Gangtalks…

This summer I got the opportunity to taste the air at 14,000 feet. Highest literally and figuratively I’ve ever been. The scenic drive to Nathu La is about 96 km from Gangtok which might take anywhere between 5-10 hours making it the poster boy for the unpredictable link between the mountain distance and mountain time. Only 70 cars are given permission every day to visit Nathu La where oxygen levels are at 13% compared to the 21% of the pleasant old Delhi plains. On your way to the pass, you can see tourists riding beautifully decorated yaks enjoying the magnificent views of the Tsongmo Lake; untouched and pristine, reveling in its holiness. The drive is gorgeous across makeshift bridges, over waterfalls, through the clouds with no signs of any real civilization. However, a chill runs down your spine when you cross the 17th Mile and are told to smile because you have come under Chinese observation for the first time. Earlier the border between India and China didn’t have a well-defined boundary which led to frequent arguments between the two sides. This discord lay the groundwork for the violation of the cease-fire between the two in 1962 which erupted when the Indian army was erecting a fence to demarcate the border between India and China which was of extreme strategic importance. Within the first ten minutes of the scuffle, almost seventy Indians lost their life. However, Indian soldiers fought bravely against the Chinese and the conflict ended with the death of 400 Chinese soldiers by China’s estimate. After visiting the pass with my phone’s GPRS set at China time, I visited the bunker of Major Harbhajan Singh. Major Harbhajan Singh was patrolling the border when he slipped and fell into the river and died. After a couple of days, he came into one of his friend’s dreams and told him about the location of his body and asked the army to build a shrine for him. His body was found in the same location as his friend had told and his bunker was converted into a shrine. Today, thousands of visitors visit the temple every year. On entering the little bunker, you can see the weight of the visitor’s most secret wishes, hopes and dreams scribbled on notebooks being borne by Baba Harbhajan’s office desk. You can also see a tiny Indian flag and map propped on the table next to an empty office chair. The small office enclosure leads to another compound which has baba’s bed and his uniform carefully starched and pressed hanging on the wall (fabled to be dirty by the end of the day). To the room’s right, there are trunks with baba’s belongings carefully stowed in them. There are frequent complaints by China about sightings of a man on a white horse patrolling the border at odd hours and is believed to provide intelligence about Chinese activities to on-duty army officers through their dreams. Earlier when baba was given an “official holiday”, his trunk with his belongings was sent back to his village, and the security was tightened at the border in his absence. Who was this mythical man protecting my mystical land? Who was this godly soul defending my country which was already under the protection of 33,000,000 gods? Even today a seat is kept empty at the annual Indo-China strategic meetings for baba and he has been allotted a driver on the payroll who drives him to his meetings. Breakfast and dinner are prepared for him before he leaves and comes back from a hard day of work. How do you decide to give not just your life for your country but declare your soul as its? How do you father such a passion towards the land you’ve been taught to call your mother but don’t wish an acquaintance beyond that of a distant cousin? Why is it that you travel to seek clarity of mind and answers to questions which are yet to be articulated but come back with a hundred more; well-defined and underlined, begging for a reason.