Glimpses from Snippets*...Journey of a miraculous escape -

An eternal itinerant resides in me. He is always eager to escape the drudgery of 9 am to 5 pm subsistence at the slightest of pretexts. Be it be an occasion of an extended weekend or availing proper vacations, he is adept at converting them into sweet sojourns either among the mountains or by the seaside. You may call this as an escapist in me, who runs away from the harsh realities, farce banalities and hard proprieties that mar our actual ordinary existence.

Propriety compels you to succumb to a pattern of behaviour that you may otherwise scorn. Utilitarianism unabashedly snares you in farcical relationships you very well know will not endure the test of time. The reality, on the other hand, stands all the more contrary to your idealist assumption of it. Immersed in circumstances like these it's easier to drown oneself in alcohol, especially when you lose hope and are overcome with despair and helplessness. Otherwise, a better recourse is to change the environs and surroundings and take a break. That is what I do.

This was also one such occasion. I had been fastidiously attending office and as if it was something destined to happen, the sullenness of the job took over and the urge for escaping far from the madding crowd had me under its spell and I packed up my bags to get going. That time it was to be Ladakh and the month was early June of perhaps 2012.

Ladakh is a territory beyond the greater Himalayas towards the leeward side – that’s why it’s a desert – a cold one -- a valley perched between mountains at a height of around 10,000 feet. At that height air is rarefied and if you don’t give your body ample time to adjust you can get mountain sickness and the only remedy from that is a journey back to plains. Approachable by road through many passes through the mountains on its multiple sides, it is pierced through by the river Indus that supports life there. The passes over the greater Himalayas are among the highest in the world – KhardungLa, Chang La, Bara-lacha La. The adventurists on motorcycles find these ice studded passes challenging and there is an indomitable desire in them to cross through them despite the dangerous and scary vertigo engendering terrain. I don’t have any pretensions of being an adventurist though but could attain the gumption of going across them on a four wheeler. They are not open year round but only from May to October – a period after and before the chilly winters.

I planned to cross Khardung La (on theLadakh Range of the Himalayas) from Leh valley into the Nubra valley beyond on the second day. While I was booking my airline tickets, I was advised by my colleagues that one should try to cross the pass before noon as in afternoon, ice starts melting and there could be road blockages on account of ice sheets sliding onto the road. I was also told that there could even be a sudden release of melted icewater that could slide at hell of a speed down the mountain – also called pagal naala – the mad drain – that could be very dangerous and mercilessly throw anything enroute into the valley. KhardungLa – at a height of 18380 feet is the highest motorable road in India.

It was an early morning flight at around 5 am from Delhi. The airport is about 35 km from my residence across river Yamuna. At that hour it would not take more than one hour, therefore, I called the cab at 2.30 am. The cab came on time and we were coolly cruising along the empty roads that appeared grandly illuminated with neon lights but just as we crossed the Yamuna Bridge and turned towards Mathura Road the vehicle stopped and I was nudged out of my drowsiness. The road was blocked. Just across Yamuna Bridge, there is a Dargah widely known as Matka Peer near Purana Qila. The street was agog with people and the police had blocked the road. Our queries revealed that the road was blocked for a Muslim festival called Shab-e-Barat that meant the night of forgiveness, or Day of Atonement. It is considered to be the night when God forgives sinners. So there was a diversion. I had not budgeted for any impediment on my way to the airport. It did give me some anxiety but I don’t know what happened as my vehicle turned around I came out of the vehicle glimpsed at the Matka Peer from a distant bowed in obeisance and got back and moved on. Just whispering to the driver, “Jaldi chalo,” (be quick).Actually I had heard about this shrine but never had the time to go. It is called Matka Peer as people offer earthen pots to the shrine to have their wishes fulfilled. But to me what mattered most was that it was also famous for biryani.

We took the diversion and after circumventing again came on the Mathura road to continue our journey towards the airport. But lo... again as we came near the famed Subz Burj we bumped into police barricades. The famous Nizammuddin Auliya Dargah is nearby and hence the rush, the public, the diversion. It was a cause of anxiety for me as the flight would not be making concessions for such hurdles. However, there was no use fussing over it, the only recourse left was to wriggle out as early as possible. While we were reversing our vehicle and I was craning out of my rear window to guide the driver, one young boy around 12-13 years approached me and requested that I visit the dargah if I have come so far and seek the blessings. I told him,trying to make myself as polite as possible,to please pray for me instead as I had a flight to catch. Normally as per experience such children heckle you and make attempts to squeeze some money. But this urchin did no such thing instead helped us in reversing the vehicle and recommence our airport bound journey.

