place: bhalukpong, bomdila, dirang, jang, tawang
district: west kameng, tawang
state: arunachal pradesh
district: west kameng, tawang
state: arunachal pradesh
location: tawang is some 350 km from tezpur via shuttle or bus
average cost per head: coming soon (in a group of four)
mode of transportation: shuttle, bus
stay: hotel hornbill (bhalukpong), yatri niwas (bomdila, 03782223005), hotel gan chin (tawang, 9436692465, 9436674585)
food: local and continental
fame: culture, tribes, monasteries, wildlife, river kameng, wildlife, himalays, passes, lakes etc
TOUR OPERATORS:
Shangri La Tours and Travels (Bomdila-Tawang, Bomdila-Tezpur) 03782222433, 03782223151, 03782222255, 9402232009, 9402241029
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| prayer flags: a constant companion |
It was the night of 17th October, a night that was never to
be but a night which made us realize what “in the middle of a moonlit night”
actually was. A night of fervor, a night of chill, passion and I would go on to
say my best bight ever. The quaint little town of Bhalukpong was never really in our plan. We
were supposed to have headed straight for Bomdila on the morning of 18th but
then as fate would have it, due to unavailability of regular shuttle from Tezpur
we had to make decisions in haste and landed up in the town of Bhalukpong where
a huge concrete head of Mithun, Arunachal’s state animal, welcomed us with its
imposing colossal horns. We were told by the driver who had dropped us till
there that we would get regular shuttle and buses for Bomdila. It was our folly
we believed him but then we hardly had any other option. There was of course no
one ready to drop us till Bomdila and we were left stranded in a place where
everything was dark and reminiscent of Stone Age. In any case, a trip towards
Bomdila, making way through serpentine hill roads, with valleys and ravines
plunging deep into heaven didn’t sound good and we better gave it a miss and
thought deciding the future of the trip the next morning. We paced ahead for
hunting a hotel to hide our heads from the ravaging cold. There were hardly a
couple of hotels there and we luckily found one, Hotel Hornbill, named after an
exotic bird, the one that had till yet eluded us with its mystic stories and fame.
We had countless cups of tea and then set along to scout for alternatives of
reaching Bomdila the next morning. But before that we thought of taking an
uphill walk. The night, with its expanse of the dark sky, the shining shield of
the moon and the lofty hills, gave a surreal feel to our very own existence. We
felt we were in a different world altogether. The military man, walking with
hurried pace, made us realize of the ground realities, but nothing, absolutely
nothing, made us feel, not even once, that we were in a piece of land which
China laid claim on. It was every bit of India with beautiful Indians all
around. I had fallen in love with Arunachal and it was to grow manifolds in the
days to come.
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| welcome to the land of morning sun: bhalukpong |
When every discussion with each shuttle owner and tour
operator came to unhealthy conclusions we decided to rope in the help of a
hawaldar of Arunachal Police. There was this fat and grumpy man, Mr. Pandey,
from Purvanchal region of Uttar Pradesh (the fact that I am also a native of
the same geographical region can’t be overlooked) whom we stalked for help as
hapless college students with faces made to appear even worse than the
war-ravaged people of Germany post World War II. I don’t know what made some of
us register themselves as penniless college students out on a fun tour of the
wild Indian hills but it was great fun faking identity. The man, a divine
intervention for sure, took pity on us and decided to help, but not before
long, out came all the stories he had baked in his heart. He was definitely hell-bent
to help us out of the place but then, if you have forgotten, everything comes
for a price. He was a lonely man, from the Gangetic plains of Uttar Pradesh who
had his family living miles away. He had his tales of surprise, agony,
happiness, content and disbelief. He narrated out his heart and we lent a
patient ear. He had issues with his elder son, who had married a thick-lipped
lady from South Africa,
and paid little heed to the sacrifices of the old man. His younger son,
studying in an upfront engineering institute had backlogs in his papers and
that worried the old man who had plans of opening a school in his native
village post retirement. The more he laid out his stories, to four complete
strangers, the more conspicuous we became. We did sympathize with the man after
all. In a matter of few hours, we knew each other well enough. He knew our
villages, our schools, colleges and offices and we knew even his salary. It was
getting late in the night so we left for our hotel (relax! the hotel was just
on the other side of the road. Bhalukpong is a small town, with shops and
hotels lined on a small stretch of the highway with some villages down the
valley where a large board proudly gave directions to the Pakke Tiger Reserve)
and with a couple of pegs of Vodka slept blissfully in the coy comfort of the
narrow bed with Vivek beside me taking a zillion turns every second.
