Driving into the Himalayas foothills on a hot summer afternoon on my way to Shimla, I was feeling sapped after long hours of driving on a hot day. Yes, the weather pleasant when compared with Delhi and the valleys looked beautiful. But there seemed to be something lacking in the mountain scenery. The vegetation was shrubby and was frequently interrupted by patches of habitation. The mountain sun appeared strong and keen to burn my skin. The traffic on the highway was high enough that it did not feel very different from being in the plains. It was my first visit to these parts of the Himalayas and I longed to get to my destination quickly.
We steered off the highway near the small town of Kandaghat and took the detour to Chail, a villge once patronized by the Maharaja of Patiala. As we went further from the highway, the forest thickened and the valleys were void of buildings that are so ubiquitous along the Delhi-Shimla road. The trees started growing taller and the whole atmosphere started changing slowly. I started to feel better and anticipated the surroundings to appear more alive as we climbed higher into the mountains. A magic happened as we approached Chail.
In a sudden twist, the multitude of trees in the valley gave way to the uniform growth of dark green trees that grew more than a hundred feet high. They looked like soldiers standing erect in attention and waiting for orders on their next move. Each tree resembled the next, grew only as high as its neighbour as though they have a healthy agreement not to demand a greater share of sunlight, water and other vital resources. Despite their height, they stood very close to each other forming a forest so dense that one can’t walk through without stumbling into a trunk every alternate step. Direct sunlight never made it to the ground, except along the strip of road that slit the forest.
The deodars stood in an infectious harmony that calmed my mind and soothed my senses. I was no longer the irritant waiting to get somewhere, but was filled with a sense of joy and wished for the forest to continue forever. The weather too had improved dramatically, as the temperatures dipped and a gentle breeze caressed me as we glided up through the winding roads. The deodars gave me a sense of belonging with them and made me long to be with them.
I do not know if it is my penchant for these trees or if deodars possess a magic to attract. Years later, driving into Jageshwar, a small temple town in Uttarakhand, I was overcome by a similar feeling as we entered a thick deodar territory after hours of driving through pine country. The deodars seemed to calm me down and their presence made me feel elated. The tall trees, the thin lush grass that always grew under them, gently flowing brooks in the depressions and the immense silence always sedated my senses.
And here in Chail where I had my first brush with the deodars, all those cliched words associated with travel seemed to have materialized around me. I was overjoyed, my senses were carried away, I felt rejuvenated. It was like a brief brush with a Shangri-la.
The road further from Chail to Shimla kept me in a good mood as I stayed silent and watched the tall trees spread along the valley around me. Passing through Kufri and slowly descending into Shimla, I saw the densest pack of these soldiers taking over the slopes so steep that it would be impossible to walk on them without leaning on the deodars. I felt an urge to break free and vanish into their dense pack and stay rooted somewhere among them.
Arriving at Shimla after the long drive, I was surprised to see the city interspersed with patches of these deodar forests. For most visitors, the mall road and the ridge seem to define the hill station, but I soon found my own Shimla of quiet wooded lanes. The deodars kept me from branding Shimla as yet another bustling hill station. And each time I return to Shimla, I look forward to being among them, which give me a sense of belonging to these places.
