High upon the High Tatras

A slightly edited version of the following travel piece of mine, based on a hike up the High Tatras mountains in Slovakia last summer, was published in The Telegraph from Kolkata last Saturday, 23 May 2008 (http://www.telegraphindia.com/1080524/jsp/personaltt/story_9310441.jsp):

View from Malá Studená dolina ; Photographs by Gualter Baptista, reproduced with permission

The sight in front of us is stunning. At an altitude of 2,015 metres, we are perched on a rare piece of flat rock, between an endless expanse of cottony blue-grey sky on top and rock-cradled green slopes below, together merging into a panoramic view of the far countryside. To our backs, the craggy granite cliffs of the High Tatras rise up spectacularly, almost casting their shadows upon us. A little to our left lies an alpine lake, fed by melting ice and so freezing cold that my hands are still numb after having dipped into its waters. This is Malá Studená dolina (the Little Cold Valley) in the High Tatras, a mountain range stretching across the border between Slovakia and Poland. We are on the Slovak side, in a region called Vysoké Tatry.

The High Tatras are a part of the Tatra mountains, distinct from the Alps but noted for their similar appearance, climate and flora. They are breathtakingly beautiful. For the past week, from our hotel in the village of Stará Lesná in the plains below, we have been watching the snow-streaked peaks dally with clouds of varying hues of black and white. The summer is upon us but the late June weather is whimsical. At one moment thick, dark clouds are huddled around the mountains, as if locked in an embrace, and there is a wet chill in the air. Within hours, they turn white and wispy and move away, as if breaking up after a lovers’ tiff. In a few hours they are back again, this time as a boundless sheet of spongy white, standing well aloof over the mountains. And just as you wonder if they are going to make up, the clouds descend ever so lightly on the peaks, sealing their pact of reunion with a delicate kiss.

Enticed by their beauty, we resolve to go up the High Tatras over the weekend. Awakening to a brilliant Sunday morning, perfect for a hike, we walk down to the village of Tatranská Lomnica, which is the starting point for a cableway that can take you all the way up to Lomnický štít, the second highest peak in the High Tatras, at an altitude of 2,634 metres. We take a cable car midway to Skalnaté Pleso (or Rocky Lake), a popular picnic spot and the site of an astronomical observatory. The lake is crystal clear and we can see down to its bottom as we lean across the wooden bridge passing over it.

Cable car at Skalnaté Pleso

There are hiking trails branching out from Skalnaté Pleso. The trails are well laid out and marked with different colours, so that is possible to go on a hike by oneself without undue fear of getting lost. Nevertheless, our group is led by Norbert, an earnest young academic from Hungary who is today doubling up as our guide. He has carefully chalked out the plans for the hike and it is reassuring to have him around. We take the red trail, which winds around the edge of the mountains, offering superb views of the valley and plains below. About an hour later, it leads us to Zamkovského chata. The chata or mountain cottage is a remarkable feature of the High Tatras. A small number of them dot the mountains, and they are the only way of spending a night for hikers who wish to avoid the tourist resorts at the foothills. Interestingly, the High Tatras are a part of the Tatras National Park (TANAP), and camping is forbidden. The chatas are thus invaluable for hikers who want to explore the mountains over a few days. They provide refreshments and fairly inexpensive accommodation; they may also have a kitchen. Each chata is managed by a chatar, or inn-keeper, some of whom are a legend by themselves. One such is Viktor Beranek, who keeps the Chata pod Rysmi at the popular Rysy peak. Unlike many of his counterparts, he refuses to have supplies brought up to his chata by helicopter and prefers to carry them up over a four-hour trek on foot in time-honoured tradition.

We halt only briefly at Zamkovského chata; Norbert is soon leading us on the green trail that diverges from the red trail here. The path is now narrow and steep, and climbs up against a swift-flowing mountain stream. At one point just before the trail slopes up sharply, some of our fellow hikers find a fine spot on the banks of the stream to break for lunch. The sun is still bright, and upon finishing a light lunch of apples and sandwiches, it is tempting to stretch out to laze on the rocks with feet dangling into the water.