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| pakke (pakhui) tiger reserve |
We woke up early anticipating the planning we had to do and
to catch a glimpse of the rising sun but the hills at the distant and almost
everywhere else made the sun elusive when it rose. Over cups of tea and a
gentle breeze blowing in the Dooars I thought to myself, “Could life had taken
a better turn?” and then I was hit hard with reality. The tour operators whom
Mr. Pandey had given polite orders the previous night to arrange for our trip
to Bomdila refused coldly citing unavailability of seats. Before we could get
further disillusioned with the way things were going Mr. Pandey came on the
scene, out of his small home, and assured us that he would arrange for
something. Over more cups of tea and with a growing uneasiness and anxiety and
with posters of Toko Teji nailed all around came the news from Mr. Pandey that he had,
at last, arranged for a truck (headed for the McMohan Line) which would give us
a lift. We were more than happy and puffed with a sudden splurge of excitement
gasping the fact that we would finally be on our way to Bomdila and that too in
a truck (besides the uncertainty of the days to come). We couldn’t thank Mr.
Pandey any less for his noble efforts and for all what he did. We set off for
the headquarters of West Kameng district with
the gusto of a teenager.
 |
| tipi falls, tipi, west kameng |
Arunachal came alive within minutes of the journey. The huge
layers of forested hills, arranged one over the another, the wild and fast
flowing river Kameng, the deep valleys, the muddy roads, the countless
waterfalls, the small sleepy towns passing by, gibbons jumping from one tree to
another in a dense clout of jungle on the other bank of the river would stuff
excitement even in the weirdest of souls. It was getting too much to handle.
The road was a botheration for quite a while since an expansion projection was
underway by Border Road Organization (one of the most reputed bodies
responsible for making roads in the most inhospitable of conditions and
notorious for the road signs that range from salutes to the ones who died
making the roads to be careful and cautious on the roads itself). The beauty of
the land of many tribes kept unfolding at a leisurely pace. All along the
journey, river Kameng was a constant companion. At places it was wide, muddy
and looked wild and at others swift, white, rocky and narrow but with an
everlasting beauty that would inspire the laziest of person to jump to action.
Countless Bailey bridges along the river, hundreds of military outposts (which
implies how critical this area is) and thousands of sign posts we left behind
before halting at Nag Mandir Bazaar where we had a feisty lunch of local
Arunachal food (a simple assortment of roti, dal, omelette, salad and some
local vegetable cooked in little oil and spice) followed by a huge peach, the
cultivar of which you would never get in the huge cities.
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| nag mandir bazaar, west kameng |
A few miles hence we halted yet again for a dekho of the
river Kameng where it had the biggest of the boulders in her belly. The truck
journey, a first for us, was both exciting and tiring and after almost six
hours we reached our destination for the day, Bomdila. I have no words to
describe the beauty of the place. The closer we reached the place the more it
looked like a gateway to heaven, the elusive Shangri La, which Arunachal has in
abundance. It’s beyond my potential to paint the place with words with all the
narrow roads, the multitude of hills of varying height, the hanging clouds,
dark and white, the gorges and the constant chill in the air. The approach to
Bomdila, I would say, was one of the highlights of the journey. A little
drizzle had left the place unexplainably cold. We reached the place by 2 PM and
straddling across the curvy roads of the town, which went up and down, finally
reached our hotel, Yatri Niwas. Before anything else, we decided to book a
vehicle that would take us to Tawang the next day but as expected every tour
operator (there were four that I could count) raised their hands helplessly and
said a big, “I am sorry. We are booked for the next few weeks.” The ambiguity
of going to Tawang the next day mixed with the fact that even if we decided to
turn back to Tezpur we would have no vehicle for days and maybe weeks made the
whole episode sullen and bleak. But we were optimistic souls and after dousing
the anxiety over a cup of tea left for discovering the town, a small one, but
really difficult to cover owing to the terrain.
