Soak in tranquil views near Shimla

We walked along the Wild Strawberry Trail, shielded by a canopy of cedars as hushed as a cathedral. A wan sun shone above us and the wind whistled through the trees, rustling the leaves like light fingers running through a woman's tresses. The trail wound down from our resort, the colonial Wildflower Hall near Shimla and through the lush Shimla Water Catchment Sanctuary. That sunny morning, we sauntered along, spurred on by a light drizzle that seemed more like a benediction than a dampener. But, suddenly, the sun receded behind a cordon of clouds and the day mutated into a menacing afternoon. The sky became a threatening shade of grey and a mist as light as a billowing skirt swept in, shrouding the forest in all-encompassing white, with just the ghostly shape of the cedars poking through like pagan totem poles.
We groped our way back to Wildflower Hall in tranquil Chharabra even as a strong wind howled as though in pain. We arrived safely at our hotel, thanks to our guide whose affinity with the region and closeness to Mother Earth we envied. "The wind soughing through the trees, depending on whether it's cedar or pine, has a different note and pitch," he had said and that song of the wind, at once sweet and also a trifle ominous, haunted us throughout our stay.
Located in the embrace of mountains and amidst pines and cedars, pinnacled 8,250 ft above the torrid plains, Wildflower Hall was where the British "escaped from the tyranny of the despatch boxes."
For us, too, Wildflower Hall was an escape into a world that was at peace with itself. Though this was not always so as this wondrous property was at the heart of a power struggle between the Viceroy, Lord Curzon and the Commander-in-chief of the army, Lord Kitchener. The strained relations worsened to a point where Kitchener was determined to build himself a residence that would rival the Viceroy's. He secured the lease of Wildflower Hall and held court in the lavishly-furnished manor which, fortunately for him, was situated 200 ft higher than the Viceroy's abode! An embittered Curzon finally resigned in 1905, leaving Kitchener to his utopian domain encased in wild flowers and manicured lawns.
After Kitchener's departure, the property was converted into a hotel by one Ms Hotz and, post-Independence, it continued to be run as a hotel by the Department of Tourism and, later, by the Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation. A raging fire gutted the building in 1993 and the Oberoi group took over and began construction in the year 1995.
Today in its refurbished avatar, Wildflower Hall seems to revel in its wood-panelled, colonial air with a gilded portrait of Lord Kitchener glowering at guests from a wall in the lounge. Equally arresting are the views of the snow-tipped Himalayas blue-ing into the distance, soaring upward like sunflowers in search of the sun. We would sit on the terrace of the restaurant or in our rooms, as still as oak trees in a hushed forest, unable to tear our eyes away from the mountain vistas.
One fine morning, when nature was in a quiescent mood, we decided to have a picnic breakfast at The Peak, a quaint 10-room bungalow where the past was alive yet tethered to the present. Built in 1863, the cottage belongs to the Ranas of Nepal and the interiors have been left untouched, as though the little dwelling exists in another century, another dimension.
We unpacked our picnic hamper, feasted on sandwiches, croissants, preserves and brownies. Later, we explored the cottage with its period furniture, faded carpets, wood floors and chimneys, draped in the dusty aura of the past. As we climbed up the creaking stairs to the attic, we felt an other-worldly presence, resentful of our intrusion. Was that the laughter of children from summers past? Or just the wind making the window panes creak?
We ran out into the sun, happy to be warmed by its life-affirming rays which brushed away the cobwebs of the past. Below us, spread the hill resort of Mashobra, coddled in a forest of oak and dotted with charming homes with evocative names like Fairlawns and Apple Tree House.
The next day we drove to Naldehra, a 45-minute drive from the resort, accessed after some switchbacks that twisted round arid imposing mountains and along bottomless gorges. The romantic little outpost tucked away amidst a grand tapestry of mountains and forests is the location of India's second oldest golf course - beloved of Viceroy Lord Curzon who named his daughter Alexandra Naldehra, after the resort that he had loved. Alexandra returned in 1992 to the place that her father had loved, and three years later, she passed on, at peace that she had seen the rural Himachali resort after which she had been named.
Later, we explored a local hamlet which thrummed with the spirit of rural India - a fresh-faced daughter-in-law and mother-in-law sifting grain together; an old lady sat outside her simple one-storied home, her eyes rheumy as though focused on a distant past. The sunset, leaving behind a world bathed in pastel hues.
We drove back to Wildflower Hall, leaning out of our car windows to click photographs of the mountains that resembled muscled wrestlers. Our ramble had drained us and we could not wait to indulge in a spa treatment in the hotel's glass-enclosed spa pavilion which seemed to yank the outdoors indoors with spectacular effect. The cedar forest outside seemed to whisper secrets to the wind, even as we submitted to the gentle strokes of the masseuses and then slipped into deep slumber.
wknd@khaleejtimes.com