Another anniversary of sorts; I left the Indian Army on this day 25 years ago! Fourth battalion, The Grenadiers Regiment. And proud to have been there!
A whole lot of love and caring still flows from my army friends to me. They have stood by me in times of want and distress, and I am lucky to share the family lives of many till today.
Also, the first post on Zeina Glo appeared on this day two years ago.
A good story is in order! Please give me a day or two...
......................................................................................
08 April 2016
The 'day or two' has gone on to be 6 months! But here's a story close to my heart, please read it. And there is a dedication somewhere in there...
A whole lot of love and caring still flows from my army friends to me. They have stood by me in times of want and distress, and I am lucky to share the family lives of many till today.
Also, the first post on Zeina Glo appeared on this day two years ago.
A good story is in order! Please give me a day or two...
......................................................................................
08 April 2016
The 'day or two' has gone on to be 6 months! But here's a story close to my heart, please read it. And there is a dedication somewhere in there...
Chumapu Calls
We came down to headquarters one day and heard how Timmy had
looked up at Chumapu, the towering mountain that loomed large towards the
north, and asked for his rifle. After that day we would often stare long at the
sheer cliff face and wait till the eye would discern some movement of grey upon
grey. Once we spotted as many as 16 mountain goats clung to the steep wall!
Tim, they said, had aimed the 7.62 mm SLR at the slate grey
mountain, held his breath for a few seconds, and squeezed off a shot that
reverberated in the valley for some time before the echoes were drowned in the
rush and gurgle of the stream that tumbled down a few metres behind him.
After what seemed an eternity, something was seen to detach
itself from the mountain and sail through the air. The team that went to
recover it returned in a couple of hours, and that evening the aroma of fresh
meat pervaded the small settlement in the mountains.
I would put the range at over a thousand yards, but I would be
wrong; Timmy was said to have set the sights at eight hundred, shooting upwards
at almost forty five degrees. Respect!
...............................................................................................
I don’t know when the idea took germ, but a mountain that’s
there needs climbing!
Arun started it. He was tougher than an army mule and could beat
the mountain ponies at their own game. He mentioned it over a glass of the amber
liquid he liked to drink in the officers’ mess. His head was grey, earning him
the sobriquet of ‘Dhaulia’, but he said it was the daily dipping in rum that
kept his moustache jet black. Short legs, long lean torso, eyes that laughed
all the time, master of deadpan wit.
It was so irresistible, I couldn’t help saying, “I’ll go with
you.”
The colonel, Kuldeep Singh Gahlaut, had already taught us the
biggest lesson of our lives; whenever we asked his permission for anything the
reply always was, “Why not! Of course, you must!”
One had to be careful what one asked for, for one was likely to
get it; almost like it is with God.
We decided to take two men along. Arun chose Kashmir Chand; hair
light brown, eyes the grey of monsoon clouds mingled with the green of freshly
sprouting leaves on the apple trees of his homeland, features better cut than
most of the young lieutenants in the Hollywood war movies; lithe, silent,
tough; a man for all seasons.
I chose Niyamat Ali; pint-sized wrestler, tanned dark by
generations in the scorching sun and stinging sand of the Thar desert, always
full of mischief and bravado, never quiet for more than a couple of breaths; as
tough as they come.
Both soldiers could go through hell and come out the other side
laughing and slapping each other’s backs.
...............................................................................................
Four in the morning was a good time to start. The eastern face
of Chumapu was the sheer wall looming three thousand feet over Tamze. Going
around from the west of south west seemed to be most feasible. Within a few
minutes, the cluster of silent buildings was left behind. We climbed out of the
basin onto long a level stretch. The path skirted a shallow lake whose water
reflected the moon. Small clouds of vapour blew from our nostrils and mouths as
we strode on at a fast clip. The lake ended after a hundred yards or so and the
path wound steadily upwards.