I felt relieved and looked at my watch. The time was running out. The route to the airport was otherwise straightforward. Coming across the Yamuna River you cross the ITO Bridge and turn left on Mathura Road towards the Outer Ring Road and from there turn right and drive straight from there and with a few turns, you reach the airport. As we ran towards the Outer Ring Road and took the right turn, again the policemen in khaki could be seen from afar blocking the road. It was becoming too much. I thought I was through with the Dargahs and that blockade may be due to some accident. But no, here again, the festivities of Shab-e-Baraat were on as people with skull caps could be seen moving around reverentially, with exception of some youngsters mounted on mobikes trying to show off their skills. Had there been Google maps then I could have known that this was Hazrat Khwaja Nasiruddin Chiragi Dargah perched on the left side of the Outer Ring Road thronged by devotees. It was getting on my nerves now.

Again we were stuck with policemen whistling to us to take another route. As we were manoeuvring our car towards the other lane we bumped into an elderly man enroute to the dargah in a white kurta attire, with a white beard and white cap. Since the vehicle was slow it was a harmless collision, but we got scared as the old man turned around and stared at us but he did not utter anything instead said that he would offer prayers on our behalf also in the dargah. We apologised and thanked him and rushed out. It was already 4 am and we still had about half a distance to travel. I ticked the driver to hurry but also told him to be careful and ran through my mind for the further possibility of any other dargah enroute. I thought it was better to confirm the same from the PCR van standing nearby. They thankfully were polite and suggested a route that was without any further diversion and I was on the airport at 4.30 am. Normally the boarding time would have ended at this point, but as luck would have it the flight was delayed by 15 minutes and I made it in the nick of time.

I boarded the plane and soon dozed off, later the announcement, “Our plane shall soon be landing at the Leh Airport –Kushok Bakula Rimpochee Airport,” woke me up. It is the highest commercial airport in India at 3,256 m (10,682 ft) above sea level. One could see the brownish valley with the patches of green and River Indus meandering across with snow-capped mountains forming a sparkling white border reflecting the glory of the morning sun. It was a thrilling sight away from the hustle-bustle and concrete jungles.

Soon we were moving towards the guest house I had booked in Phey (It is around 15 km from Leh and is located near the banks of Indus just a few kilometres down the Leh Srinagar Highway – mainly to avoid the crowd). The driver informed me that it was near Pathar Sahib Gurudwara and we would be crossing it. Pathar Sahib is a Gurudwara dedicated to commemorating Guru Nanak’s visit in the latter half of the second decade of the 16th century (around 1515 to 1520 AD). Pathar means stone and there is a huge block of stone in the Gurudwara which is said to have the impression of the back of the Guru Nanak Dev ji and people across all religions worship it As we crossed the Gurudwara, the driver advised me to pay my homage from outside only as I should first get acclimatized to the Ladakh’s rarefied air by taking atleast a day’s rest in my hotel. I heeded his advice and bowed before the Godly abode as we slowly passed it by.

The next day I was to go across the Khardungla Pass to enter the Nubra valley – driving all along with myself. Now it was my turn to get adventure struck. The four wheeler Gypsy (Do you remember the old time Maruti Gypsy?) was arranged by the hotel as promised by them. I cannot describe the energy and excitement that runs through your spine when you catch the steering wheel for a stirring journey all the way up the gigantic mountains into the clouds and then down the arduous terrain through the ice and snow via the serpentine road. As I moved, instinctively I stopped at the Gurudwara, went inside and saw the holy stone carrying the impression of Guru Nanak’s back wrapped in a holy manner and the Guru Granth Sahib in the main hall. Ipaid my respects, went on my knees in obeisance and resumed my journey.

Though I was a bit late the sky was clear and the weather cheerful and bright and I had my collection of songs playing along – mostly Mohd. Rafi – his solos and duets and down I went into Leh and from there up towards the KhardungLa Motorway, maintained by the Indian army (I think Border Road Organisation – an army unit only). It is a steep climb following the contours of the mountain having all kinds of dangerous bends including the treacherous hairpin bends but that exactly is the challenge, the wager taking you to the top of the world. It is about 30 kilometres of steep climbing and the weather gets from cool, cooler to near about chilling and freezing as you wind your way up the bumpy tracts near the top. The road gets rough and scraggy because of the water seeping through and also rocks falling from the sidelines. Oxygen also starts getting scarce but when perhaps you are driving by yourself your body responds well and gets gradually adjusted to the surroundings. It is not advisable to stop for long at the top of the pass that is called the KhardungLa Top as it could make you feel sick – mainly due to the lack of oxygen. But you could not resist the temptation of getting down and getting yourself clicked amidst the peaks and the glaciers. What else does one come to this place for? You run your eyes around and find yourself in the company of peaks almost standing shoulder to shoulder with you. I was stuck by the hypnotism and the purity of the place wrapped in white overalls holding the light blue sky above with the sun embalming the body with warmth it needs.

