Mandi Town

Sorry for the infrequent posts, or rather lack of posts all together. Internet has been down for over a week now and has just been restored. The previous post was somehow lost (the final part) and wasn't saved on Blogger. I will try and piece together the final thoughts, in the same post, at some later point. If you really want to hear about it you can also e-mail me. For a little teaser, it involves seeing a dead body being paraded around the streets of Amritsar.

A relaxing weekend with no real plans was what was needed after the hectic weekend in Amritsar. There was also a need for a short drive, so we decided to head to Mandi, an ancient trading town at the apex of the Kangra and Kullu Valleys. At 880m elevation it is a bit hotter than Palampur (which sits at 1200m), but nothing in comparison to Amritsar. The short three hour drive was also a welcome respite from the usual 5-7 hour trip.

The drive was pretty dull by my new standards; the driver was slow and cautious and we had already made the journey, on our way to Manali, a few weekends before. When we were nearing the entrance of Mandi Town we took a sharp right-hand turn and crossed a beautiful old suspension bridge (one lane, of course). We later found out that the British had built this bridge in 1861, and that this bridge still exists in its original condition, steel cables and all. The streets of the town are as narrow as they are busy. We passed peddlers of everything under the sun as pigs and cows roamed the streets. As we got deeper into town we passed through a small square, and then into a larger square surrounded by a three story market. Stairs at each corner led down to the grassy center.

The town of Mandi used to be the most crucial link in the old Indian salt trade to Tibet, as the demographics of the town can attest. The overwhelming majority of Mandians are Sikhs, but you easily find Kashmiris, Himachalis, and perhaps a few Tibetans scattered here and there. Six roads lead into the vibrant little town. It serves as the intermediary between the Kullu, Kangra, and Spiti Valleys, as well as the only road from the Punjab and from the Himachal capital of Shimla. The town sits at the confluence of the Beas River and the Suketi Stream, and is scattered with endless ancient Shivaite temples; as many as 81 temples are known in the town, according to one source. At the point of our arrival it had not rained in two full weeks, so the hot and sticky air was more reminiscent of the plains than of the moderate state of Himachal Pradesh.

We finally found our hotel, after asking a policeman. The Hotel Raj Majal Palace is an old colonial mansion set just behind the old Maharaja’s palace, just north of the center of town. At the reception desk we performed the usual sign-in process as the old man in charge introduced himself. We checked out the room and, relieved to find A/C, set out for a little walk around the main part of town. On the way out the hotel the old man, named Ashok, asked us what time we would be eating dinner and then said that we were to sit with him and enjoy the evening. We couldn’t do anything but agree.

Setting out through the market was pretty nice. Weezie tried to buy some sunglasses at one of the levels of the ‘mall’. While she was doing this a rather large Sikh man came and introduced himself. He seemed nice enough, so I started into conversation with him and found out that his daughter had just graduated school and is becoming an engineer. He then brought up the USD-Rupee exchange rate and set off on a rather uncomfortable rant about how we treated dollars just like Indians treated Rupees. At this point he had me jot down by address for him so that I could help him find a job when he moved to the United States to join his daughter. Naturally, I gave him the wrong address.

After another 15 minutes of walking we decided that there was nothing more to see in Mandi for the time being. We strolled back to the hotel for dinner. As we sat outside enjoying a drink we saw our friend Ashok strolling up to our table. We greeted him as he sat down and he asked us what we would have for dinner. When we showed hesitation he took the liberty of ordering for us – butter chicken, roasted papad (a type of crispy flatbread), mixed vegetable, fruit salad, butter roti from the oven, and perhaps some sweets for after dinner. As he owns the place we couldn’t really say “No”, so we just let it all happen.

For a 78 year-old Ashok has the sharpest mind of anyone that I have ever met, and he was absolutely full of riddles for us to try and figure out. He brought up subjects ranging from the adequate level of income for a middle-class family in both the US and India to Warren Buffet, to a ranking of American cities by population. He explained that he had visited the United States in the summer of 1976 for a few months, driving from Miami to New York. Weezie wanted me to make a special note that, of all places, he even visited New Canaan. I don’t get it. Must be a northern thing.

