<div>Who could ever say no to a trip to heaven on earth Kashmir? So, when the invitation came from The Khyber Himalayan Resort and Spa at Gulmarg, I packed my bags excitedly, joining a group of travel writers and bloggers. With the typical insouciance of an urban dweller, I brushed aside all news of inclement weather and a state bracing itself for floods.<br /><br />It was only when we were on the road to Gulmarg that it hit us that a paradise already scarred by insurgency was now being badly mutilated by nature. As we crossed her, Jhelum seemed consumed with fury. Ahead, emerald green paddy fields where rice stalks should have swayed confidently lay flat destroyed by wind and water. Branches from wounded trees floated on flooded roads. Shivering and bedraggled crows cawed pitifully. The main road connecting Srinagar to Gulmarg was cut off as a bridge near Tanmarg had been swept away. But there were circuitous detours that took us to Gulmarg, where we were insulated and cocooned in a luxurious higher perch.<br /><br /> </div><table width="300" align="right" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="1" border="0"><tbody><tr><td><img width="300" height="151" align="middle" src="/image/image_gallery?uuid=da92183f-41c2-4462-96ff-f41813fbc4da&groupId=36166&t=1410279282076" alt="" /></td></tr><tr><td><strong>Rice Field destroyed by water and wind</strong></td></tr></tbody></table><div>But we monitored the news from Srinagar and the rising death toll with growing unease. Cooped indoors due to the rain, we chatted with hotel staff who shared videos whatsapped to them by their relatives. We saw eyewitness recordings of a bus overturning in the middle of a heavily flooded road and passengers floating, of rivers lashing at roads literally cutting them. Somehow the amateurish little phone recordings were more horrific than the TV news images.<br /><br />On Sunday, the phone lines snapped. The Internet stopped working, the electricity became erratic, the hotel GM began worrying about supplies, especially diesel and ordered a la carte orders to be stopped, wisely rationing food and serving buffet meals. We were utterly cut off. Several guests including a few from our group had flights to catch and set out extra early. By afternoon some of the guests returned dispiritedly saying they just could not breach Srinagar as the water on the roads was way too high. Till night we had no clue whether our group had made it or not until Akbar the driver returned. He reported that they had made it to Bemina driving through water but had been forced to turn back. Undeterred he had found another route and got them to the airport. He promised to do the same for us too.<br /><br />On Monday, the sun peeped out and Akbar inspired confidence. On the way, he told us in a most matter of fact tone that his own family was stuck in his village in Anantnag and he had absolutely no news about them. God willing they will be safe, he said. There was absolutely no anger, distress or panic, but stoic fatalism. Just like Zulfi the travel guide and a few shepherds I had met during my morning walk who shrugged aside the destruction as “khuda ki marzi” and cheerfully offered a cup of “Lipton tea” to Ma’aam.<br /><br />As always when adversity strikes, it’s the way people react that is interesting. Akbar could have joined the set of drivers who failed to turn up or pleaded fuel shortage to refuse trips to Srinagar. But he steered us through tough roads, through dirt tracks and villages where we saw people piling all their vegetables in carts to send to rescue camps. <br /><br /><img width="300" vspace="2" hspace="2" height="169" align="left" src="/image/image_gallery?uuid=6d55ae4f-3c30-428a-85d8-98cfa7669ada&groupId=36166&t=1410279359494" alt="" />Just a few kms short of the airport near some place called Budgum we were stopped by a police barricade. The cops said they were not allowing any private cars further ahead as they wanted the roads free for the big rescue trucks. No amount of entreaties worked. So with a show of bravado, we started walking the last few miles, not even daring to think about how we would negotiate the slush or water ahead towing heavy suitcases.<br /><br />But our guardian angels were working overtime. Out of the blue, a car with three people inside stopped, a man said “Airport?” and hustled us in, quelling any questions as he rapidly conversed in Kashmiri with the driver, navigating us through narrowest of alleys and depositing us at the baggage screening check point of the airport. Dazedly we got down, but before we could thank them, the car had vanished. <br /><br />At the Srinagar airport, all systems had broken down. Computers were not working, the airline staff struggled with manual boarding passes and baggage tags. Most of the staff were new to the airport anyway having been flown in as regular staff were stranded in the city. The people milling around were largely patient, simply grateful they had been rescued from their hotels either by helicopter or trucks. Several had left their belongings behind, but were not really fussing about it. With ATMs not working, we saw concerned people giving their remaining cash to people left behind. We heard stories of locals sheltering tourists and ferrying them somehow out. A gentle old lady from Delhi captured our feelings when she said we tourists had become a liability for the locals consuming their precious fuel, food and even the attention of the rescue missions, and she would send aid once she got back home.<br /><br />Everyone was in this together and helping each other blindly. There was no us or them. A friend’s wistful remark resonated - if only this almost biblical deluge sweeping the valley could cleanse away the animosity, and we could start afresh, paradise would be regained. <br /> </div><div>chitra@businessworld.in<br />chitra.narayanan@gmail.com<br />@ndcnn<br /> </div><div>(<em>Travel for this story was sponsored by The Khyber Himalayan Resort and Spa)</em></div>
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