I stayed a bit late and found that the sun had started its descent; it was indeed the time to move. The road downhill at places cut across the thick ice that was in process of melting but had not. The downwards journey in fact is riskier. The tyres have to be perfect, otherwise, the vehicle could simply skid uncontrollably; the brakes to be extremely reliable and the other drivers have to be skilful otherwise one vehicle can push the other down the hanging slopes.

I started attentively and veered down; all vehicles were moving down in unison, there were fewer vehicles coming from the other uphill side as well. It was about 1.30 pm in the afternoon and I had planned for lunch at North Pullu below, for which the tract was relatively simpler. As I cautiously negotiated the turns, I noted that at a distance vehicles from the other side had stopped but I could not see any reason why and as I trudged down I could hear vehicles honking. Just then a giant streak of copious water from nowhere hit my Gypsy as if a bolt or a boulder and down I went with my Gypsy plunging into the gaping precipitous slope – I was brutally reminded of the paagal naala ... and then all went black….……….

People saw the Gypsy rolling down the slope with the icy sweep of water and disappearing in the mix of rocks and vegetation below.

.............I thought as if I was in a deep abyss somewhere, deep asleep, trying to emerge out of dreariness requiring heavy effort to open my sticky eyelids as if sealed with adhesives whileall the more trying to figure out my coordinates. Just then I heard some voices whispering across and gradually getting a little louder. I could faintly recognise one as that of my brother.

I thought, What was he doing here? Here? But where? Where am I?

The voice was saying, “You see he is very lucky. We were going up towards Leh, just near about North Pullu, we heard a roar of clash and clang and we saw a Gypsy tumbling down the hill followed by the debris of boulders from the hillside and a gush of water. We thought another of the umpteen victims of the pagalnala for whom their vehicles have become their coffin boxes. As the vehicle came to a halt nobody could have imagined anybody could have survived that kind of a fall and that too stuck in that mangled wreckage. But as we reached near it we could see that there were no signs of any injury or bruises on the body stuck therein. Since his eyes were closed, we believed the fellow inside was dead. Before anything else happened to the vehicle like some blast or otherwise we quickly extricated him outside and could immediately make out that he was breathing and unconscious. Again luckily no blast or anything happened and we could immediately take him to our makeshift medical facility nearby.”

“Thank you very much, Colonel Sir. We have no words to express how thankful we are.” These were my brother’s words as he responded to the army colonel who rescued his brother. The colonel replied, “You don’t need to thank me. It is his fortune only that he is alive and that too without a single bruise. Maybe because of the seat belt but still, this is only a miracle. But as he was not gaining consciousness we had to shift him here to the Leh Military hospital. The doctors feared that there may be some internal injury or internal bleeding or some clots in the head or the cranial area. But all the scans etc. revealed nothing. I am told that he could regain consciousness anytime now.”

After a short pause, the Colonel again remarked,“This is absolutely a Miracle. The local people have a belief that such wonder can only happen with those on whom there is a special blessing of God. This blessing is attained only by those who visit six teeraths in 60 hours – that is at least six religious sites…”

By then, I had all my senses back and the deadly fall had revived itself with a shiver. On overhearing the colonel I started estimating the time. Yes, definitely everything had happened between 60 hours. But something was wrong with the counting of the religious sites. One was Matka Peer, second was Nizzammuddin, and third was in Chirag Delhi, fourth …yesPathar Sahib. But that makes it four. I checked myself again whether each of my limbs had survived. Yes,they had.

Then, I was reminded that I went to Pathar Sahib twice. Okay, that still makes it five.

I stressed my memory further. Oh, how could I have forgotten? Though it was small there indeed is a Ma Bhavani temple at Khardung La top along with innumerable Tibetan prayer flags flapping in the ceaseless winds carrying our prayers to the heavens. I recollected my brief stopover there while clicking myself amidst the magnificence of the Himalayas. I had briefly bowed and thanked God and requested the flags carry my prayer of well-being bestowed on all to the celestial abode somewhere up there.

Now that makes it six. Does it not?

Yes, it was meant to be a miracle and God himself had laid the path. He made no distinction…all His places counted equally as one.