It’s been more than three decades since I first went up the narrow road from Chail Chowk in Mandi district to Janjheli. With a mere stopover, one went past the village of Thunag, which was the most prominent in the area — as it had the tehsil and a large school. Dusk had turned to night by the time one reached Janjheli. There were no hotels, no homestays and no restaurants. I was booked at the PWD rest house and as is the case in many of these places — it was built well, but the lack of maintenance and basic hygiene had reduced it to a shambles.Keeping in mind the old phrase of ‘beggars can’t be choosers’, one poured Dettol all over the place, pulled out the sleeping bag and passed out till morning. Any and all complaints or misgivings vanished when one stepped out and looked at one of the most beautiful valleys of Himachal, and at the village that lay tucked inside, hidden as it were in the folds of a floral bud.There was hardly a concrete house in sight. Most structures were double-storeyed whitewashed homes with slate roofs. The long curving valley had levelled out and towards its end, opened like a flower in full bloom. A narrow stream, locally called Bakhli Khad, flowed through and tiny pedestrian bridges spanned this. The water from the stream came down the wooded slopes of the Shikari Devi ranges. In some ways, the place resembled Manali before over-tourism destroyed it.It was in a small dhaba at Janjheli that one had the unusual dish of rajmah-meat. Next to the dhaba, housing a bank was one of the few concrete buildings of the village. The dhaba owner pointed out an absolutely gorgeous hill house and said that was his. He planned to demolish it and make something like the hideous one that housed the bank. He thought that that was what tourists — and potential income — wanted. I almost screamed: “Don’t, you are sitting on a piece of unique heritage and a potential goldmine. All you need is a modern bathroom and kitchen.”As happens in places like these, one became quite friendly with Lal Singh, the rest house chowkidar. As I was the only resident in the place, he had time on his hands and offered to be my guide. We drove up to the village of Bulah. And there in a sunless corner, the snow had still not melted. We put gravel over it and scattered branches in the hope of achieving some traction. We hit our heels on the hard cake. The car took on the role of a sledge, slid back and seemed to be quite happy to remain where it was.There was no choice but to start walking. Straight up the hill. Six hours and 1,000 metres higher, we were atop the rise of Shikari Devi. En route, we had not seen or heard another human. In the distance, something from the deer family had gone racing past an open meadow. Lal Singh gave a wriggle that belied his bulk and said: “Now tell me where is Janjheli?” Gasping for breath, my wave could have included that little village where we had started from — or all of Tibet that lay past the Himalaya.He nodded approvingly. “Now where is Karsog?” Again the wave seemed adequate.The road that now connects Karsog valley to Janjheli over the Shikari Devi slopes had still not been made. We were on our way back and Lal Singh took the opportunity of the long walk downhill to talk. He stopped near a dip in the woods and turned to me: “Do you know who I am married to?” I shook my head. He pointed to the bushes in the dip. “The man my wife was supposed to marry was a schoolteacher. He started walking from Karsog through this forest and it started snowing. It got dark perhaps. He lost his footing and fell down in those bushes. When the snow melted, the remains were found. The animals had got to him before us.”This was a very rural Himachal story. Roads have become the lifeline for these far-flung villages. Sitting outside, it is easy to say that these are unnecessary. Tell that to someone who needs medical treatment or has to get his crop out to sell. Everyone is entitled to a better life. But what we lost in this process is common sense and balance. Like so many other places in Himachal, the Janjheli that I’ve written about has been damaged, and Thunag severely impacted during this monsoon.It is not over yet. No, I’m not a prophet (or loss) of doom. Nor am I a minor acolyte. For all its stupidity and venality, one still has hope for the human race. Even though passing the buck and blame is also very human.— The writer is an author based in Shimla
For all of human race’s venality, it is not over yet
