Losing My Religion: Chapter 5 - Oh, the mysterious Malana Valley!

In this week's article of #LosingMyReligion series, I am posting snippets of Chapter 5, where Rishi & Alex reach the mysterious Malana Valley hidden deep in the Himalayas. When they reach this unique hamlet, is it all that they hoped for? Why were they surprised? Why didn't they get the welcome they hoped for?

See how Malana treats the duo!

CHAPTER 5

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and they reached the summit of Chandrakhani pass by noon, making good time. The pass was a beautiful grassy plane from where they could easily see the vast expanse of undulating mountains and valleys they had crossed, as well as the terrain they were now going to tread. It was like a postcard—pristine and perfect.

After making a brief pit stop at the pass, during which Ram Singh impatiently chatted everyone’s head off about what to expect once they reached Malana, they began the last leg of their journey. The descent to the valley was definitely easier but also dangerous. It was steep—a nearly thirty-degree decline.

As their motley group came closer to the village, they spotted beautiful wild flowers of different colours—pink, white, blue, purple, and orange—and wild cannabis plants grown in patches.

Besides other things, Malana was known the world over for growing the best charas in the world. Malana Cream. And this is what had principally attracted Alex to this place. Rishi had been curious about other factors besides the Cream. 

‘We are in the right direction,’ exclaimed Alex, breaking a cannabis twig. Rishi rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

As they descended further, the first drops of the day’s rain fell on Rishi. ‘Are you kidding me?’ he blurted out, looking up at the sky. As it is he had been slightly nervous throughout this precipitous slope owing to his acrophobia—not that he had told anyone about his condition—and on top of it this rain! It was almost wrecking havoc on him.

Ram Singh asked everyone to stay alert, as a landslide was very likely. ‘Path is slippery. If someone fells, he ends in valley—dead,’ he cautioned cheerily. Rishi cursed himself with the choicest of abuses for insisting on the trek. But knew he would never regret his decision; no matter what.

With just a short distance left between him and Malana, he trundled on—wet and exhausted. This was by far the toughest part of the trek.

The rain stopped just as soon as they reached. Rishi looked up again and said, ‘You really must be kidding me.’ Looking ahead, he set his eyes on the place he had travelled so far to visit. . . . Malana village, in all its glory.

And was it a disappointment!

I travelled thousands of kilometres for this? To see this? I could have driven to the next village if I wanted this!

Ram Singh went to a little hut to get permission to enter the village. Once he got that they headed to the guesthouse. They had to walk some distance to reach it but that was fine. It was a small hamlet.

At 3029 meters above sea level, Malana was very cold. But that much Rishi had expected. What he had not been ready for was the dirt and filth that seemed to cover everything. Most of the houses in the village, not amounting to over a hundred or so, were built from mud and wood and were either double- or triple-storeyed. The bleakness of their colour contrasted deeply, and sorely, against the verdant green and white natural beauty surrounding the place. And that made it look almost morose. Sewage flowed in the middle of the streets, between narrow muddy paths, and there was a film of neglect everywhere.

As they made their way to the only guesthouse that housed outsiders, Rishi’s eyes fell on a board stuck to the walls of a house that read:

Do Not Touch The House Or You Will Have To Pay A Fine Of Rs 1000

‘Holy shit! It’s true then! We really can’t touch anything,’ he exclaimed. 

‘Yes, saab. Even if you touch any Malani, you pay fine. They believe you make them dirty. Impure . . . impure, they shout. And then kill goat to make Jamlu Devta happy. He, God of village. You no touch houses, because you will make them and all inside them dirty.’

‘Are you sure it ain’t cos they don’t wanna make us dirty? Look at this mess, man! The entire village needs a shower,’ replied Alex.

Turning his back to reply to Alex, Ram Singh said, ‘Sirji. You wait. Watch. You be surprised. Malani treat us like achhoot . . . untouchables. They believe they superior race. But with themselves, they nice and helping. Always.’ He reflected for a moment, then added, ‘They give shelter to outsiders but you follow rules. Malana rules. Only then.’

Alex didn’t know what to say, so he remained quiet.

As they walked through the village, the Malanis began moving away from them, saying, ‘Shoon. Shoon. No touch. No touch.’ Rishi spotted a few children playing on the street. They looked unclean and dirt-ridden. But despite that when they peeked out at him, he was left amazed. He had never before seen such hauntingly beautiful green eyes before. Greek descendants . . .