The moon faded away as dawn broke, and the sun had just risen
when we reached the base of the mountain where we would leave the trail and
climb straight up. It had taken us two hours to get here, and there was sweat
inside our high altitude clothing. A bite of food, hot tea, a thought of
leaving behind our heavy parka jackets quickly overruled, and we marched on. We
entered a sea of boulders mostly man-high or more; weaving our way through
them, joking and laughing, Arun and I taking the lead turn by turn. As we
climbed higher, the gradient became steeper and the size of the boulders
reduced to rocks that we could step on and jump on from one to the other. More
than an hour would have gone by since we left the path till the time the
boulders gave way to smaller rocks and they in turn reduced in size to a scree
like a river of stones that had flowed down the mountain and stopped in
mid-flow. By the end of another hour of clambering up the steep scree,
sometimes slipping back more than we climbed, sometimes criss-crossing to
tackle the steep gradient, we were nicely warmed up and ready to take on
whatever came our way.
Vertical walls of rock rose from the top of the gully of loose
stones. We worked our way ever upward through whatever spaces were available
between the maze of rocky walls, negotiating some steep slopes, skirting around
others to come out above them, and keeping a general direction towards where we
estimated the top of the mountain to be.
All of a sudden we found ourselves at the base of a rock face
that rose sheer more than sixty feet high. We looked up, Arun and I, and shook
our heads; Niyamat had something sardonic to say, and Kashmira took off his
balaclava and ran his fingers through his hair.
We decided to move along its base till we could find a way up.
We edged southwards along the narrow verge bordering the bottom of the gigantic
rock for about half an hour. The end of
the rock face gave us a chance to find our way upwards winding through narrow
spaces in a labyrinth of boulders. These were mostly higher than us, columns
standing upright with just enough space in between for us to pass through,
sometimes having to turn sideways. Curiously, many of these stone pillars
looked so much like the menhirs that Obelix used to carry!
Skirting one of these boulders, I pulled myself into a space
further up, and stepped out with confidence. I held the stones on both sides
and lunged upwards…. and I froze!! The breath caught in my throat, and one foot
dangled in the air behind me! Ahead of me was sky! Just sky, above and below
and almost to right angles on both sides! I was at the end of the world.
The petrified moment lasted for maybe a second or two, maybe a
gasping breath or two of paradise. Then I had to warn those behind me to hold
still and not nudge me forward. To my left the edge of the cut-away mountain
rose higher and higher. To my right and front, range upon range of snow-covered
mountain rolled into forever. One more step and I could fly a thousand feet
down into a deep saddle between Chumapu and the mountain that rose to Point
5056. I peered down into the saddle; southwards it fell into a barren, rocky
mass of jumbled boulders reaching eventually down to Tamze; northwards it
descended into perpetual shade and a mass of snow looking deceptively soft and
smooth. Half a kilometre down this snowy slope I could make out the solitary
shepherd’s hut that I had seen once before when I stood in the saddle with the
mountains towering up on both sides of me. Now I looked down on it from high up
the slopes of Chumapu.
Without a word, I drank it all in, and then I stepped back and
made way for each of the others to savour the scene.
The most noticeable effect was awed silence. We were too small
to speak, to say anything. Niyamat offered some witticism, but even his voice
was subdued and the wonder could be felt.
There was no way we could negotiate our way further towards the
top. We turned back, having experienced something far beyond our imaginations.
Back the way we had come, at the base of the rock face that had made us turn to
a side, we held council.
The afternoon shadows were lengthening, the rock loomed large, and
we would barely make it to the trail at the base of the mountain before
darkness fell. We so wanted to make it to the top, but there was no way we were
going to climb the rock face without equipment and training. We would just have
to come another day and use a different way.
A quiet bite of the food we carried, and we started down the
slope the way we had come. The loose stones of the scree carried us two steps
down for every step we took, and soon we were shouting in excitement as we
happily slithered down in giant sliding strides. Soon the stones grew bigger,
and we stepped from one to the other.
The stones grew to rocks, and the rocks to boulders, and still
we bounced and jumped over their tops, throwing all caution to the winds; we
had, after all, been much higher up in the bosom of the noble giant and these
lower reaches were just playthings. It was a lot like flying through the air just
as the monks from Shaolin later did in a movie that won the first Oscars for a
Chinese martial arts film, what was it called… ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon’?
