Tigers are meant to be on the prowl, so we ride to the international borders that North-East India shares with China, Bangladesh, Myanmar, and Bhutan. Here’s part one of this incredible journey...
The old monk at the Rumtek Monastery, near Gangtok, had a weather-beaten face. Deep lines furrowed his cheeks and when he smiled, his eyes closed and you could see crow’s legs at the corners. He looked heavenwards and said with finality, “It’s going to rain for the next ten days.”
He was old and wise, and was very confident of what he was saying. But I found his prediction a little difficult to believe, because, at that moment, the sky was crystal clear with a brilliant sun. There was no way it was going to rain today or in the near future, I thought.
But I was wrong. That evening, the sky opened up in earnest and the rain never really let up for the next ten days. That, basically, was the story of our ride – a very wet ride!
Anuj and I had decided to ride to all the international borders that North East India shares with China, Bangladesh, Myanmar and Bhutan. Most of the places that we wanted to travel would have hilly terrain, and a large portion of the route would have very bad roads. So the steeds of our choice were the Triumph Tiger XCX and XRX. I’m naturally inclined towards adventure or dual-purpose bikes, and so I choose the XCX while Anuj felt more comfortable on the XRX.
The early morning sky looked brilliant over Siliguri, as we rode out towards Gangtok. About 40 kilometres out of the city, we hit the hills and our grins widened many notches. Riding in the hills is always fun, and with the Tiger the fun quotient goes up manifold.
As we crossed the Teesta bridge, I saw monkeys of all sizes line up on both sides of the road. We stopped for a moment at a seemingly monkey free stretch for a picture and a smoke, but the monkeys appeared out of nowhere. Anuj got busy with the camera and the monkeys got busier with the rain cover of his camera bag, and in no time there were huge tears visible. We found out later in the day that they had done their job well, and rendered our rain cover useless.
Gangtok is about 150 kilometres from Siliguri, and, as the road winds up the hills, the roaring Teesta river kept us company for much of the way. By the time we rode into Gangtok, it was past 4 O’clock – and since the tourism office was closed for the day, we made our way to the Rumtek Monastery. The old monk, who predicted the rain, showed us around, and as we prepared to leave, dark clouds started rolling in – fast.
We barely made it into the hotel before the rain started in a torrent. It rained through the night, and in the morning we had to take a taxi to the tourism office to procure our permit for Nathu La (Pass). Our worst fears were confirmed, as they informed us that there was a massive landslide on the way to Nathu La.
Just over 50 kilometres from Gangtok, Nathu La is the Indo-China border and a trading post. The tourism department issues permits to visit Nathu La for a day, but since the weather was bad and the road damaged, there was no question of permits being issued that day. The rain didn’t let up for the next two days, and, on the third day, we decided to move down to Darjeeling. We certainly weren’t off to the kind of start we had planned.
Fortunately, the ride to Darjeeling is beautiful – narrow, but well laid roads with lush greenery on all sides.
Darjeeling still has a lot of influence from the days of the Raj – old bungalows, lovely old churches, coffee houses, tea gardens, and, of course, the old railroad, which is a must-see. It’s a railroad on which century old small steam engines pull the heritage toy train. It’s a marvel that these relics are still functional. Mr Das, the engineer overseeing the running of these engines, took the time to explain to us how difficult but fulfilling it is to keep these old beauties chugging on the track...
As we watched, a steam engine emerged from its deeply shadowed service bay. It was hissing loudly and spewing smoke as it emerged from the shadows like a dinosaur coming out of the foliage. It reminded me so much of my childhood, when I travelled on steam engine trains with my family. Even though we invariably reached our destination with the tell-tale black soot on our faces, there’s an undeniable romance in such a journey.
Over a cup of tea at the Ghum railway station, we struck a conversation with a man who owns a 1952 Land Rover. He proudly showed it off and took us for a short ride. Till recently, a lot of old Land Rovers plied the roads of Darjeeling but only a few remain now.