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| bomdila, 2217m, west kameng |
A small gompa (stupa, chorten), which we could see from the
road near our hotel, was marked as the destination and since it was about to be
dark we hurried our steps. Going around the town, littered with butterflies in
hues of the rainbow, birds unknown in the plains, dogs with a rich coat of fur,
and the beautiful Monpa people made us realize that life out here is so
difficult, so different, so close to nature and so celestial. A small town
nestled deep in the lap of the mighty Himalayas,
hundreds of miles away from the plains, is surely God’s own place. With heavy
breaths and visible tiredness after having scaled the ascent to the stupa we
felt blessed for having coming at least this far. The monks served us water in
little porcelain cups and I tell you, water never tasted any better. Such
innocence, such naivety, such playfulness, such nobility is very rare in the
big cities. We retuned back to our hotel and since it was already dark we
decided to dine at the best restaurant out there that would serve us authentic
Arunachal food and settled for Hotel Tsepal Yangjom where we had thupka (a
noodle dish with much gravy and enough to fill your stomach), manchow soup,
rice and chicken manchurian. We asked the waiter if he could help arrange a
vehicle for Tawang the next morning to which he gave an ambiguous reply, “I
will try arranging some.” That did give us some solace and before retiring to
our hotel for what we thought would be the last night at Arunachal gave our last
words to the hotel manager, “It would be very kind if you could arrange
something.”
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| (prashant) on the rocks! river kameng |
Disillusioned despite the pleasure we had for the day we got
into the comforts of our blanket and readied for sleep with just one peg of
Antiquity Blue. It just wasn’t the right time to celebrate with rivers full of
alcohol. A huge knock on the door made us jump on our feet. You certainly don’t
expect guests, late in the night, in a stranger city and that too in the middle
of Himalayas. We opened the door and in came a
man, short and fair, with two mobile totting guys behind him. He told us he had
been sent by the hotel manager who was his brother-in-law and that he was there
to help us arrange a vehicle. To our dismay he continued with his blabber
for the next half an hour saying how honest and god fearing he was and that he
had a baby boy and a god-fearing wife whom he wouldn’t be able to show his face
if at all he cheats helpless tourists. Without our approval he went on with his
stories of how he charged nominal, that his Suzuki Eeon was brand new, just
fifteen days old and how he would double up as a guide and show us every
landmark place between Bomdila and Tawang including the Dirang hot spring, Sela
Pass, Paradise Lake, War Memorial at Jaswant Garh and Nuranang Falls. He said
he had this good habit of waking up early in the morning and circling the local
gompa and that we could trust him and the price he would quote would be
nominal, which was obviously, according to him, disregarding the fact that we
were stranded tourists looking for a way out. He said he was notorious in the
area as Chota Don and that people were afraid of him and that he was a true
Monpa, fearless, god-fearing and honest. And finally when he came with his
right price we all looked for cover. For a journey till Tawang he asked for
8000 bucks and when we said we had to return to Tezpur too he was quick to add
another 5000. So for a journey from Bomdila to Tawang and back to Tezpur he
wanted 13,000 bucks which would otherwise cost us not more than 5000. We were
left speechless and told him we would let him know the next morning. The moment
he left with his heavy rants of God, honesty and the Monpas, which still echoed
in our ears, we gave a hearty laugh at our agony.