‘Where’s the Cream, fellas?’ asked Alex. That was the only thing on his mind.

‘It is everywhere, sirji. You will see people coming selling now.’ And just around the corner, two youngsters came to them, asking, ‘Cream? Malana Cream?’

Impatient to hit the guesthouse and get into dry, warm clothes, Rishi said, ‘Not now, Alex. Let’s check into the place first. We have enough time for this.’ Alex agreed. Rishi wasn’t the only one who was tired.

They checked into the guesthouse, which was a wooden two-storeyed building located right in the centre of the village. Their room, a barebones establishment with minimum facilities, was on the second floor.

‘Ain’t there a better place?’ asked Alex.

‘No, sirji. This only place here,’ responded the guide, as Alex retraced his steps to shut the door close.

Just as he was doing it, he spotted a girl at the far end of the passage getting out of a room. Curiosity made him stop. She had a sling bag strapped over her torso and wore a cardigan emblazoned with the initials oxford. Hello there Oxford girl, he muttered to himself and laughed.

Walking towards Rishi, he said, ‘We got company, buddy!’

Rishi raised his eyes in response. So, we aren’t the only morons who decided to head to this place. ‘Some life here, then,’ saying which he grinned at Alex’s excited face.

***

After changing into a fresh set of clothes, Rishi and Alex went out to buy the Cream. Spotting Ram Singh deep in conversation with the two youngsters who had approached them earlier, they made their way to them. Before they could even begin the negotiations, Ram Singh had done the needful.

Rishi extended his hand to pay the Malanis, but they swung back and asked him to throw the money on the ground. Incensed, he did as suggested. They picked up the money, threw the packet on the ground, said they could get more any time, and left.

‘This is crazy, dude. These people are pissin’ me off,’ exclaimed Alex, but soon lost himself to examining the packet which held a few small, black wafers of Malana Cream. He was ecstatic. At last, he possessed the ambrosia he had heard so much about.

‘Why do they consider outsiders inferior?’ asked Rishi, fuming with anger.

‘Not sure, saab,’ said Ram Singh. ‘Maybe because they Greek. They say they next-next-generations of Alexander Great’s soldiers. Many made homes in India in 232 BC and never go. They stay here from then. Their language, Kanashi, is mix of Greek. Greek symbols seen in stone carvings too. Their way of ruling same as Greek system. But, it’s not all sure.’

Catching the gist of it, Alex said, ‘They sure don’t look Greek, but I do see some people havin’ green eyes. So, you never know.’

‘Some say, green eyes and European features because they marry with each other. Doing this for centuries. Malani no marry outside own community.’

‘Strange,’ said Rishi, his eyes carefully observing the village around him. He wasn’t the man to miss anything.

***

In the evening came the time to sample their pièce de résistance. Ram Singh and Alex prepared joints with the Cream, a bright gleam of excitement apparent in their eyes. The temptation to smoke up the best hash in the world seemed to be making them dizzy in anticipation. Rishi could swear that for a moment he saw them both salivate while rolling. He was amused.

Once done, Alex said: “Oh dark mother” and took in a deep drag. Rishi laughed.

‘Take maraaz, this only way to enjoy Malana,’ Ram Singh urged, holding a joint in one hand and offering him one from the other.

‘Ram Singh, excited, are we?’ he questioned.

‘Yes, maraaz, yes. Jo rang dikhte hain, kamaal ki cheez hoti hai, by god se. Dream, reality. No idea remains. Only Malana Cream . . . waah waah! Have charas sutta,’ he urged again.

Rishi thought about his suggestion for a second. He was tired, cold, and wanted to relax. What the heck! I’ll chalk this one up to experience, if nothing else! And with that thought, dragged in a puff.

‘Ye hui na baat. Now you see magic of charas, maraaz,’ Ram Singh gushed in all earnestness, the beautiful Himachali accent putting up a spectacular show once again.

‘What’s the secret of Malana hash? Why is it the best?’ Rishi asked.

‘It’s hand-rubbed cannabis. The soil, the climate, and the nature in the valley make it the best in the world,’ replied Alex, supplying him with the precious bit of knowledge he was aware of, before Ram Singh could even put in a word. ‘The Malanis have made cannabis cultivation their main source of income. Your government’s tryin’ its best to control the illegal cultivation, but it ain’t easy. Entire mountains are covered with cannabis, from what I have heard.’