At mid-day, we started off for Phuntsholing – the border town in Bhutan. We rode downhill most of the time, and whenever I went into a sharp turn at a higher speed than I should have the ABS on the Tiger came into play. It’s really quite reassuring when you know that you’re not likely to skid on hard breaking into turns because the ABS plays its role.
Past the Coronation Bridge, and we hit a lovely stretch of asphalt that gently rolls through some dense forest. Just as I thought that we would make it into Bhutan by 7-o’clock, there was a rumble in the sky. The stars disappeared, thunder boomed and lightning streaked on the horizon. The Tigers were managing very good speed through the dark and lonely highway, and we thought we could beat the rain. But it wasn’t to be.
The rain came thick and fast while we were in the middle of Hasimara forest, and there was no shelter along the way. Since we were soaked to the bone, we decided to push on anyway. Suddenly, our headlights caught a lone elephant on the side of the road. One elephant meant there was a herd nearby. Despite their size, elephants have fantastic camouflage and it’s almost impossible to spot them from a distance. So, by the time you notice one it can often be too late. Our Tigers were no match for an elephant, and so we decided not to take any chances. We pulled up inside an old unused bus shelter, switched off the bikes and waited out the rain – and the elephants. It took more than an hour for the jumbos to amble off, but the rain didn’t let up till we reached Phuntsholing.
Entry to Phuntsholing is closed at 11pm, and we reached a little after that. The policemen at the gates gave us pitiful looks and waved us in. The old hotel had huge rooms, and in no time it was filled with our wet clothes. The rain covers on most of our bags gave up completely – except for the panniers on the XCX which saved some of my clothes.
When we went to buy a cheap hair dryer in the morning to dry our shoes, we realised that there’s a world of difference between the two countries. It’s just a concrete gate that separates India and Bhutan, but the contrast is glaring.
I love my country, make no mistake, but I must say that Jaigaon, in North Bengal on the Indian side is cacophony personified.
It’s a typical border town – loud, crowded and chaotic. The road is shared by overloaded trucks, buses, impossibly crowded mini buses with the handyman calling for more passengers while the driver honks crazily, carts pulled by huge oxen, autos, brightly coloured rickshaws, bicycles and a mass of people – all of which drives home the point that India is overpopulated.
On the other hand, as soon as you step into Bhutan the cacophony ceases altogether. There are no auto rickshaws and no honking. Cars and two wheelers are parked in their designated places. Cars move in a very disciplined manner and they stop to let pedestrians cross the street. To a Delhite’s eyes, it sure was a revelation.
The King is omnipresent. You see his picture everywhere – in shops, offices, homes, and on posters. Even though Bhutan is now a constitutional monarchy, the King is much loved and revered. He is the People’s King.
The very limited presence of big global brands is a welcome sight. Neon lights don’t blight your eyes and neither do loudspeakers assault your ears. Most people still wear traditional clothes and that speaks volumes about the Bhutanese sense of preserving their culture.
Jaigaon is a purely commercial hub, powered by the needs of the Bhutanese population. Both Indian and Bhutanese currencies are accepted on both sides and since there’s no hassle of foreign exchange, business is booming on either side of the border. Till about a decade ago, Jaigaon was a small town but has since boomed into a huge township – and so is the case with Phuntsholing.
Three days of nonstop rain badly hampered our movement, and we decided to ride out of Bhutan and on to the Bangladesh border.
The road to Guwahati is the ASEAN Highway 1 (AH1). It’s a six-lane highway still under construction. We left the ASEAN highway after Bongaigaon, and turned right to take a lovely highway that took us through Goalpara and across the 2.3 kilometre long Naranarayn Setu (bridge) over the mighty Brahmaputra, and ultimately to Guwahati – which has become a huge city, and is the El Dorado of North-East India.
Bangladesh shares a long border with Meghalaya, Assam, Tripura and Mizoram, and we decided we would ride to the Meghalaya border, which is one of the busiest borders.