The euphoria prevailed through the evening in the Officers’ Mess
where Arun and I were heroes, and surely Kashmira and Niyamat would have had a
hundred tales to tell in the soldiers’ lines.
(...at the base of the rock...we held council...)
Niyamat, Kashmira and Arun; a narrow ledge to rest upon.
Niyamat, Kashmira and Arun; a narrow ledge to rest upon.
...............................................................................................
The second attempt to scale Chumapu started on the very next
day. It could not be put off further because winter was fast approaching and
already the frost of the previous night was frozen till late in the day, making
the stone surfaces dangerously slippery.
This time we set out after our afternoon meal for ‘Eight-Five’,
one of our manned encampments nearest to the base of Chumapu, at a level higher
than the place where we left the trail to start climbing. The plan was to spend
the night at Eight Five and start early the next morning, having to climb down
for just half an hour till the starting point rather than climb up for two
hours from Tamze.
Having enjoyed Timmy’s hospitality at Eight Five, after a quick
breakfast and hot cups of tea, we were off. We hit the planned spot before dawn
broke, and wove through the lower patch of boulders with the help of
flashlights. The sky was lighter by the time we reached the scree.
We cut across diagonally to our left, planning to skirt the huge
rock face from further north than the previous time.
The rock was still there, but where we hit its base it had
petered down to about 30 feet of sheer climb. Any chance of skirting further
north was blocked on the left extremity by a rock wall protruding towards us almost
at right angles to the face. This time we just shrugged our shoulders and
decided to climb.
We roped ourselves together at a comfortable distance. Arun took
the lead, eyes searching for the smallest hold for finger or toe. It was a
major task to always try to have three points secure and search for some little
purchase for the fourth limb. Arun kept up a steady commentary laced with
colourful expletives as he inched upwards. When I thought it was safe to
follow, I too clung to the cliff and started up. I had gone but four feet when
Arun’s left foo slipped and a small cascade of stones came bouncing down. He
was about 20 feet above me, and a sharp yell from him made me duck my head. I
got hit on the top of my forehead with a fist-sized stone that would otherwise
have hit me square in the face. A few stars swam on my horizon; I hung on for a
moment or two, and then we all laughed. Arun was profuse in his apologies,
Niyamat was sharp in his comments, Kashmira was quietly caring, and we were all
very relieved that nothing more grievous had happened.
That climb took us an hour and a half. Most of the effort was
Arun’s, and as soon as he was over the top, we were all pulled up much faster with
firm hands on rope.
We pulled ourselves up the rim and flopped onto a virgin patch
of five months old snow, dazzling and untouched as if it had just fallen
yesterday! To the south and west our patch of snow fell off down the cliff we
had just climbed, towards south east and east was a steep rise of jagged rocks
with barely any space in between. Beyond these lay the deep chasm that fell
into the saddle we had viewed from nearby the other day. A dauntingly steep
climb northwards seemed to head straight up to the top of the mountain. Kashmira poured out a quick cup of tea from
the flask he was carrying and we all chewed upon the dry ‘khurmullas’ we
carried. A few photos were clicked with my loyal Pentax, and we were ready to
start again.
(...a virgin patch of snow...dazzling and untouched...) Arun and I take stock...
It happened 27 years ago, and I seem to have forgotten the fresh snow as seen on the ridge in the background, and borne out by the clouds.
A gruelling climb. Very steep. Jagged rocks, with space barely
for one person to squeeze through. All of us roped together much closer now,
for fear of slithering and falling. Silence in the ranks, except for heavy
breathing in the rarefied air at 16000 feet. Hands scraping and scuffing
against harsh rock. Pushing ahead doggedly. This was serious business, and we
made good time.
We must be nearing the top now, it could not go on like this for
much longer; Chumapu seemed so gently rounded at the top when see from far
below in Tamze or from the ridges across the valley.
Almost on cue with our thoughts, the stiff climb and jagged
rocks gave way to a gentle mountain sloping up into the distance, something
like the top of a rising column of cumulus cloud; rounded boulders, gentle
slopes rising into the distance till a crest some four hundred yards away.
