The Hidden Kingdom I woke up with the same starry eyes I do when any journey is about to begin. I had missed the first week of the two week road trip to the ‘Hidden Kingdom.’ I had a formidable journey ahead – 22 hours to my destination. That’s right ‘22 torturous hours,’ in a local bus on a wooden bench with, well uh, a piece of cloth stitched on top of it. I had to achieve this before I could catch up to the comfortable SUV that was a week ahead of me – it was bliss on the horizon. My journey began at 7pm out of New Delhi. With my beloved Nikon and a backpack, I hopped onto the bus. As the morning light broke, I broke out of the numerous half hour stints of fitful sleep I had been having through the night. And, as so many have done for centuries, I gazed at the majestic, the dominating, and the breathtakingly beautiful Himalayas. And I knew why I sat on that bus, I knew why I had planned for two months, why I had waited for the snow covered passes to clear, why I had so eagerly waited to embark on this journey.

I woke up again in Shimla, the drivers changed, the ticket collectors changed, and so did most of the passengers, but I was still there. Further, I looked out of the window and took in the magnificence of the awe inspiring Kangra Valley with its dense deodar, and Pine forest. My destination though was beyond, and I longed to get there.

The bus now snaked along the muddy Sutlej. Unfortunately it is now being exploited by ugly machinery and hundreds of construction workers building hydro electric plants – ‘The face of modern, Industrial India.’ It was heart breaking to see this destruction of the environment, and I just wanted to get out of there. The road and the river took a sharp turn and suddenly the veil was lifted, the debris and construction workers were left behind, and peace descended once again. It was nearing 5pm as we pulled into Kalpa. Finally after 22 bone breaking hours, I had caught up to the SUV.

I woke at first light, and as the sun touched the snow covered Kinner Kailash Peaks, I put my camera aside, for the rays seemed to flow into you and touch you deep inside, an almost meditative calm descended. I was ready for my journey, into the Spiti Valley – into the Hidden Kingdom.

The River Spiti now replaces the Sutlej, and it is this river that gives the valley its name. The Spiti Valley had trade and cultural links with Tibet for over 10 centuries, as new borders were defined, and with the occupation of Tibet by the Chinese, these links ceased to exist.

Untouched and rustic, the people here lead honest and simple lives. It’s a barren land, riddled with majestic snow covered mountains, and hardly a blade of grass. Some refer to it as a ‘Cold Desert.’ Even today, as the snow comes in, the Spiti valley gets isolated from all civilization for nearly 6 months.

The road snakes around mountains, sometimes reaching dizzying heights of over 3,500 meters. At some points, it is cut into rock, and I’m glad I’m not in the bus, for the rock cut hangs so low at places that I’m convinced it will take our roof off.

Population is scattered, and you can see some villages perched beyond reach in distant horizons. Just as my stomach begins howling louder than the guzzling river, we cross the village of Nako, with its holy Lake and a small café. It serves us mouth watering momos, much like the famed Chinese ‘dimsum,’ the momo is its Tibetan cousin, and every bit as delicious! There is a festival on at the Nako monastery, and for the first time I see the heavy Buddhist influence in these parts. It is said that the great translator Ringchen Zangpo himself brought Buddhism to these lands.



As I look around there are small signs everywhere, on mountain tops are little stones pilled on top of each other to make mounds, and there are strings of tiny colourful fluttering flags. The colours of the flags represent the elements of nature, and it is said the prayers written on them are taken everywhere by the wind, bringing peace and calm to all. If only we could all lead simple peaceful lives like these folks.

Tonight we stay at Tabo, it houses the most influential monastery in these parts. The monastery is one of the oldest in the world, and houses some exceptionally beautiful wall paintings. By the time we reach, the monastery is shut, though I’m kindly offered the opportunity to be there for the morning chanting.

In the big central hall there are monks of all sizes and ages who are reciting mantras together. At first, it almost sounds like the infamous vuvuzelas from South Africa. Later, as I sit with my legs folded, I start appreciating the conviction of the faith. As the older monks are lost in a meditative trance, I happen to gaze at a few young monks (barely 6-7 years), they start pulling at each others robes. When they see me looking, a smile bursts out onto their innocent faces. It’s a glitch in the armor of these monks, but a glitch which is both innocent and honest.

Driving along these roads is a daunting task, and you can always expect the unexpected. Gazing at my map, I could tell we were going past the Pin valley National park, and just as I looked up, the car came to a halt – a herd of musk deer were crossing the road. A doe and her fawn came to a stop right by the edge of the road, they looked at us spellbound, unaware, and unscathed – the innocence of the mountains reflects in everything that resides here.

Having visited the Kibber and Ki Monasteries, both of which seemed to rise out of the mountains and float in the sky, we head for the last village in the Spiti Valley – Losar. At 4,000 meters, Losar is the picture perfect village, in a fairy tale land. We would spend our last night in the Hidden Kingdom here, in the embrace of the mighty Himalayas.

The next morning brings a hint of sadness to my eyes and as we go over the Rohtang Pass, all sense of peace and quite leave me, but as I move away from the shadows of the mountains, I know, I will pay homage again – I will look upon my beloved Himalayas once again.