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| dirang valley, west kameng |
The next morning we again woke up early, this time not for
the rising sun but to linger around the tour operator’s office to ensure he
arranges for some seat to Tawang. But everyone had the same clichéd answer,
“It’s just next to impossible to arrange for a group of four. If at all anyone
doesn’t show up it would still be a couple of seats and not four.” After much
effort and wait, when most of the vehicles left for Tawang, fully loaded with
all the passengers turning up, we decided to go and have a cup of tea and plan
for the return journey whose prospects looked as bleak as anything else. We
were, at that time, the four saddest people on earth. Things looked lost and
forlorn and the very thought that we would miss so much gave us goosebumps. But
then as fate would have it, amidst the entire petrol, cash and vehicle crisis,
a local Omni driver, who had come for refueling, came to our rescue. The tour
operator (Shangri La Tours and Travelers) was kind enough to fix the Omni for
us and even went around looking for us after we had left for another cup of morning
tea to douse the misery of having messed up everything. Our excitement knew no bounds at the godly news. We rushed to our hotels,
packed our luggage and off for the holy town of Tawang which was in news on the
onset of the year for the 14th Dalai Lama’s visit to Tawang monastery. His visit was a political message of sorts for China, that he very much considered
Tawang, and the whole of Arunachal for that matter, a part of India. A few
miles ahead, still in disbelief that we were actually heading for Tawang, we
saw the mighty massif of Gorichen, housing the highest peaks of the state. The
road was bad and dangerous but we had the will of iron and continued amidst
beauty and a road lined with hillocks on one side and deep plunging valleys on
the other.
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| bomdila, west kamneg |
The first stop was the hot spring at Dirang but more than
that I loved the Dirang Valley, all green and tempting and could see many
campers there near the Dirang
River. We had our
breakfast at the town of Dirang
and for a change the ATM was working fine there unlike at Bomdila. We headed
further deep and high into the lap of the mighty mountain range and wherever we
laid our eyes we could see eternal bliss including butterflies, birds, rivers,
valleys, forested hills, and tribesmen in their strange dresses but with an
ever smiling face. The man behind the steering was a thorough gentleman who helped me
remember the hotel we had booked. My phone wasn’t working so I had no idea
how to contact the hotel owner and confirm of our arrival plus I wasn’t getting
the paper were I had written the name of the hotel. Bypassing some of the
most stunning views I had ever seen in my life and many a munching herd of yaks we reached
Sela Pass, the highest motorable road in North East. It was the first time
ever I had been beyond 4000 m and the feeling gave me a high.
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| nuranang (jang) falls, jang, tawang |
The roads looked
more treacherous than ever before and we even saw the remains of a truck that
had met a sad fate last year. There was a marked change in the hill topography
with the rocks covered in colorful mosses and lichens and the air becoming
thinner and to top it all, to our ultimate surprise, it began to snow. Yes, the 19th of
October, it was the first snow of the season at Sela and my first ever. We
jumped out of our car and couldn’t control our excitement and like kids left to
play after the rigors of tuitions played and frolicked in the snow and the
blowing cold wind. I took off my shirt and with just a vest on my body pranced
around and could hear the aunties from my home state Bengal
quip with anger, “Chele ta ke dekh, koto osobbho. Thanda lege gele bujhbe. Aaj
kal kar chele ra! Shudu style.” (Look at that guy? How silly! He will understand when he catches cold. The guys of today! Too much style) There was a small gompa and an equally small
shop nearby which served tea, maggi and other confectionery items. The beautiful lady owner was visibly upset over the sudden splurge of tourists who had
come inside to protect them from the snow. We had countless cups of tea and
when the wait for the obscure maggi became longer decided to move on with the
displeased owner constantly shouting at the tourists to maintain discipline
inside her shop and not taking eatables without her permission.
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| gorichen massif, as seen from bomdila |
Just beyond the pass was Lake
Paradise, one of the highest lakes in India and
strikingly beautiful. The landscape changed as we went downhill with colorful
coniferous trees replacing the evergreen mixed forests and the rivers becoming violent and rocky and more waterfalls along the route. We soon crossed the
famed Jaswant Garh war memorial, erected to honor a brave soldier (Jaswant
Singh Rawat) who was martyred in the 1962 Indo-Sino war and then the wait began
for the ultimate adrenaline raiser, the Nuranang Falls, alternatively known as
the Jang falls, located some miles off the town of Jang. It had come out of its
oblivion in the year 1991 when a song of the movie Koyla was shot at the fall
(and at the nearby Sangetser
Lake).
