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As a senior citizen who has never
set foot in the Doon School nor crossed the 6000 metre barrier,
I confess I am too enamoured of For Hills To Climb to be
able to give it a balanced review. Nor am I qualified to
wisecrack about life in the death zone, though I do reserve the
right to complain that an awful lot, of modern expedition
reports resemble ‘Monster Thursdays on TV where masochism
masquerades as manliness and pain is too often celebrated at the
expense of joy. I don’t give a hoot about a climber’s list
of summit scalps so long as he/she has the wit to share their
enjoyment or say something meaningful. (For brain-starved of
oxygen soliloquies, I have no need to go to the top of Everest.
A visit to any local municipal office provides similar
mindlessness in triplicate.)
The Doon School
was modelled (or muddled) on the playing fields of Eton and
extraordinarily it has upstaged its original by the production
of this book. (Probably the standard of English is better too.)
It is fascinating to conjecture on what sort of volume the
Germans or Japanese who are much more adventurous than the Brits
would have compiled had their imperial plans hatched. English
just happens to be the language of adventure although it is
equally true that it probably reaches its ceiling of expression
in the Alps. The Himalaya demands the profundity of Sanskrit or
+ flights of Urdu, so Doon School writers do contribute
subliminally through their regional tongues’ subtle shades to
the shot-silk fabric of Indo-Saxon.
Most of the
articles are lean and elegant and this suggests a long labour of
love by the editor in Switzerland and the coordinators in
Chandigarh and Dehra Dun. It is a hefty book beautifully
produced and illustrated with fine old photographs and some
colour plates of flowers (by Rupin Dang.) Cartography is always
a controversial subject and I was surprised to see that a
colonial survey anachronism had slipped through to offend both
common sense and Uttaranchal sensitivities. How can Banderpunch,
Gangotri, Jaonli and Kedarnath realistically be considered part
of the Dhauladhars?
Geography and
English were considered Doon strengths, yet strangely JAK Martyn’s
water-colour end paper of the view from Chandbagh omits the
chief topographical feature: the town sits on the Ganga-Yamuna
Watershed. The sketch is delightful enough to save the artist
from a box on the ears but what to make of Mr Gibson’s
literary lapse As I Saw It.? Published privately, this
autobiographical jumble of diary notings, had it been produced
by one of his students, would have earned the sinner six of the
best for wilfully squandering a wealth of unique associations.
The four
pillars on which the Doon’s mountaineering reputation was
built were all (for the most part) crusty bachelors. This
enabled them to enjoy the rare luxury of giving advice rather
than receiving it and allowed them more energy to further their
vision. They all had an almost acetic disregard for bodily
discomfort and a monastic singlemindedness in living up to the
values they believed in. Jack Gibson writes casually "I
went on with some local porters over the Lamkhaga Pass down to
the Baspa valley to Chitkul and then back over the Borasu into
the Har Ki Dun," implying that these high passes were a
doodle. In fact, stamina and endurance of a high order is
required to do even one of them. Of Holdsworth, it was said he
would be so engrossed in umpiring a cricket match that he would
not have noticed a herd of wild elephants to rampaging by.
It is
fashionable for populist netas to denigrate the Doon
School as a safe haven for the sons of the rich and influential.
This overlooks entirely the reality that no institution can
survive without a healthy code of discipline. Since some of the
books’ chapters together constitute the best account of
Garhwal’s mountaineering assets it might be a good idea, at a
time when the fledgling state of Uttaranchal is searching for
its USP, to have these translated into Hindi (if not pahari) to
enable the ordinary villager to learn of the contribution made
to modern Himalayan climbing by Garhwali porters. Just as ‘Carpet
Sahib’ has become a household name in the lore of Kumaon the
reputation of Gurdial Singh rides high amongst the inner ranges
of Garhwal. In the Statesman of August, 1955 he had
written an article entitled Garhwali
Porters First To Reach Abi Gamin Summit.
Arthur Foot,
the first Headmaster, was an Alpinist and in devastating
testimony to how the mountains can bring out the best in a man
he witnessed the school’s most delinquent pupil Nandu Jayal
was transformed by them into a gentle, perfect knight. The most
moving passages in the book are the obituary notices of Nandu’s
early death. Here was one of the world’s leading mountaineers
cut down by official folly in his prime. For readers the loss is
doubly painful for Nandu Jayal rates amongst the best of
mountain writers. His articles are stylish and zesty and would
have been approved of by his inspiration Leslie Stephen, the
doyen of nineteenth century Alpine authors.
"The
Himalaya," wrote Foot, completed his education into a
status of nobility." Nandu’s insights on the sport he
made his own echo this sentiment. In his summing up of a Saser
Kangri expedition two years earlier, he wrote: "Pushing the
body to utmost for something indefinably inherent in a person
...... is intrinsically noble and worthwhile."
Bitterly
ironical is the inclusion of H.C. Sarin’s obituary notice for
Nandu. This senior defence bureaucrat, more familiar with
scaling career graphs than mountains but with the power to
decide the fate of serving officers, evades the truth while not
telling a lie.
This book is
centred round the 1951 ascent of Mount Trisul by Gurdial Singh
which marks the birth of modern Indian mountaineering. Whereas
the British had smoked proprietorial pipes on the summit,
Gurdial to demonstrate the local belief that all pilgrimages end
in Shiva, performed the yogic asana of standing on his
head. The real significance of his achievement lay in restoring
the Indian attitude of reverence to the throne room of the gods.
