It was a windy October day in
Kibber. An unusual chill in the wind felt to me, like a premonition. But I put
that thought aside telling myself that I may be thinking too hard. Maybe the anticipation
of spending two hard winter months with Kuhu in Kibber was making me anxious.
Or maybe my worry was more immediate the nerve-wracking ride to Chicham village
in the local “helicopter” later that day.
Two and half months earlier, I arrived
in this quaint little village at 4200m for my PhD fieldwork. After a year of
internal battles and phases of confusion and emotional surges that often
accompany motherhood, I decided to get back to my PhD and take my year-old
daughter along with me to the field. I was apprehensive but decided I will take
things as they come. I was there to study free-roaming dogs, to assess the threats on the wildlife and the local communities in the Upper Spiti Landscape. My work
often took me away from the village, which meant that Kuhu had to get used to
me being away for long periods of time. Luckily for me, she did not take long
to adjust to the high-altitude climate and all the new people around her.
A snow clad Kibber village at 4200m. PC: Chandrima Home
Overlooking Chicham village from Kibber on a clear day. PC: Chandrima Home
The plan was to camp in Chicham
for three days to carry out a winter dog count and conduct interviews of the
people in the village. Fighting my nervousness, I finally decided to go
ahead with my plans. The Kibber-Chicham “helicopter” is in fact a ropeway with
a carrier which was earlier used for towing cement across to build a bridge
between the two villages. A bridge, which is supposed to come up there, has
been 'under construction' for the last 11 years as a result of shifting
political power and bureaucratic priorities. Instead, people make do with this
ropeway, to ferry themselves and cargo across the river. Sometimes the carrier
will have as many as 8-10 people on board. LPG cylinders and even an occasional
motor bike and cycle are carried across in the all-purpose carrier. The only
maintenance carried out is an occasional change of ropes. There has been one
accident till now but luckily the person got away with only a broken arm and
leg.
The Kibber-Chicham "helicopter". PC: Chandrima Home
I decided to go across with
Kuhu because I was reassured by the people who accompanied me. I swallowed
nervously a couple of times, sat inside the carrier with Kuhu on my lap and in
a fraction of a second we had gone midway. Kuhu was unexpectedly quiet while I
sat there mesmerized by the gorge. The water in the stream danced over the
sedimentary rocks and the interplay of sun and shadow created a beautiful
spectacle. I remembered my geography class in school about the colours of rocks.
But I have to admit that I was relieved when we reached the other side! To get
to Chicham we still had to climb for half an hour. The chill in the wind persisted
and in spite of many layers of warm clothing, Kuhu was uncomfortable and cried
continuously. Only when she was covered by an extra blanket and tucked inside
Lamaji’s jacket did she stop. And to think it was only end October! The only
consolation on that walk were the lammergeiers that circled above us.
Our journey to Chicham. PC: Tanzin Thuktan
Kuhu tucked inside Lamaji's jacket. PC: Kesang Chunit
Sherpaji’s house was large and
spacious but since winter was approaching the tandoor (a locally made metal oven used as a room heater as well as
to cook) was shifted to the smaller kitchen adjoining the room. After a simple
meal of dal and rice, I decided to go around the village and conduct some
interviews, leaving Kuhu under Champa ji’s (Sherpa ji’s wife) care. By the time
I got back, it was 4:30pm and Kuhu had not slept at all in my absence. The heat
from the tandoor and cups of namkeen chai
(butter tea) warmed us up. My serious efforts of putting Kuhu to sleep ended up
futile and she kept tossing and turning on my lap. She sat up and suddenly
within a split second she swooned over the tandoor and banged her forehead.
Though I immediately moved her away, I knew that the 350-400°C of heat would
have had serious impact! Kuhu was in tears and I in panic.
For a short while, I went
completely blank, but luckily I recovered quickly to take stock of the
situation. Her forehead was swollen, her nose and lips scalded and she was in terrible
pain. None of the local remedies applied (toothpaste, honey) would calm her and
I realized that I need to head to Kaza for immediate medical assistance. An SOS
was sent to Kibber. With great horror I realized that I would have to cross the
ropeway again and now in the dark! My
field assistants had gone back to Kibber and I had to request somebody from
Chicham village to tow me over. With a prayer on my lips, I sat in the
“helicopter” while it moved slowly on the rails. But the trip from Chicham to
Kibber is a climb and the ropes have to be pulled harder to move. At one point
we were stuck in the middle of the ropeway and the carrier was swaying to and
fro. I closed my eyes to calm myself and promised that this would be the first
and the last time I would get Kuhu to Chicham! If only we could make it through
this time somehow. Those ten minutes seemed like ten hours and only when
Kalzang and Lamaji arrived on the other side with a vehicle did I feel
relieved. Strangely, Kuhu who was crying incessantly earlier, stopped as soon as
we got into the 'helicopter'. The Community Health Center in Kaza had a 24 hr
emergency unit where she was given immediate medication. Thankfully, the
injuries were not severe and only required antiseptic dressing everyday till
all the scalded areas healed.
Kuhu sitting near the tandoor a few hours before her accident. PC: Kesang Chunit
A selfie with Shri (Kesang Chunit). PC: Kesang Chunit
By the time we left Kaza, it
was already 10:00pm. It was dark with no moonlight and the mountains looked ominous
in silhouette. Only the dim twinkling lights in the villages around brought
some comfort. Just as we were entering Kee village, Kuhu started demanding for her
feed and in the midst of the pandemonium Kalzang suddenly shouted in “Snow Leopard”!
I tried desperately to gain a glimpse but Kuhu's bawling distracted me. The
ghost had vanished into the mountains in three leaps. Kalzang initially thought
that it was a dog but when the vehicle came closer, he saw the rosettes on the
leopard's coat clearly. He thought it was a sub-adult. I felt numb. I have
always felt I was jinxed when it comes to animal sightings in the wild and the
latest incident reinforced that feeling. But I consoled myself saying that my
daughter needed my attention more than the snow leopard! I do not regret it and
if I am lucky the ghost of Spiti will definitely oblige me some day. Till then I
will make do with the photos from the camera traps J
Camera trap image of the "ghost" of the Himalayas (Photo taken from www.snowleopard.org)
There are days in field when one
just does not feel right. Maybe it is important to pay heed to these warnings. In
hindsight, I feel I should have listened to the chill in the wind that day and abandoned
that trip to Chicham. But these were lessons learnt, for both me and Kuhu. I
learnt to heed these internal warnings and Kuhu definitely learnt to dread the
fire!
Experiencing our first snow together. PC: Ajay Bijoor
