The misadventures of Tawang

The lakes of Tawang

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way " 

Charles Dicken's, A tale of two cities (1859)

       Sitting in front of my Lab computer, i could think of no better quote than this to portray the uncertain times that we live today. As colleagues and friends and mentors fight and die in the war against the Corona virus (fancifully called SARS-nCov2), and depression and despair rob our hearts of hope, like the kiss of Dementors of Azkaban, i sit here staring at the dark pensive monsoon sky across the window of my office desk. One thing that i have learned from travelling over the years is that even the best plan doesn't go according to script, life is  full of surprises. Today,such unpleasant memories form ripples on the placid mind, trips that were planned well but ended as near disasters.

           The planning was meticulous-fly to Dibrugarh, drive to Digboi (some official business), back to Tezpur.  From there, go to Tawang (with a night stay at Bomdilla) and back to kolkata via Guwahati( with 2 night stay, one at Dirang, and another Guwahati). The journey to Digboi was fine, with our car speeding along the asphalt black road searing through the lush green carpet of tea garden rolled across the lower Dibang valley. My wife was especially thrilled by the Indian Oil guest house at Digboi, an old double storied wooden bungalow, on a hill, surrounded by dense forests, with a personal lawn and also with a fireplace!

The hornbill bunglow

The lush green tea plantations

The Hornbill--pride of the north east

It was the end of March, winter with her desolateness and melancholy, was embracing the colorful, jolly vibrant autumn. The morning walk along the forest road was followed by a simple English breakfast at the local golf club. 

The early morning mist of Autumn at the local Golf club

We visited a few local attractions, but none caught my eye than the 2nd world war cemetery. To many in today's age of Ultra-nationalism,  they may be traitors (for they had fought for the British against the INA of Subhas Chandra Bose), but to me they are just someones loving husband or caring son, who had just done his duty; some for adventure, and others for money, and a few for valor and pride of serving the motherland.

Such a waste, dead at the prime 16, buried in some unknown faraway land, unattended and uncared for. No ballads will be written about his bravery, no toasts raised at banquets in his honor.

      

 Bidding adieu to the lonely soldier, we started the long bus journey (with biting cold and mosquitoes for company) to Tezpur. With a midnight stop at a Dhaba, where i had a local duck delicacy (the worst of my lifetime), we reached Tezpur in the early morning. Reliving my bowels from the agony of the half digested duck in some shitty hotel, my sleepy red eyes were greeted by a not so young Tata Sumo Gold, who had seen a bit many winters than its young driver had. So with the red sun peeping up in the eastern sky and our heads bumping on the Sumo's tin roof, we embarked on our  Safar  (which quickly became suffer!)

       The first hurdle was at Bhalukpong check post (as you will read through, you will realize that the whole trip was sort of a hurdle race!). The papers of the cars were missing, and our driver was haggling with the policeman to decrease the amount of fine (or bribe...how typically Indian!). Initially we strolled around, admiring the Kameng river below, with the Pakke tiger reserve situated in her lap. But patience like the morning dew on the grass blade evaporated fast. So, words and tempers flew like a quiver of swishing arrows, and the matter which could not be understood in hours was resolved in seconds. Bumping along the road (you can hardly call it a road, only a pavement of rocks), our car rolled along with green luscious mountains, and the blue waters of Tenang River for our company. A brief stop at Naga temple, we finally reached Dirang in the evening, only to find to our dismay that the local (Thupsung Dhargye monastery)monastery had closed. With no prior bookings, we searched for a decent place to stay.

Tenang River...our solace in this bumpy ride

Jai shiva sambhu (don,t know what so many trishuls doing in Naag Mata Mandir!)

