Kalsi, not very far away from my hometown Dehradun, has never been exotic enough for me. We, after all, don’t give much importance to a place so close to us. But I halt when I see a blue Yamuna quietly rustle over white pebbles and trickle into the rice fields from the butt of a spur. There’s a hush as the young river tumbles from the mountains, funnels down the drops and settles down into the valley bowl, cool and soft, gently caressing the life and village around it — a defining, timeless moment in the Doon valley.
Suddenly, the entire landscape wears a washed and fresh look and there seems to be new life breathing in the bustling market areas of Selaqui, Herbertpur and Vikasnagar. Beyond the market towns, the landscape changes again. Mango orchards line both sides of the road and sunny carts skirting them sell garden-fresh juice. Soon, I am at the wide, bright and scenic Yamuna bridge which takes the traveller to Kalsi through Haripur. Historically, this has been a much-used and strategic trade corridor. In the third century BC, Kalsi marked one of the furthest limits of King Asoka’s dominion among the Himalayan foothills. Even today, this tiny hamlet is known for the presence of Asoka’s rock edict.
History lies thickly spread around. Paonta Sahib, the gurdwara located about 30 km from Kalsi, is where Guru Gobind Singh stayed as a young man. Enchanted by the beauty of the place and the river, he founded a town in 1685 and lived there for four years. He named it “Paonta” from “pav”, the foothold of his horse, not only because he loved his fellow warrior but because the word also meant spreading a carpet for welcoming guests. He had a fort built on the banks of the Yamuna and also set up a cantonment for his army. Soon, the desolate area began to hum with life and Sikhs from far and wide started flocking to it. The years spent here were the most creative for the young guru during which he completed some of his major literary works.
A grocer at Kalsi bazaar takes me down to the ASI enclosure housing the Asokan rock edict. Though bang next to the bazaar, the busy commerce of the material world and the spiritual calm of the garden retreat are worlds apart. From the crowded, congested row of shops, you suddenly descend into a haven of silence and serenity, a perfect abode for a remnant of history. Surrounded by a large expanse of greens, this ancient edict has been ensconced in a red, domed building since 1912. The Yamuna rolls by as a backdrop anchoring our layers of civilisation. It is only about 10 in the morning and already, quite a few visitors have arrived.
ASI in-charge Dilbagh Sharma says that weekends bring in a large number of visitors, while students spend a part of their summer vacation to work on their history projects. I take a closer look at the inscription. On the right side is carved the word Gajottam, meaning “the best among elephants” in Brahmi script (by inference, Buddha who descended from the Tushita heaven in this form). About 10 ft high, the edict codifies the leading principles of Buddhism like generosity and kindness though there is no specific mention of Buddha or his teachings.
Small relics that were uncovered along with the edict lie near the huge stone which was discovered by John Forest, an Englishman, in 1860. When the black moss of centuries was removed, the stone came out almost white and the inscription became readable in their grooves. The stone has the names of five Greek kings — Antiochus, Ptolemy, Antigonus, Magus and Alexander — which help date the edict, the writings on which were etched in the 3rd century BC or more specifically around 253 BC. From this evidence, it is possible that Chinese traveller Hiuen-tsang may have crossed these paths too.
Sitting with a cup of tea on a bench near the shrine, I savour the innocence around me. Families from Dehradun and Yamunanagar have created quite a buzz, feeling happy that they have been able to take a break from their humdrum existence. Children from the village climb the huge mango tree near the edict, eager to pluck the juicier fruits in the boughs above. Dilbagh points towards a lovely bungalow on the opposite banks.
Owned by a retired Army official, whose grandfather had got overlordship of the estates for his services to the British, it is now a heritage homestay where the host and his wife extend personal attention and run rafting camps. But even if you aren’t staying there, you can pretty much trek around on your own. You can walk over the old British bridge and dangle your legs into the ice-cold water from the stump of its last pillar, spend hours on a boulder trout-fishing, the silver fish often camouflaging itself with the rays of the sun. Extremely intelligent, the fish is high on sensory perception and can ascertain whether human presence is friendly or hostile.