Hiking in the High Tatras is a popular pastime at this time of the year and it is not just young people who are into it. On our way, we come across barely-ten-year-olds with their parents, and middle-aged persons who politely sidestep to let you climb past. Most amazing of all is the sight of elderly couples negotiating the way with their hiking sticks, in eloquent testimony to their fitness and zest for life.

As we resume our trek, the stream flowing past us narrows to a brook and then eventually disappears. Soon we come to one of its sources, a crunchy stretch of ice. We walk across gingerly, stepping sideways to avoid slipping. The trail, now completely rock, twists its arduous way up. The distance between the hikers widens and we seem to be all on our own. I am glad for the green marks painted on the rocks.

The Tatras National Park represented by a Tatra chamois

I keep my eyes open for a Tatra chamois (Rupicapra rupicapra tatrica), the mountain-goat, which is the pride of these mountains. This subspecies of the handsome mammal, with a reddish coat and curved, hooked horns, is critically endangered and is placed by the IUCN in its Red List of Threatened Species. Less than 500 of these beasts are known to survive and it is little wonder that the TANAP can be found symbolically represented by a majestic chamois, with its neck arched so that its magnificent horns are on full view. The TANAP covers a breadth of 740 square kilometres, which includes not only forest but also these mountains, with all their twenty five peaks and a hundred lakes. In this extensive area, the chamois shares space with lynx, brown bears, marmots, golden eagles and wolves, but none of them quite match up to its stature. It is in a league of its own.

The Tatra chamois manages to evade us but we are euphoric as we finally reach Malá Studená dolina (which is where we found ourselves at the beginning of this piece!). Limpid waters fill the five splendid tarns, or mountain lakes, here, a reminder of the glaciation of the past. Also here lies Teryho chata, the highest of all mountain cottages in the High Tatras. Teryho chata has 24 beds and charges 280 Slovak crowns (roughly 500 Indian rupees) a night. At an altitude of over 2000 metres with nowhere else to spend the night, this is certainly cheap. Miro Jilek, the inn-keeper, is known for his exceptional brew of Teryho tea – and his hospitality. Apparently, no visitor in need of shelter is turned away. If the beds are full one is free to stretch oneself across the tables or even the floor.

A tarn or mountain lake

As we munch biscuits and savour the sight from the vantage point that we have temporarily colonised, the clouds suddenly start to hang low, blotting out the sun. A cold wind begins to blow. It’s time for us to leave our regal perch. We retrace our steps - but only partially, for Norbert is soon leading us through another trail that takes us into forested parts of the TANAP in the lower reaches of the mountains. We briskly make our way under the forest canopy, negotiating occasional waterfalls and clearings randomly strewn with tree stumps and fallen trunks of spruce. In mid-November 2004, a 180 kilometre-per-hour windstorm swept through the TANAP, uprooting trees and causing mayhem over an extensive area. Subsequently commercial interests sought to remove the fallen and damaged trees and tourism developers have used the opportunity to lobby for increased human activity and recreational facilities. These developments have generated much concern among civil society groups, including scientists, who fear for the fragile ecology of the TANAP and the High Tatras.

The descent is relatively quick although we are hiking all the way down without taking the cable car. Soon the forest is thinning and the meadows are visible in the distance. Eventually our trail opens out on to a road leading right to our village. As we step out of the woods the Slovak sun is out again, casting its warm glow on the evening. We look up to see the mighty Tatras stand tall and clear. Looks like they’ve had a lovers’ tiff again.

My favourite short stories

If you were to compile a list of your all-time favourite short stories, which are the ones you would call upon? I recently finished reading a short story anthology that I picked up at one of the second-hand bookshops near Town Hall, and the question has been playing on my mind ever since. Included in this short story collection were some stories that I had read previously and at least two of them deserve to go into my list of faves.