We were sweating inside our high altitude clothes, and the sun
was still bright. Still bright! Still!! Oh God! It struck us together that we
had just a couple of hours of sunlight left.
We put our heads down and clambered up the slope as fast as we
could. It was steeper than it had seemed, but we made it to the crest in
minutes, and looked over to see another in the distance, and one more far
beyond it….
The little group stopped, humbled.
The sunlight was taking on a deeper yellow tinge.
All eyes turned to me. The question was unspoken. The answer was
obvious to all. The top of The Mountain lay within our reach, maybe two hours
away. The sun was leaning down as if to pick up something from where Eight Five
lay; less than two hours of sunlight, then a quick slip from dusk to darkness.
Suddenly the chill sent a collective shiver up our spines.
The question was unspoken. The answer was obvious to all. Ten
hours of climbing had brought us where we were, we would make it to the top of
Chumapu before the sun went down, maybe. But then? We would not even be able to
make it back to this spot before darkness fell.
A night out on the mountain, climbing slowly down with our
little flashlights, making our way over steep mountain known only to sheep? And
the temperature would go down to minus eight, unless a breeze picked up to make
it colder.
I was in my 26th year, but I outranked my friends,
and when a sad decision has to be taken, rank matters. No one wanted to turn
back, and each one knew that we had to, so someone had to order the abortion of
the quest.
I did it.
“Now we know that we have climbed Chumapu! What remains is this
easy walk to the top. The next time we will approach from even further north,
so that we skirt that rock face completely, and we will start out at 2 a.m. We
need to compliment ourselves for having made it over the most difficult parts.
Now we shall not stop even for a minute before we reach the base
of the mountain. Let’s go!”
And we went! Sliding, slithering, rushing down, still tethered
together but going down fast. We skirted the rock face. We cut our hands on the
sharp rocks. We went! We went! We untied the ropes when we reached the scree of
loose stones. A thousand rocks flowed down with us as we strode, jumped and
slid down. The sun was down before we started our wild dance on the boulders,
jumping from one to another, throwing all caution to the winds, unmindful of
danger, racing against the oncoming darkness…and knowing that we would never be
coming here again…
The mass of huge boulders near the bottom was negotiated only by
the afterglow of the evening sky still radiating from the stone in a dull
gleam. But we did not put on our torches before we reached the little path
running to Tamze.
Soon a gentle moon came up to shower beams of understanding and
sympathy as we trudged along silently. The moonlight sparkled off the shallow lake
and filtered the landscape to an even grey. And we were together, having been
there.
We did not grudge The Mountain its victory; we were overwhelmed
at having been one with it. At having played upon the wide expanse of its
bosom. At having measured our strength till the end of strength, endurance till
the end of endurance, will till the point of numbness, and having reached the
point of Grace. Where all else is left behind, it is Grace that carries us,
lifts us, protects us; we had experienced Grace.
...............................................................................................
In terms of measured time, twenty seven years have passed.
Niyamat has taken a sniper’s bullet and gone forever into the
rolling desert sands he so missed. Kashmira is probably whistling a tune
amongst the apricot and pear blossoms and watching children herd the goats
homeward. Timmy is loving growing older with Manu and their girls.
Arun, the strongest one, has been taken home by a little virus that nagged him and
refused to go away. I write this story today as a gift to his children, Mickey
and Minnie; Anuj and Nimisha; and to Sima who gives them his share of love and caring,
too.
Chumapu stands. Its mysteries open to any who may wish to come
and play upon its bosom, to ride upon its chest, to learn and grow in its
heart. We have not made it into any elite group of back-slapping achievers. We
are not conquerors with flags waving at the peak. We have been adopted as its
own by a mountain of grace. Its breezes flow in our souls.
We do not own the mountain. The Mountain owns us, forever.
(...what remains is the easy walk to the top...)
Captain Arun Krishen Singh, leader and inspiration.
The picture was sent to me by Mini, Nimisha, apple of her father's eye.