Dirang Monastery

                                         

The closed doors of Dirang Monastery

The night sleep, interrupted by the revelry of the local people late into night (the hostel was situated just opposite a local booze shop), and the whistling icy wind (through the broken window) shaking our bones , made us late for the onward journey to Tawang. The road conditions improved, so the scenery. The azure blue water of the Dirang river with its swishing and gushing sounds, interrupted by the chirping of unknown birds kept us company. And suddenly, like the magic of Elsa of Arendella ( movie Frozen), the nature turned from the vivid colours of blue,green and red, to the gloomy grey and white. Our driver informed us that we were approaching She La pass (actually La in Tibetian means pass..so no need for the extra pass there!). We bengalis love snow....and Oh, Boy...there was snow! We were overjoyed! The semifrozen blue lake sparkling in the sunlight, surrounded by the white snowy mountains looked like a young widow, a bit saddened with a ghonghat of a white sari. Afer having a costly delicious maggie, we moved along to pay respect to the ghost of Jaswant singh, who had protected these heights from chinese army.

A badly needed wash for the car!

And the mountains echoed!

The frozen land

The gateway to Tawang

An ode to the brave Jaswant

Jung waterfall

Oh, one thing that i forgot to mention was that the car broke down within 1 hour of journey from Dirang. I utilized the time to visit a local war memorial (where it was described how the Indian army was literally butchered by the Chinese in the 1962 War).

War memorial of Nyukmadung----not a tourist place

The setting sun with the crimson colored sky, and the Giant statute of  Maitreye Buddha welcomed us to Tawang. We settled for a prebooked expensive home stay near the Tawang monastery. We had a warm bed, a warm dinner and a good hospitality. Next morning , me and my wife took an early morning stroll to the Tawang monastery.

The beautiful Tawang monastery

We were lost in the huge monastery....this dog led us to the door

How small is the creation of man before that of Gods---The Tawang Monastery

      After breakfast, we made our way to Y point and Madhuri lake. At every nook and corner of the road, you can see a blue/black lake, surrounded by a shades of green and white, like the pearls of a necklace sewn around the thread of black asphalt road. By 10am, we had reached the Y point army camp, only to be told that the road ahead was closed due to snow. Dissapointed and dejected, we made a little trek of the surroundings, snapped some photos and decided it was best to return back to Guwahati if possible. And then just when we were approaching Tawang, the car broke down again, this time besides the  PTso lake.

Father reflecting in the solitude of the lake 

Panga Teng Tso lake.....where our car broke down

Don't know the names of the lakes 

We did some shopping in the market, made a whirlwind tour of Tawang war memorial and drove off with a packed lunch. 

The Tawang War Memorial

And the car broke down again for the second time of the day, near Nurareng, even before we could finish our packet lunch. As the driver walked back to the town for calling a mechanic, we sat cursing the driver and our fate. A light drizzle had started, which turned into a snow blizzard by the time we reached She la pass; the weather had turned from bad to worse. The young sparkling She La  had now become a frigid irritable grandmother, with dark clouds for her company. The visibility had deteriorated drastically, and to make matters worse our driver was still driving in those treacherous roads with zero visibility ( He later explained that he could barely make out the road by the tyre tracks made by a lorry which had gone just in front of us).

   "Courage is being scared to Death and saddling up anyway"(John Wayne). Maybe it was fear and fate that kept us alive (for if the car had broken down there, we would have been surely frozen to death.) As we descended the hairpin, the weather improved and again the car broke down, this time near Bhalukpong, in the middle of the road with no habitation in sight. Our patience was already stretched thin, and now it snapped. After much pushing and shoving the car, when nothing could be done, we hitchhiked an empty car that was going to Guwahati (some luck at last).

The blitz approaching to engulf us at She La pass 

       The next day was spent in visiting the Kamakhya Mandir and pleasing the ladies with some sari shopping. The flight was in the evening, but our ordeal was yet to be over. The flight failed to land at Dumdum airport due to a kailboisakhi (norwester), witnessing some scary scenes in flight scenes (like those seen in the movie Sully). The captain announced that we would be returning back to Guwahati again. Waiting for 2 hours in a smelly airplane at Guwahati airstrip (because of some silly bureaucratic rule), the flight flew again under a new pilot and cabin crew (for it was past 12;00 am then). After a few failed attempts, the plane rapidly lost height (what seemed to me a nose dive),amid screams and shrieks, and ultimately landed safely......phew. And we were back home!

The fire of devotion......Kamakhya mandir

                               Violence

DEATH

"If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, it's LETHAL"-- Paulo Cohelo

that fateful car and her driver (infront of dirang monastery)