However, compiling a freelance list of this sort is fraught with danger. The exercise brings home a sinking sense of inadequacy and exposes one’s limitations in terms of breadth (or lack of it) of reading. My nightmarish fear is that anyone with a taste for short fiction will go through my list with growing severity. “No Chekhov?” they might frown. No Saki either? No P. G. Wodehouse?! Where's Somerset Maugham? Jhumpa Lahiri? Satyajit Ray? Rohinton Mistry? And so on and so forth they might ask, reeling off a long list of names as I shrink in embarassment and shame.

Bravely, nevertheless, I shall take the plunge, on the strength of my own individuality and preferences. There are of course, some parameters to be laid out. I propose to discuss very briefly short stories that I adore, stories that I read over a period of time since my schooldays. Many of these are evergreen stories that one gets to read time and again in various short story collections. From the ones so discussed I propose to narrow down and draw up a list of approximately ten favourites. I can already foresee a bias towards earlier writers, and there is unlikely to be much contemporary writing.

After Twenty Years: Illustration from "Outstanding Short Stories", S. Chand & Company (Pvt.) Ltd., New Delhi, year unknown

One of the prime contenders for the list is a story that always manages to thrill although I have read it umpteen times. In After Twenty Years, O’ Henry tells the remarkable story of two friends who fix a rendezvous for 20 years later – and keep it, but with the most dramatic consequences. O’ Henry’s penchant for shocking the reader with a sharp twist of irony is at a pinnacle here as it is in another story of his, The Last Leaf, in which a failed artist eventually goes on to paint the masterpiece he has only talked about all his life. The Gift of the Magi, also an O’ Henry offering, stands out for the stab of emotion that hits the reader in the end. I have read this tale of love and sacrifice again and again, and a lump sticks to my throat every time.

Guy de Maupassant’s The Necklace stocks a similar reservoir of shock and irony, which is unleashed in the very last line. It is a story marvellously told and for that reason it serves as an excellent ambassador for the writer across numerous short story collections. Boule de Suif by the same writer offers a penetrating insight into Prussia-occupied France of the latter half of the 19th century. The narrative compellingly exposes the hollowness of the gentry even as it leaves the reader with a deep sympathy for the anti-protagonist, Elizabeth Rousset.

C. Auguste Dupin’s investigation of the murders in the Rue Morgue in the eponymous murder mystery of Edgar Allan Poe remains a classic, evoking a certain thrill and awe with a touch of the sinister. Dupin himself was a forerunner of his counterpart across the English Channel, Sherlock Holmes. Their creators, Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle respectively, overly romanticised many of their sleuths’ adventures and borrowed liberally – and with a great degree of inaccuracy – from the exotica of the mysterious East. Yet many of their stories are a delight to read. Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the Speckled Band, a strong contender for my list of favourites, combines romance, death, fear and adventure as Holmes summons his deductive prowess to crack one of his most intriguing cases.

Holmes listens in rapt attention: A Sidney Paget illustration from The Strand magazine.

In possibly the only case of its kind, Holmes is outsmarted - by a woman - in A Scandal in Bohemia, and in a somewhat singular peep into how the great detective’s gender prejudices were stilled, Conan Doyle, in Watson’s shoes, writes: “ And that was how … the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of ___, … it is always under the honourable title of the woman.” The story makes it a strong contender for my list for this unusual characteristic alone. This distinctive trait leads me to another story of failure, and the gentleman in question is none other than the little Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot. Published as a short story sometime between the two World Wars, Agatha Christie’s The Chocolate Box has Poirot narrating to companion Hastings the one occasion when his little grey cells failed him in his illustrious professional career.

The Man who saved Pumpelsdrop is a breezy story that describes the ascent of a town from the furrows of economic depression to the happy air of prosperity. This Walter J. Turner tale fed my schoolboy ambitions of becoming an economist and it continues to entertain although I am today merely an economist manqué.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More is often regarded (arguably so) as comprising the cream of Roald Dahl’s short fiction. Originally published in this collection (and later in others), The Hitchhiker never ceases to surprise and entertain with its account of an unexpected highway passenger’s uncanny abilities.