 |
| sela pass, 4177m, the highest i have been so far |
The terrain became
rugged and forested again with much the same scenery we had left almost
350 km behind. It was getting darker and we waited with arrested breath for the
fall and when it finally came we were left in awe. It was a sheer beauty, a
gorge of water falling from a height no less than 300 ft and leaving a much
higher imprint in our minds. Though we were in great hurry we did stop at the fall for quite
a while and every single glance made us wonder how God has blessed this world
with so much of plenty. We moved on and sometime later at a sharp turn we saw
the first glimpse of the world’s second largest monastery and not before long,
just before dusk, we reached our abode for the night, hotel Gang Chin in Old Market, Tawang. A local
festival celebrating Dussehra was in full flow and they were serving butter tea
and some snacks for free. The ATMs weren’t working in the city and there were long lines
at STD booths and restaurants. We had yak momos for dinner and decided to participate in
the road show which showcased an assortment of cultural fest from across
Arunachal and Assam including the yak dance, a Bodo dance, a shawl dance,
fashion show with wooden masks et al. It was great fun, a heady mix of global
and local, of traditional and contemporary and to top it all, the MLA of the
area was also there mixing with the crowd and handing away prizes as common as
a slip draw. It was quite late when we went to sleep with a glass of brandy and
woke fresh the next day for a trip to Tawang monastery and local sightseeing.
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| coniferous forests beyond sela pass |
The monastery was really amazing, huge and colorful and
markedly ancient with huge carpets hung on the wall, beautiful Buddhist motifs
everywhere and the cylindrical bells that I had always wanted to churn around.
A swarm of little monks, robed in red, came out running from the main temple
and lined for breakfast. We too went inside the kitchen and asked to be served
and they very much obliged. A visit to Urgelling Monastery, the birthplace of
the 6th Dalai Lama and a war memorial rounded our trip after which began the
most crucial part, the haggle for the return journey. Much like at every point
of our journey in the Himalayan state we went around the town looking for
alternatives but nowhere it seemed a viable option with reserved vehicles
asking for as much as 17,000 bucks. We had our train to Kolkata the very next
day from Guwahati so we had to, any cost, set forth today itself. After
much struggle we got three seats (from much help of Himalayan Holidays) in an SUV which needed some urgent repair so
we had to wait. The wait got longer and just when we started losing hope came
the news that the car was ready. Finally, after much wait and with feelings mixed with anger, disinterest and indifference we headed for Tezpur and not
before long the car had its breaks coming down and we had to wait for another
couple of hours at Zero Point, Jang for our journey to resume. The driver had
his hands bandaged and his pain was visible and with night falling quick and
temperatures dropping considerably beyond Sela
Pass he had to down his
pain with a couple of pegs. It was an anxious night of uncertainty. We had our
dinner at some dhaba in the dead of night and when it was obvious that the
drunk driver would in no way be able to drive through the dangerous Himalayan
roads any further we had to scout for another driver and luckily for us we got one in a car
parked behind us at the dhaba. He was a minor but then he was the only one whom
we could trust under such precarious condition because we had to move on lest
we miss our train.
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| tawang monastery, tawang |
It was around 2 in the night when we came across a huge
traffic jam and the news that a landslide had occurred some feet away was yet
another in the line of events our journey had so far shown us. The army had
decided to blast the landslide and had requested me and Prashant to tell every
vehicle in the hundred mile long line to push their vehicles back
but the sleepy drivers paid no heed to our shouts so we decided to sit beside a
waterfall and stare at the naked moon with dark spots and thought Arunachal was
much the same. We moved ahead when the landslide cleared and with a sleepless
night saw the dawn of a new day, our last day in the North East, at the Tipi
falls, not far away from Bhalukpong. Moments later, we halted at the border
town for tea, met and thanked Mr. Pandey for his help and moved on. We reached
Guwahati, checked in a hotel, rested for a while, went to the zoo, a beautiful
one, had dinner at a posh restaurant and finally two hours before midnight went
to the station for our train that would mark the end of a journey, a wonderful
one at that, to a conclusive end.
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| monks at tawang monastery |
Despite all the ups and downs of the journey, despite all the uncertainty,
despite all the anxiety, it was certainly the longest and most memorable
journey of my life so far. I made new friends and got closer to the ones I had.
Learnt so much about two most wonderful states of India, met people on the way who
made me realize that it’s ultimately one big family we are all a part of. It’s
one big beautiful world which has so much beauty to offer, to suffice for a
lifetime and to protect which is the duty of every single soul. Till my next
journey, this is Vivek Singh, signing off, and wanderlust till doomsday!
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