I look around the riffles, which give way to a bottom of gravel, rubble or boulder. And find a cluster of brown beady-eyed fish, nosing each other for a share of the feed. You could walk the banks of the river, pick up white pebbles and go hiking in the countryside full of simple, smiling folk, who will graciously share a moment of their lives with you. Or you could drive up to the Chakrata and Mussoorie hills. I choose Chakrata not because it is a virgin outpost courtesy an Army training centre compared to an overcrowded Mussoorie. But because it is one of those sleepy hollows, where even the mist holds still, where the snow-covered peaks wrap you around like a necklace an eyesight away, where you find the blanched beauty of rain-shadowed slopes, where the wind gathers speed down naked hills, where you would find a two-storeyed wooden barn house in between the oak trees.... Down below is the patchwork quilt of cultivated fields hugging a turbulent Yamuna, shimmering like crystal.
Chakrata is meant for the quiet traveller, who may ruminate on one of the many sit-outs for trekkers to rest their tired feet at, who may find his muse in the whistling woods, who may be tempted to draw his lines between the silhouettes of the pines on a distant ridge. The bazaar is in a cul de sac of time, a line of convenios, hotels and dhabas that serve the most delicious simple food. This is a regiment town, so clearly everything is tailor-made for the allied Army economy. The cloth merchants stock up on huge reams of camouflage but look closer and you might find some of the finest Chinese silk that is picked up by visitors and officers’ wives.
I step into one such shop whose enterprising owner can get you anything under the sun in these scarce parts, even the softest duvet. There’s a revolving door which leads into his living quarters, where he stocks his finest. He leads me up a spiral staircase that leads into his child’s bedroom with a jaw-dropping view of the valley its window overlooks, a cliff-like ragged plunge to the solitary link road below and then clambering back again, mound by mound, hillock by hillock, interweaving like a platoon formation before the phalanx of the snowy Himalayas.
Later, I circumambulate the place, stopping by at a Pandava temple, listening to many legends that sustain local faith and getting trailed by stubborn mountain goats before heading back to Herbertpur. On impulse, I stray towards Timli, around 25 km from Kalsi, tempted by the miles of sal forests on both sides of the winding hill road. I see skittish monkeys gulping down bits of watermelon offered by some passerby.
Timli is a small village, one that you would pass by easily without sparing a second thought. But the Timli Pass, the entrance to this village, played a crucial role in the historic Anglo-Gorkha war of 1814-1816. In 1804, the Doon valley came under the control of the Gorkhas. Raja Pradyuman Shah of Tehri was killed by them in the battle of Khurbura at Dehradun. But the British colonialists sided with the local royals and reinstated Sudarshan Shah on the throne of a truncated part of Garhwal. The initial British campaign included an attack on the western front. Major-General Rollo Gillespie and Colonel David Ochterlony commanded the two columns, which were pitted against the Gorkha army under the command of Balbhadra Singh Thapa and Amar Singh Thapa. The British force entered Doon by the Mohand and Timli passes and united again in Dehradun on October 24, 1814. On October 31, the third infantry division under Major-General Sir Robert Rollo Gillespie, attacked the Khalanga-Nalapani fort defended by Balbhadra Singh Thapa and his 600 soldiers. The British followed it up with a siege, going to the extent of diverting water supplies. But they suffered further setbacks in the hands of Ranjur Singh Thapa (Amar Singh Thapa’s son) at the Battle of Jaithak. The Gorkhas defeated the British at three places in the middle and east and lost at two fronts in the west, compelling them to a ceasefire.
I stand on the ground of heroes as it links the hills with the plains of Uttar Pradesh. I can see a part of a temple. Curious, I cross over to Uttar Pradesh, at a hamlet called Darra Reet, which houses an ancient temple of Mahakali. I pay obeisance, not because it is a ritual but because I want to. Indeed, in the emptiness of the silence around me, I make a connection with The One.
On my way back, I look forward to my stay at the forest resthouse of Timli, built in 1920 AD. And I contemplate a serene evening of lotus-eating, reading my favourite book of verse on the verandah, sipping the sweet and milky coffee made by the lone attendant and living in an exclusive moment with myself, the purest form of self indulgence.
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