Tags:
Journalism of Courage
JUST how did I get into this mess? Here I was, clinging to a wood and steel trolley suspended by pulleys. And this was halfway across a cable stretched 100 metres above the freezing rapids of the Beas river. If this was not enough, I was also being buffeted by gusts of high-speed winds.
Around half an hour back, I was sitting sipping some hot chai at a dhaba near Aut, on the Chandigarh-Kullu highway, waiting for friends.
Close to where I was, the Beas, in its broadest and swiftest form, flows through a rocky gorge.
I spotted this small trolley-like object suspended from a pair of cables, stretching across the 100-metre width of the river. These, I learnt later, are called spans in English and, well, jhula in local parlance.
Sauntering across to where the cables ended, I found them anchored by iron rings to a rock and concrete foundation. Very similar to a cable car, except for the fact that while cable cars are operated by a motor, this one used gravity till the centre and human power when going up!
Illogical as it sounds, the urge to take a ride was instantaneous, as was the realisation that a drop into the freezing Beas would be curtains for me. Then, along came this man, a local, who gripped the nylon rope strung through small iron rings on one of the cables fixed to one end of the trolley8217;s lower half and pulled it in. As the trolley rolled up, so did the dozen-odd rings, pushed up by the pulley. Hoping to get a ride, I extended a helping hand, and a moment later, both of us were in. I nodded my readiness and he let go of the rope. The trolley took off with an almighty lurch, throwing me on its wooden base.
The structure resembled a cage cut in half, measured about two-and-half by four feet and seemed to weigh a tonne! Thanks to a well-greased pair of pulleys, we rolled down the cables at a very disconcerting speed to right above the centre of the river, from where the cables began to climb again. The wind howled and I had a hard time maintaining my balance on the wildly swinging trolley.
Now, my companion gave me a demo on the art of 8216;pulling8217;. I was to grip the cable a few inches ahead of the pulleys in front and pull; also ensuring that I pushed the rope-rings up at the same time. After getting the insides of my hand skinned by the moving pulley, I finally got it right and after 10 minutes of furious pulling on the grease-smeared pulleys, we managed to reach the left bank. My heart was beating like a sledgehammer, my arms were numb, and I was soaked with perspiration.
More importantly, I was left all alone on the other side, since my companion had gone his way. The only way of getting back to where I came from was, what else, but on the trolley itself.
So, as soon as I figured out that the same rope could also be used to slow yourself when moving down into the river, I just sat inside the cart, pulled in about 50 metres of the rope and released it slowly. Steadily, I inched down and was soon halfway across the river, buffeted by even heavier gusts of wind and chilled by the icy water spray.
There was only one way of getting back. The one where your hand got skinned while you pulled like a maniac. To add to my misery, this time there were no breathers. The moment I stopped pulling, the trolley started rolling back! It was getting chillier by the minute and the thought of spending the night hanging over a raging river didn8217;t appeal one bit.
And so, I pulled, closing my eyes to the swaying of the trolley. Twenty-five minutes later, this city slicker got back to base. Slumping on the ground, I had just one thought: just how do the locals do it each day? That8217;s a question I will ask next time.