‘You sure know a lot about this place.’ Rishi looked slightly amazed.

‘Oh, I just ferreted out information about this place from our man here,’ Alex replied pointing at Ram Singh. ‘He is pretty nifty, eh!?’

Rishi raised his eyebrows at Ram Singh in lieu of a question. But the guide was too busy smoking up. He then voiced out his query. ‘How do you know so much about them?’

‘Maraaz, I come here often and also know Kanashi.’

‘Tell me more. Their democratic syste—’

‘Maraaz, unique. I say very unique. Malana one of oldest democracies in world. Oldest. Hakima is name of village council. It has higher court, lower court. Gurr, Pujari, and Kardar, make higher court. Gurr is person in which great Jamlu Devta enter. Gurr tell all what Jamlu Devta want. He is God himself, I say. When Jamlu Devta come in Gurr, he listen to complaints and give answers through Gurr.’

‘Unbelievable,’ agreed Alex. ‘Gettin’ possessed and passin’ judgments! India has not stopped surprisin’ me till now. Too fascinatin’, man. Too fascinatin’!’

Damn . . . this is actually true! I thought the people on the net were exaggerating . . . ‘So, Indian laws and regulations really do not work here. Wow! I can’t believe such a place exists in India. It almost seems like a different era or a parallel universe,’ responded Rishi, an incredulous expression taking hold of his face.

As they spoke, the Cream started taking effect. Rishi felt as though he was mildly drunk. He was slowly getting sucked into the dark high.

‘What kinda civilization forbids touchin’ others? They are afraid to bring anythin’ new into their lives—people . . . knowledge . . . or technology. No wonder this place looks like a junkyard and has no respect for personal or community hygiene,’ said Alex after a while.

‘They sure need to preserve their culture, but adopt certain advancements in technology, healthcare, and education that can benefit them,’ added Rishi.

‘You social work, sirji?’ asked Ram Singh curiously.

‘Huh? No. Not at all,’ replied Rishi, ‘we are just jobless.’ And they laughed. Their guffaws soon turned into maddening howls. The Cream was clearly doing its work. In the corner of the room, Laxman sat laughing too. Sometime during the conversation, Ram Singh had shared his joint with him.

In an hour’s time, everyone was completely drugged. Rishi couldn’t feel his hands or legs and didn’t know what he was saying. ‘You were right, Alex. The dark mother is amazing,’ he whispered in what he thought was Alex’s ear.

But Alex—and Ram Singh—were nowhere to be found. Rishi looked around; he was sitting alone outside the guesthouse. Shock didn’t begin to cover it for him. ‘But . . . how? When did I come here?’ he shouted loudly. But in his mind he had just spoken to himself.

Slowly, for everything was spinning around him, he got up holding a wooden pillar and struggled his way back to the room. On entering, he saw Ram Singh kneeling in front of Alex.

‘This is land of King Alexander Great. You come to where you belong, Alexji. I knew you king. I know Kanashi. I translate for you. We sacrifice goat. You king of goat, Alexji.’ Ram Singh was shouting hoarsely by the end of it. Laxman was sleeping in a corner.

‘I’m the goat . . . I am Alexander!’ said Alex standing atop the bed, one leg in the air.

‘Have you guys gone completely insane?’ Rishi said, looking at the madness. ‘You are hallucinating and talking junk. Alex is not a goat! He is a sheep. Look at his long hair and beard . . . he’s so furry. He is a sheep . . .’

They burst into laughter and continued talking rubbish till they dozed off.

*** [End of Chapter 5]

Read the previous parts of this series here:

• Prologue of 'Losing My Religion.'
• Losing My Religion: Chapter 1 - Broken Entrepreneur
• Losing My Religion: Chapter 2 - Show me a way forward
• Losing My Religion: Chapter 3 - Enter Alex
• Losing My Religion: Chapter 4 - Adventure Begins in the Himalayas
• Losing My Religion Chapter 6 - Behind every man, there is a love story

If you want to get a copy of the book, here are some quick links

• Amazon - Buy paperback in India
• Flipkart - Buy paperback in India
• Amazon eBook - Global

 You can also learn more about the book on my website - VishwasMudagal.com