As a young man Ashok had lived in London for nine years. After university he became an assistant salesman for a dental supplies company. Upon the death of a family member he was forced to return home, to India. This was when he got into the hotel business. His entire family had lived in Mandi since the mid-1200s, and he came home to help his mother and uncle with their family hotel. In 1982 they opened the Raj Mahal Palace, and he has been in charge since then. A few years ago his doctors told him that he had to stop working the night shift (he would go to bed at 1am and wake up at 5am), so he handed over the reigns to his son. A few years ago the place underwent some renovations, and since then has been the most sought-after hotel in Mandi. Ashok and his place can also boast the most popular restaurant in town. The courtyard of the hotel was packed both Friday and Saturday nights.

When our food arrived we were shocked at how much Ashok had ordered for us. We thought that he was going to share our meal, but he instead ate nothing but a vegetable cutlet and some french fries, followed by a few scoops of vanilla ice cream (his usual). I tried my best to finish this absurd amount of food. It was a feat for which I would pay a hefty price in the morning. Three plates of food and twenty riddles later Ashok finally called it a night. I crept back to my own room completely full and ready for bed. I fell asleep exactly 5 seconds after lying down.

I awoke at 4:30 with a raging headache and an uneasy stomach. For the next six hours I dealt with both. This ordeal postponed our morning plans, but Weezie went to get me some toast and talk to Ashok. He was not surprised at my issues, saying I ate “Far too much!” He then prescribed me to a diet of nothing but rice and curd (sour yogurt) for the entirety of the day. I coaxed him into letting me have some buttered toast, water, and some lassi (a sweetened yogurt drink) with banana in it.

At around 11am I was feeling well enough to make it outside, so we met our driver and made our way to Rewalsar Lake. Rewalsar is revered by Buddhists, Sikhs, and Hindus alike. In the 8th Century AD the Buddhist monk Padmasambhava departed here to spread his religion to Tibet, and the Hindus and Sikhs came together here in the 17th century to plan their resistance against ethnic cleansing by the Mughals. There are beautiful temples for all three religions here, as well as a Buddhist monastery. Overlooking the lake are the Buddha Caves, where Padmasambhava allegedly meditated before setting out of his quest to spread Buddhism.

We spent the day strolling around the lake, checking out the temples, and reading our books. We finally stopped at the ‘caves’ and read for about an hour and a half. This was nice because it was the only spot where we could find shade and a nice breeze. The most notable thing about Rewalsar is the population of fish that live there. Over the years the residents of Rewalsar have done little to regulate the population of carp in the waters. Because they don’t fish the waters there is a huge overpopulation, and now the fish no not spawn anymore. When you enter the lake the sight of all the fish is rather shocking. They have even adapted themselves to jump up onto the steps at the edge of the lake, suck the algae off of them, and then about-face and wiggle their way back into the water.

At around 4:30 we left the lake and returned back to our hotel. Ashok was glad to see us, and we all sat as he asked us more riddles. Dinner was some simple vegetable chowmein, which he only allowed me to eat after I assured him that I was feeling much better. A short dinner was followed by the customary vanilla ice cream, and then bed.

On Sunday we woke up and decided to walk through town to the bridge. We strolled through the now closed market and reached the bridge after about 10 minutes. The town was actually quite pleasant without the normal hustle and bustle, and we enjoyed seeing a few Hindu temples on the way. Once we got to the water we walked halfway across the bridge and turned around, deciding instead to try and find the oldest temple of them all. We could see it from the bridge and set out through the streets to find it.

When we arrived there we entered the grounds and checked out the scene. The temple was probably the oldest that we have seen, an accomplishment after being to Baijnath. From the steps of the temple we walked directly to the shore of the river and began to pick up rocks. Just like the town, the riverbed was a collection of many different kinds of rocks. There were rocks made of granite, sandstone, shale, and a variety of other materials. I found it interesting that this place was the center of northern India. The rocks swept down from all the valleys in the region get washed up on the shores and end up staying there, just as the people came from all over in the search of money from the salt trade. Many of them, Ashok’s family included, stuck around.

That ended up being a pretty long post for such an ‘uneventful’ and relaxing weekend. I hope that it wasn’t too long and/or boring. The next posts will be about our latest trip to Dalhousie, a hill station in the Chamba Valley, as well as some reflections about school in Palampur and life in India. I hope to have them all posted by the end of the week so that I am no longer in catch-up mode. Until then expect a guest blog from Moojie.