IF INDIA is a land of ever-present deities, then the Kullu Valley, in Himachal Pradesh, is where the gods reach out of the mountains and lay a thrilling finger on your soul.

Known to ancient Hindus as Kulanthapitha — the end of the habitable world — the valley rises from the hard, dusty plains of Uttar Pradesh to the nearly-4000 metre Rohtang Pass in just 80 kilometres.

Beyond that, it’s the scoured mountains of Ladakh, cease-fire lines, troops and the edge of the Tibetan plateau. Three-quarters of the way up the valley is Manali, the major destination for Indian tourists in the valley, and Old Manali where the majority of foreign tourists congregate.

But perched a hair-raising auto-rickshaw (three-wheeler) ride above Manali is Vashist, one of the most relaxed and beautiful villages in the Indian Himalaya.

Its hot springs, open to the public, steam out of the steep hills hundreds of metres above the foaming Beas River. From our guest house, we could see miles down the steeply descending valley while above us towered 4000m-plus snow-draped peaks.

Picture sitting on your balcony rugged against the cold on a moonless night. You’re so high you’re looking down on a massive storm stalking up the valley on legs of lightning. On each side of the valley, the dark peaks form a funnel down which the storm seems to suck the light from the stars. This is Vahisht. This is the Indian Himalaya at its awesome best.

Here is a blend of Hindu and Buddhist worship. Temples to Shiva and Parvati dot hillsides along with Buddhist gompas, their prayer flags flying in the crisp air.

Walk the narrow mountain trails and you’ll find scenes as old as human habitation: a boy herding goats, an orange-robed Hindu saddhu happy to pause for a photograph, a woman beating clothes on river boulders.

Here, above villages and cow paddocks, is one of the few places in India where you can safely drink from streams, fed by melted snow. How many other places in India can you walk for hours and meet nobody?

Even if you take the cheapest option and bus from New Delhi, the dramatic change in landscape is almost incomprehensible. In a day’s travel, you’ve left the heat and dust of the plains and arrived in some of the most dramatic mountain scenery in the world. In the colder months you’ll be in snow. In summer, the snowline seems just a climb away and crystal waterfalls appear out of the alpine meadows to tumble hundreds of metres to the river.

Cannabis lines the roads and Vashist is surrounded by apple orchards introduced by the English. The hill people population has been swelled since the 1960s by Tibetan refugees whose serene culture, colourful dress and warming food do nothing to make you want to move on.

After the heat of New Delhi, we found Vashist a misty, green paradise. It’s the quiet that first strikes you. Besides rickshaws and the occasional taxi, few vehicles make the climb from Manali.

The road to Vashist ends in a jumble of dark-timbered houses which step away up and down the mountainside. Hundreds of metres above the village a waterfall forms a silver thread from the valley’s emerald flank.

Within minutes of arriving, we were on a sunlit restaurant roof drinking chai, eating momos (Tibetan dumplings) and gaping at the ragged white skyline. After sweaty Delhi, this was bliss.

Stroll through the village and you’ll find craggy-faced, paan-chewing Tibetan men, their bright topis at a jaunty angle; women with babies on their back, baskets of straw on their heads and a donkey at the end of a stick; and, everywhere, bare-legged, shy-smiling children.

Don’t come expecting three, or even two-star trappings. Tourism is relatively new here but growing fast. Of the many restaurants and guest houses, some are basic enough to leave you to organise firewood, others “upmarket” enough to have occasional hot water. Expect to pay about R50 for basic digs and up to R250 for a hotel room.

Summer, when tourists escape the sweltering lowlands, is peak season in the Kullu Valley. But in February and March, Solang Nullah, 15kms north-west of Manali, offers some of India’s finest ski runs and a 300m lift. Packages can be organised from Manali.

Kullu is also a handy location to travel to other areas, including the increasingly popular Parvati Valley, which branches north-east from Kullu at Bhuntar. The hill station of Shimla is south and to the east are Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj, home of the Dalai Lama and seat of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile.

The road from Manali to Leh, in Ladakh, is the second highest motorable road in the world, reaching 5328m at Taglang La, about 370kms north of Manali. Opened to foreigners in 1989, it is the second route into Leh, the other coming from Srinigar in Kashmir, and is navigable only from July to mid-September. Even then, sudden weather changes can throw the two-day journey into chaos.

If Vashist gets a little too quiet, Manali manages to retain some charm, despite rampant commercialisation. There are all the tourist needs, from banks and post office to travel agents and the Mall — a rich and varied shopping experience.

As usual, good bargaining skills are required for almost every transaction. But if you’ve arrived from the Indian plains, you’ll immediately notice how much more relaxed the locals are.

On a three-wheeler trip from Manali to Vashist (better than any theme park terror ride), I left my passport, my partner’s passport and my wallet with a wedge of rupees inside.

I hadn’t even realised they were missing until the driver showed up at our room and smilingly handed over the lot. If that’s no recommendation for the Kullu, I don’t know what is.