I am getting back home now. If one is to cast a glance at the gamut of Indians writing fiction in English one is compelled to give a wide berth to any dogma on what constitutes Indian identity. Yet few writers have managed to capture the nub of the average Indian’s life in the manner of R. K. Narayan. In my opinion, his novels are more engrossing than his short stories. Nonetheless, I can think of at least two contenders from his oeuvre for our list. One is a short story drawn upon the characters of his novel, The English Teacher. His wife desperately ill and unresponsive to medical treatment, Krishna is compelled to consult an astrologer as a last resort. To neutralise the extremely inauspicious position of the stars the astrologer can offer only one shocking remedy – Krishna must see a prostitute if his wife is to survive. The rest of the story describes how Krishna deals with this devilish dilemma. This is my favourite R. K. Narayan story but I do not know its title. I have no remembrance of where I read it and it is certainly not present in the two readily available short story collections of his, Malgudi Days and Under the Banyan Tree and Other Stories. My choice therefore, falls upon The Doctor’s Word, a story that is remarkable for its deft portrayal of human nature. Here, Raman, a doctor with a reputation for ruthless honesty in the matter of life and death, struggles with the realisation that the survival of his latest patient hinges more upon his prognosis than his medication. The story has been reprinted in more than one anthology.

My favourite Ranji story: Illustration from Ruskin Bond's "Three Stories in Cricket", The Students' Stores, New Delhi, 1990

Leaping across the Vindhyas we come to a writer for whom India is home. From Ruskin Bond’s expansive repertory I draw three contenders. Ranji’s Wonderful Bat is about a budding boy cricketer who has lost his touch with the bat and is on the verge of losing his place in the school team. The Girl on the Train is a more ‘grown-up’ story that ends with a twist. My favourite Ruskin Bond tale, however, is another Ranji story: Koki Plays the Game. It is to be enjoyed for its sheer charm as it captures the nuances of small town ‘maidan’ cricket, with young boys playing the game for sheer fun and pride. A far cry from today’s masala matches and a throwback to one’s own days of innocence. In the story, the gender barrier is broken as Kokila, Ranji’s girl next door, migrates from bowler-in-the-nets and cheerleader to twelfth man, and eventually makes it to the playing eleven in style.

Dal Delight: An illustration by Suddhasattwa Basu from "Best of Target Stories", Living Media India Ltd., New Delhi, 1991

Another ‘desi’ story scoring high on the delight quotient is Dal Delight by Subhadra Sen Gupta. Set in nawaabi Lucknow, the narrative takes the reader through a mouth-watering experience, giving anxious but exciting moments when Mohammad Qadir’s shahi menu is held hostage to the kite-flying whims of Nawab Hasan Ali.

The last contender is The Imam and the Indian, to include which I will have to bend the rules a little, for strictly speaking, this is a prose piece that meanders over the lines that separate essay, autobiographical experience and short story. Yet, its uniqueness is striking. This Amitav Ghosh product truly speaks of an age that arrived somewhat late in Indian English writing, addressing as it does the conundrums posed by a juxtaposition of different cultures. That it should have come from the pen of an Indian, a people largely self-absorbed and self-obsessed, is what makes it remarkable. If the Imam’s railing against the writer for the treatment meted out to the dead in his country is deeply startling, the more sympathetic but equally perplexed voice of the simple Egyptian villager brings the essay to an end on a note of amusement.

Now, the denouement. Having discussed the probables, the final selection turns out as follows:

After Twenty Years (O’ Henry)
The Last Leaf (O’ Henry)
The Necklace (Guy de Maupassant)
The Murders in the Rue Morgue (Edgar Allan Poe)
The Adventure of the Speckled Band (Arthur Conan Doyle)
The Man Who Saved Pumpelsdrop (Walter J. Turner)
The Hitchhiker (Roald Dahl)
The Doctor’s Word (R. K. Narayan)
Koki Plays the Game (Ruskin Bond)
Dal Delight (Subhadra Sen Gupta)
The Imam and the Indian (Amitav Ghosh)

Ten short stories and one prose piece.