mandela and the declaration of Independence and the present state of near chaos. Tales from different yarns must have got entangled, like the language that emerged — Afrikaans, a cocktail of Zulu, Dutch, German, Portuguese and the Huguenots, and even Malaysian. Delve deeper, the place is schizophrenic — European but not European, African but not African — a volatile mixture of the third and first worlds. There is a sense of history everywhere, scars hidden in its quaint architecture, in its cafés, parks and gardens, markets and road-side restaurants in remote villages.

There is something more — temperate climate all the year round, mountains, magnificent surf beaches and outstanding vineyards. Excellent roads that connect every remote village that is well preserved, with friendly restaurants that serve delightful Dutch cuisine — Reasons why it is the recipient of the 2008 Best Destination in Africa award. Cape Town is now busy preparing to host the 2010 FIFA Soccer World Cup and a superb stadium is at present under construction. You see it screaming everywhere in billboards, posters and fluttering flags from poles along the roads.

The early morning sun through the hotel window gives a breathtaking view of the Table Mountain and the bright blue sea beyond. The Table Mountain that one has seen on the television screen during the telecast of cricket matches in South Africa stands live in front of me. A flag of FIFA world cup flutters in full view beyond the hotel entrance.

Memorable experience

A drive along the Atlantic Ocean's beach with the view of the 12 apostles of the Table Mountain following you as a soothing companion is a daunting experience. The beach is special because of the exquisite beauty of the colour of the sea, the cold wind from the Atlantic Ocean that gets cut by the summer easterly wind from the Indian Ocean. The houses facing the beach come for a price anywhere from five to 15 million Rands. You have to pay for the view says Ella. Madonna and Michael Jackson have houses here.

We are all geared up for the trip in the cable car up the Table Mountain and down. But Ella warns us to keep our fingers crossed; the winds are unpredictable and if the winds were dangerously strong the cableway service would be unceremoniously cancelled. She hastens to add that ever since the cable way was opened in 1929 there has not been a single accident. She also frightens us to full measure narrating stories of how the strong winds can drive one insane — the reason said to be the cause of many suicides that have occurred here. We are lucky after all, the devils didn't play their tricks, and the winds are behaving and off we go in the cableway. It is hard to explain the experience. The view from the top is phenomenal. The grand mountains above that come nearer, the mist that circles the peaks and wafts like white smoke, the green-and-blue sea below and the vegetation around are a scenic beauty the like of which I have not seen anywhere in the world. It is exhilarating. Ella tells us that the mountain is home to over 1400 species of flowering plants.

We drive to Hout Bay the next morning for a launch trip. By now we are convinced that the Atlantic coast of the Cape Peninsula is the most spectacular coastal scenery in the world. The combination of mountains and beaches is irresistible. Hout Bay opens up behind the almost vertical Sentinel, and the steep slopes of Chapman's Peak. We cross the satellite town that still has a village atmosphere and notice the Dutch names of the streets and restaurants. The sea is rough and the launch wobbles and we remain seated inside the glassed cabins for a while watching helplessly at the waves lashing at the windowpanes. When the winds appear toned down we venture out to the deck to take a few pictures of the roaring sea and the seals that have come to sun themselves on some rocklike elevated surface. Fellow traveller Periaswamy is busy video-graphing when a burst of wave rises and alights ferociously on his side, almost toppling him and down goes Periaswamy's video camera into the Atlantic slipping away from his arm. We are shocked and sad but console him that he should thank his stars [or the devils] that he didn't get drowned after all.

Tryst with history

We head towards Cape of Good Hope. I am quite excited, being familiar with its historical and geographical importance from school days. Francis Drake's chronicler described the Cape of Good Hope as ‘The most stately thing and the fairest cape we saw in the whole circumference of the earth.' The whole journey to the Cape is a visual feast to the eyes, dotted with lily-white blooms known as ‘everlasting flowers' because they remain fresh for days. You find groups of small Jackass penguins walking elegantly in some of the beaches. Ella gives a lot of information about their mating time; how they lose all their feathers; how they deliver babies at the same time laying only two eggs per year; how the babies are fed all the time; During mating time, however, the parents do not go fishing and so the young ones are left to fend for themselves. Adults are distinctly coloured in black and white, while the young are brown and white. They love oily fish and the white portion of their body reflects the fish underneath to help them spot the catch. Ella says each penguin has distinct identities like black freckles and the babies recognise the parents by it. They all look alike to me.

Before we reach the Cape, there is a welcome break at the Blauuklippen vineyard which is more than 300 years old. We get a free taste of the most exotic wines — the Cabernet Sauvignon, Shiraz, Merlot and the cellar master's favourite, the highly sought after Zinfandel .The master describes its taste in sensuous detail: ‘This wine entices with dark chocolate and stoved pear aromas against a slightly peppery backdrop. The palate delivers a medley of intense dried fruit flavours for which it is well known.' We are busier tasting it than understanding his ambiguous description. The costliest and a winner is of course Barouch 1.5L ‘which is a full bodied well structured and well integrated wine.'

I ask Ella if a house is available there for sale. You cannot find that kind of money in your lifetime darling, she says.

Cape of Good Hope is literally a blast. It is exciting to see the board with the name written in bold letters. But when you set your foot on the ground you are actually blown away by the incredibly strong winds.

Dutch influence

The point where, in 1487, Bartholomew Dias of Portugal, who came in search of a sea route to India, rounded the Cape, set his foot and named it the Cape of Good Hope, hoping that it would be a gateway to the exotic Indies. Neither the Portuguese, nor the Dutch and the English who came in the 16 {+t} {+h} century wanted to colonise the Cape. It was a stop-over for the crew of shipping companies that slowly crystallised the value of permanent settlement. The Dutch gradually built a fort and in the next 100 years the white population became overwhelmingly Dutch. Though the British took control of the Cape and the colony was ceded to the crown in 1814, the Dutch influence is too strong to be wiped away. The drive ends with a lovely lunch at Swellenden where I taste the best apple pie I have ever had in my life. Ms. Tilla Hon, the chef who baked it, is overjoyed when I express my appreciation and happily poses for a snap shot.

The wine, the divine apple pie, the sea, the wind and the mountains all in a day — a heady mix that can keep you intoxicated for a lifetime.

Vaasanthi is a well-known Tamil novelist and writer based in Bangalore.