In the preface to this book Gurdial and Nalni emphasise the
point. "Many of the articles have considerable literary,
artistic and philosophic merit reflecting a very sensitive
approach to climbing." Nandu hammered home this theme when
addressing trainee climbers, advising them to "feel
physically small and spiritually great."
The School’s
contribution to mountaineering lay in stressing that means were
as important as ends. It laid emphasis on noting the flowers and
birds along the way and fitting them into the total scheme of
things. Environmental wisdom was pioneered by the Doon
expeditions and Nalni Jayal (who was with Gurdial on Trisul)
went on to devote his life to good stewardship of the Himalaya.
When I read Nalni’s version of the climb I suspect he had got
his priorities right.
On reaching
Tridang he notes "The grass on which we camped was like a
cushion sprinkled with tiny mauve primula and the gentle lapping
of the running water recalled melodies from Beethoven’s
pastoral Symphony. Iconfess a desire to bring my efforts to an
honourable conclusion here — as long as somebody got to the
top —and revel in this bracing and saner altitude."
The School also
set sporting standards in an age when false claims to summits
(such as Nilkant) could lead to red faces and attempts at
cover-ups. On the summit ridge of Mrigthuni in 1958 Aamir Ali
recalls how the summit party hung around for nearly an hour
while members set out to check in the worsening weather if there
was a higher point. Contrast this attitude with two sarkari institutional
instructors who halted in fine weather a whole kilometre before
the end of their ascending summit ridge on the Arunachal border
and shamelessly claimed to have climbed the mountain.
In an age when
writing is valued less than advertisements, the old world virtue
of effacement is viewed as a weakness and the British notion
that gentlemen did not discuss religion and politics interpreted
as evidence of one’s commitment to conservatism. Nevertheless
the book suffers from an unleavening of humour and, inevitable
when pupils write of their teachers, not a jot of criticism
about their oddities. We would all dearly love to know what
exactly the four founding fathers thought of each other. Only
Holdie emerges as truly lovable when he threatens to turn
terrorist if Hitler won the war. What did these preachers of
environmental harmony have to say about the introduction of
nucleus spying devices into their beloved Nanda Devi Sanctuary?
At least, Aamir
Ali has the moral courage to question the sanity of military
posturing on Siachen.
It is
noticeable in the later accounts written by Suman Dubey and Hari
Dang the stern neutrality of the guardians begins to weaken and
the reader at last can laugh as humans are designed to. "I
could see Gurdial’s nostrils dilate with excitement at seeing
a new bird," writes Mr Chuekerbutty........
To rescue the
School’s reputation for being overly earnest theirs is the
marvellous wacky outing of the brothers Pratap and Jai Singh
Koregaokar who let down of the image of sons of the idle rich
vacationing in Europe by turning their youthful attentions to
attempting both Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn the hard way,
without any equipment.
The sublime
nincompoopery of their actions is brilliantly recalled and
deserves to share space with Nandu Jayal’s highest growing
flower in the Guinness Book. I’m surprised someone hasn’t
made a film of this cheeky and bizarre ascent of the Matterhorn
in cricket boots and descent in crampons. It deserves a place
alongside Lagaan.
I love this
compilation for its mood of exhilaration at just being there in
fresh mountain air especially when mountain literature nowadays
has become more agonised and pain-wracked. Psychological
chunterings have replaced philosophical musings and desperate
one-upmanship has obliterated the natural courtesy that the
mountains once extended to the foot of man. Greed, desperation
and chauvinism were no doubt in attendance at the first ascent
of the Matterhorn but the glory of the surroundings still held
precedence. Today it seems mountain committees outnumber
mountain poets by 100 to 1.
It is
eyeopening to see how quickly change has overcome the Himalayan
landscape. Joshimath was still a village in 1956. Dense forest
ran between Dehra Dun and Rishikesh. Aamir Ali predicted Coca
Cola in 1958 but Pepsi (chilled) arrived in 1982 on the
Bardrinath route. And Nandu Jayal could settle disruptive porter
behaviour with a boot up the offending backsack.
The title of
this book For Hills To Climb may seem modest under the
circumstances but it does point to the joys that lie in any
mountain exposure and not just in summating. The words are taken
from a daily prayer of Thanksgiving and I too recall the best
moments of my school days from such fragments of poetic
inspiration.
The success of
the Doon School, witnessed in this book, has been in harnessing
the inspiration of the Himalaya as in educational tool.
The words of Holdsworth in
assaying the worth of his pupil Nandu Jayal give us a glimpse of
what real education is all about: "He died very much the
master of himself and of most of the world that is worth
mastering."
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THERE
is a strange mystique that is attached to high mountain ranges
and in some alchemical sense, a part of it rubs off on those
who venture therein. Proof of that mystique is found on
several pages of For Hills To Climb where even teenaged
schoolboys find themselves consciously transformed by their
Himalayan surroundings. This compilation of Doon School
outings and serious expeditions from 1935 to 1965 — marking
the Age of Innocence in the Indian Himalaya — is remarkable
for displaying both the idealism that inspired masters and
pupils alike and the toughness that saw them through their
adventures.
