Finding Shiva

One regret was that I didnt get a chance to go on the Amarnath Yatra,the annual pilgrimage to the ice lingam that forms in the Amarnath caves in Kashmir 45 days a year. The yatra was prohibited because of threats from militants; a ban that lasted from 1991 to 1995.

I got a second chance when I returned to India with my wife and five-year-old son in 2008 to live in Goa and spend some time in a country we both loved. Things had changed,of course,and there were more cars than I remembered,but we liked it so much we eventually stayed for two years,returning to the UK late last year.

In that time,I finally returned to Kashmir after leaving a family holiday in Dharamsala and taking the Manali-Leh road. While news was that the Valley was significantly quieter than it had been 15 years earlier,I was unwilling to take the risk with my family.

The road from Manali to Leh in Ladakh is one of the highest motorable roads in the world and offers stunning views,but it is the road from Leh to Srinagar that is more terrifying,with the taxi clinging to the side of the road. Two hours before we arrived in Srinagar,we passed the caravan city of Baltal,one of the starting points of the yatra. I was tempted to ask the driver to let me out and take my chances then and there. But I didnt have a permit and so we pressed on.

I arrived in Srinagar finding a Dal Lake clogged with garbage. After an unsuccessful shikara ride to find the houseboat I had previously stayed on,I moved a few kilometres away to the cleaner and more serene Nigeen Lake.

Every year,more than 4 lakh pilgrims embark on the yatra and while devotees start the 45-km pilgrimage from the town of Pahalgam about 96 km out of Srinagar,I would be going from Baltal,the town I had passed on the way from Leh,a 14-kilometre trek which I hope to complete in around six hours.

Time was short,so I asked my houseboat owner to sort out the necessary paperwork and book me on a helicopter from the caves after I had completed the pilgrimage.

While my heart needed to be stilled,I also wanted to get back to the houseboat TV to see England win the Ashes against Australia and a helicopter meant I could do that. Cricket always takes precedence over pilgrimages.

Whether it was because I was a foreigner or because money hastened the process,I had the permit in my hand within 24 hours and we arranged to leave in a taxi the following morning.

As day broke and murmurs of mosques floated across the Nigeen Lake,I finished my drink of kahwa, and we were on our way. The two-hour ride through the bounteous splendour of the Kashmir Valley was wonderful. After following the river,we finally arrived at Baltal,where the calm of the journey gave way to chaos.

It felt as if the whole of India was there. Young,old,families,hawkers,soldiers,overweight women being borne on sedan chairs,mules,donkeys,horses… and a lot of noise. Surprisingly,the most chaotic scenes were at the helipad where a backlog of flights meant people with tickets had been waiting since dawn to fly up to the caves.

Those who want to go on the yatra should not take it lightly. Every year,scores of pilgrims die of heart attacks,underestimating the toll it takes on the body. It can get cold,very cold. In 1996,up to one lakh pilgrims were caught in unseasonal blizzards and 242 died of exhaustion and exposure.

I stocked up on water and ate some curry at one of the stalls and joined the throng. It was an easy climb to begin with,and Baltal faded into the distance as I chatted with fellow pilgrims. Sometimes I had to jump out of the way as horses and mules hurtled past. And then the path became tougher. I inched past the sedan chairs six men manoeuvring each chair around narrow ledges and managing to keep their passenger aloft. I was now out of breath,the altitude and the dust made me stop more often. I cursed the steady stream of helicopters above me and then,thankfully,the mules and horses could go no further and the dust-cloud evaporated.

But even without the dust,the last mile was torture. I walked past food and souvenir stalls and gingerly trod on slippery steps. The banter among pilgrims had stopped. I had been walking for seven hours,but then there were the caves; I was almost there.

For the final stretch,everybody had to take off their shoes. There,behind iron bars was the lingam. I strained to see it as soldiers moved everybody on and pilgrims began to wail. I was jostled and pushed and ready to collapse. As I was forced to move on,I espied two hawks sheltering in the crannies of the cave. Mysterious,they seemed to awaken something primitive in me,was it a sign? I had no time to think and before I knew it I was crying my eyes out,exhausted and completely drained.

As I walked away from the caves to where the helicopters were landing,I was now thankful of their presence and waited for my turn to be whisked back to Baltal. The ride was thrilling and took only four minutes. I was finally a yatri,but I was also a very tired man.