The road that connects Guwahati to Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya, has been newly laid and is a joy to ride on. The curves are wide and the banks are just right. The XCX, with all its panniers and bags, is a heavy bike but it handled ever so beautifully on the curves. Anuj and I had a whale of a time riding the Tigers at very decent speeds throughout the 90-odd kilometres till Shillong. From the outskirts of Shillong, near the Army hospital, we took a right turn towards Cheerapunjee to go to the tiny village of Mawlynnlong. The village has been named as the ‘Cleanest Village in Asia.’ I don’t know who gave it this title, but it’s well deserved.
The village is 82 kilometres from Shillong, and the road throughout is awesome. It passes through two deep gorges where the mist comes rolling in every now and then – which blocks visibility completely. Since it’s a deep gorge (and we were in no mood to find out how deep it was), we pulled up at a tiny tea stall on the edge of the hill as soon as the mist became too thick. And when it cleared, the view was absolutely breathtaking.
It was a Sunday, and there were people along the viewpoints with their picnic baskets. Thankfully it didn’t rain that evening, and the golden rays of the evening sun lit up the mountains. We met a bunch of riders on their Harleys, Enfields and KTMs, and we joined them for a short ride. Great guys, and a great ride!
Mawlynnlong has some lovely home stays, and we stayed with Henry in his bamboo cottage. We were the only clients, and his mother made some great food. That evening we sat high on a machan and saw the wetlands of Bangladesh, as a spectacular spell of lightning lit up the land for miles ahead.
A few kilometres out of Mawlynnlong is a living root bridge. As we walked down the hill, I could hear the roaring waters hidden from view. A few steps down, and we came across the amazing living root bridge – there are a few of them, but they’re unique to Meghalaya. A hundred years ago, or so, the villagers placed the roots of a big tree inside a bamboo and directed it to the other side of the steam. The roots reached the other side and continued growing. Over the years other roots grew, and became a bridge – an extremely strong one at that.
We rode off for Dawki the next morning. The weather was clear, but humid. Dawki is about 40 kilometres from Mawlynnlong. The roads are awesome right up to an old suspension bridge built in 1931. Four kilometres across the bridge we hit the border post.
Meghalaya produces a huge quantity of coal and limestone – the biggest consumer of which is Bangladesh. Until recently, about 2,000 trucks would cross the border everyday to supply coal to the buyers in Bangladesh. But since the National Green Tribunal has imposed a ban on rat-hole mining, the number of trucks crossing the border have come down drastically – and for the last one month, or so, it’s completely stopped.
So, we had the border all to ourselves – and the BSF Jawans on duty got chatting with us. They allowed us to walk to the last Indian milestone, but warned us not to cross the line. There was a guy on Bangladesh soil selling sweets and pickles, and I asked for some peanuts. The Bangladesh border guards allowed him to sell it to me, and I bought peanuts worth ten bucks in Indian currency from him.
As we returned across the barricade, the BSF guard informed us in all seriousness that since any imports from Bangladesh call for an import duty, we would have to pay duty on the handful of peanuts I had bought. He was a very good actor, and had me worried for a second – estimating the import duty on a packet of peanuts!
We met a local lady who runs a liquor shop, aptly named International Wines. She also owns a few limestone mines, and was worried about the affect the ban would have on the local population. She was of the view that since the government in Meghalaya doesn’t own any land (land is privately owned all over the state, and the government has to pay compensation even for land on which they build roads), they can’t put a blanket ban on mining.
We had a long debate with her, but she remained unconvinced about the environmental problems that have riled the NGT. Later, she told us about a lovely waterfall and pool that we had missed on our way there. We found it on the way back, and had it all to ourselves.
We had ridden the Tigers long and hard for many days, and they never missed a beat or complained. So we let them rest for a long time near the pool as I went for a swim and Anuj cooled a couple of beer cans (gifts from the lady) in the water.
Our next destinations are the borders of China and Myanmar, and we can only hope that the weather clears by the time we decide to embark on the second phase of this journey. But the weather notwithstanding, the next part is much harder – and more interesting too! So watch this space...
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