23rd – 25th April

After bidding our friends Upasana, Surya and his parents Deepak and Neerja a fond farewell at Wah, we were on the road again – this time to Judges Court at Pragpur.

However, we were going to stop off en route. We headed towards Kangra Fort: a monumental construction of about 1100 years old, built to dominate the Kangra Valley high above the confluence of two rivers.

The sun was already beating down remorselessly by the time we got out of the car. We plodded up through gate after gate, marvelling at its impregnability.

There were still traces of where the gate poles and bars must have been placed to seal the inner courtyards. Tiny narrow slits in walls feet thick would have shielded defenders from attack and allowed them to pour goodness knows what onto marauders. The further we penetrated, the more the complexity of the fortress revealed itself: small armouries, meeting rooms, a large square and giant well. Stone carvings were still deep and vibrant in the temple in the middle of the fort.

Once at the top, the views were spectacular right across the valley, stretching far into the distance. The Himalayas were just discernible to the north. We stood and gaped, melting quietly. To have conceived and constructed such a mighty edifice, most likely in the searing heat, and assuredly without the benefit of modern technology, was a marvel. The fort had been occupied latterly by the Sikhs and finally the British, before succumbing to the even mightier foe of Nature, in the great earthquake of 1905 which shook the whole of Himachal Pradesh.

Almost deliquescent with heat, we slithered down from the fort and up to the little museum cafe, successfully obscured through lack of signposting. After a bite of freshly made pakora we headed back to the car and pressed on for Masroor.

“Only an hour,” said Jeremy. Famous last words.

Our poor driver had quite some difficulty in finding his way over mile after mile of serpentine semi made roads. He stopped and asked the way a few times and confidently assured us this was ‘short cut’ but alas it proved not to be the case. Jeremy was watching behind the scenes on Google Maps, but sometimes they cut out too. We were in the sticks!! Against all the lurching and bumping I could feel my tummy and body begin to revolt. Finally, when I thought I would burst, we arrived at Masroor.

https://www.tourmyindia.com/states/himachal/masroor-rock-cut-temple-kangra.htm

It was an enormous monolithic temple built out the existing rocks: another remarkable monument that would have required tremendous vision and dedication in the making.

We walked around in the continuing heat and took pictures. It all seemed so otherworldly.

Having been baked and fried twice already we got back into the car and headed for Judges Court.

Unfortunately, what should have been only an hour proved to be another interminable traipse over extremely difficult twisting terrain. It was hard to settle into any kind of rhythm with the driving. In the end there was nothing for it and I got out my headphones. I listened to everything from Richard Strauss to Emilie Sandé. It all helped!

At long last we pitched up at The Judges Court and fell out into the welcome cool of the old house. It had a slight sense of faded grandeur from the former glory days of the Raj; old black white photographs of dignitaries hanging at odd angles on the walls. The furniture was mostly dark, with various inner drawing rooms and leather sofas adding to the Victorian feel.

Our room was spacious and dark, having both mud floors and walls. These were interestingly painted in bilious brown and bottle green. The enormous carved wooden bed had been bolted to the floor, and was rimmed with the green. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. We settled in and were very grateful for electricity that worked (most of the time) and a shower that at least sprinkled if not gushed.

The next day dawned extremely hot. We got into the car for a short outing and headed first to a little ‘heritage village’ called Garli where there wasn’t a whole lot happening and then on down to the river Beas. There was not much of it left but there was still a little ferry which Jeremy was keen to take. We yelled and hollered to rouse its captain on the other side, but he didn’t appear, so we turned round. At this point I pleaded exoneration from further duty under the ‘mad dogs and Englishman’ rule.

It must have been about forty degrees.. and I was still tired from the day before. Tilak our driver took me back and left Jeremy to continue walking. By the time Tilak found him again later he had walked three kilometres up to the nearest road bridge and back again on the other side and roused the ferryman who was asleep under a banyan tree, not expecting any customers that day!The old man rowed him very gently across.

By then, even Jeremy was tired, and came back for a spot of lunch. I rested all afternoon in the delicious dark of the room, allowing all those tummy crinkles to unravel and my brain to drift.

The next day we escaped in the nick of time before a Bollywood film crew descended with hordes of vehicles, and made our way to Kasauli, a garrison town an hour above Kalka, where we were to catch the famous Kalka to Shimla toy train.

We received less than a warm welcome from the receptionist at the Kasauli Exotica who clearly hadn’t been taught to smile during his hospitality training. It felt more like going through immigration. We were eventually granted entry and shown to a small clean room with a balcony. From there we took a good walk round the garrison town and decided that we perhaps after all deserved a little wine. So we picked some up and after a good shower later, enjoyed it thoroughly on the balcony, gazing at the twinkling lights of Shimla, somewhere in the distance.

A whole new chapter felt about to begin!