Chitkul: A stillness beyond the modern world  

I travelled to Chitkul with the simple intention of seeing the last village on the Hindustan-Tibet trade route but what I found was far more profound. At 3,450 metres in Kinnaur’s Baspa Valley, Chitkul felt like the edge of the world, where the road ends and an eternal silence begins.

The drive through Sangla and Rakcham was breath-taking. Snow-draped peaks, apple orchards and winding roads made the journey feel like a slow unveiling of something sacred.  We stopped at Hindustan Ka Akhri Dhaba for a warm, rustic meal — it was the kind of place that made you linger.

We stayed in a tent pitched along the Baspa river. Early next morning, I stepped out with a cup of chai and sat beside the river. The water murmured softly, and soon a girl arrived to practice her flute. That moment—chai, river, music—was pure harmony.

Chitkul’s charm lies in its people and traditions, and I had come to Chitkul to meet its people, to understand their rhythm. The villagers still used gharats — centuries-old water mills — to grind ogla, or buckwheat. No motors, just the steady flow of spring water powering stone wheels. Seven such mills lined the stream, serving the entire village.

An elderly woman showed me kathaar — wooden granaries built to endure harsh winters and store a year’s grain. They stood like quiet guardians of tradition and resilience.

Later, I visited the Mathi Temple, dedicated to Goddess Mathi, the protector of Kinnaur. The oldest shrine, built over 500 years ago by a Garhwal resident, housed an arc of walnut wood adorned with cloth and yak tail tufts. Its architecture was unlike any temple I’d seen —humble, and deeply rooted.

That visit to Chitkul wasn’t just a trip. It was a pause, a breath, a reminder of how stillness and tradition can hold you in ways the modern world never will. The air is crisp, the mountains vast, and the silence profound. With no mobile connectivity and minimal infrastructure, it offers a rare escape into purity.

Chitkul isn’t just the last village — it’s a reminder of what lies beyond the noise: simplicity, serenity, and stories carved into stone and stream.

Manav Mander, Ludhiana