Far from the madding crowd

Ira Pande

Delhi’s frightening air quality through November prompted several people to run away if they had a chance. So we decided to seek refuge in our beloved Kumaon for a few days to escape the suffocating conditions. Late November is an excellent time to go up to the hills: for one, the tourists that clog up the hill stations in summer have vanished and there are no water scarcities or traffic jams to ruin one’s holiday. The monsoons wash away the dust and litter left behind by the unruly crowds and pretty streams and springs, replenished by the rains, gurgle away happily once again. Above all, the Himalayas put up a spectacular darshan and each place — from Mukteshwar to Binsar, Kausani and Munsyari — vies with the other to unfold its splendour and dazzle the eye.

Even if you are not fortunate to have a place of your own, a number of beautiful resorts are now available all over the Kumaon hills for a refreshing break. We went to one called ‘Soulitude’ situated in Gagar, a short hop away from Ramgarh and Mukteshwar. Huge picture windows with thoughtfully provided armchairs ensured that you saw the sun rise over the Himalayas and what a sight that is! From the first rays (Usha) when the peaks are painted a glorious gold, to pink, orange and dazzling white — Nature’s palette has no equal. Hearty breakfasts and walks in the nearby forest (Gagar is on the bridle path that once connected Mukteshwar and Almora), a late lunch, another stroll and then back for tea and a fireside doze. Bonfires in the garden and the twinkling lights of settlements across the hills, a good book to read and deep sleep, what more could one wish for to rejuvenate the soul…

I have spent my childhood in this area and am familiar with its history and charms. Tagore, Mahadevi Verma and several writers and artists came here to soak in its vistas and write in peace. Tagore’s cottage and Mahadeviji’s home are now run as writers’ retreats. Ramgarh was also Kumaon’s orchard country and had a charming food processing factory that also ran courses in fruit preservation for local people. The town has grown considerably since the 1950s and many well-heeled plains-people own cottages and estates around it. The apple orchards are now more or less gone as monkeys (deported from the plains) have ruined them, but local villagers are now able to sustain themselves by supplying the new owners with gardeners and caretakers.

A short, scenic drive takes you to Mukteshwar, named after a famous local temple on a hill with a panoramic view of the Panchuli range. It was chosen in 1893 by the British to house a veterinary institute because its high altitude provided natural refrigeration, so necessary for the vaccines they developed here when electricity was unknown. Like Kasauli, where the anti-rabies vaccine was produced, Mukteswar was the pioneer in finding a cure for the dreaded foot and mouth disease that affected cattle and sheep and Ranikhet disease that destroyed poultry farms. Incidentally, both Ronald Ross (who isolated the malaria bacteria) and Robert Koch (who discovered the TB bacillus) worked here at some point. Today, most of its research work is carried out in Izatnagar (near Bareilly), but the magnificent building, still beautifully maintained, has an impressive museum and dominates the town. Thanks to the foresight of its founders, it looks after the surrounding forest and has kept it pristine and green through almost 150 years. This in itself is no mean achievement.

As reading material, I had carried with me Jim Corbett’s famous tiger tales of Kumaon. I have read them several times and am constantly struck by Corbett’s knowledge of the local geography and his deep understanding of the people of this area. Today, when it is fashionable to expose the economic exploitation and loot of the British colonial rulers, we tend to forget how much they contributed to discovering and developing the remote areas of Kumaon and Garhwal. After the rule of the Gurkhas ended in 1837, the British established towns and settlements, planted orchards and ensured that modern education brought a new life to these remote areas. Their knowledge of flora and fauna and their meticulous records in the gazettes are even today among the only source of knowledge about the land and tribes of the hills. Corbett’s books reveal paths and topography that he knew by heart, having walked all over the hills in search of game. The forest dak bungalows that offer the best views were unerringly chosen by these intrepid walkers. Today, people have forgotten to walk in the hills and we greet each new road and highway that mauls these delicate ecosystems with joy. Little do we realise how we have damaged forests and natural aquifers by blasting them with dynamite.

If we wish to preserve the beauty and grandeur of our Himalayan lands, we must stop such mindless development: let these regions remain unexploited by so-called development and nurture a lifestyle that we have lost forever in the plains. If these beloved hills and dales vanish, a vital part of our culture and heritage will be destroyed. How many tragedies like Kedarnath will it take for our intrepid developers to learn that Nature can destroy as easily as it can rejuvenate?