As I finally left the town on yet another foggy and wet morning after a
last cup of tea and toasts at Keventer’s, there were strong impressions that Darjeeling
left on me. And so, the motorcycle screamed down the road from where I could
see patches of sunlight that lit up the valleys only to be replaced again by
long spells of cloud. The cold cut sharply, right through the gloves and the
nose tip had frozen by then. At Lepchajagat the darkness was so thick that cars
had their fog lamps on. Manebhanjan was reached within the hour, where, after another
cup of tea the uphill ride commenced.
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| Kanchenjunga Range from Tonglu |
The road was metalled till Chitrey and swung steeply upwards, over which
the motorcycle leaned brilliantly at the hairpins and pulled through
effortlessly. But it was the journey from Chitrey to Tonglu that proved to be
exceptional. A mere 9 km ride took more than 2.5 hrs. A couple of times it fell
down – the second time being more severe when it had proved impossible for me
to make it stand. For a moment I wanted to return, but help arrived in the form
of a descending Land Rover driver. He helped me to make it stand and from there
on there wasn’t an instance that went awry. Shortly before and after Lameydhura
I managed to engage the 2nd gear for short stretches of 200 ft. And this was on
a ride, where at times even the first gear prompted questions of being underpowered.
The motorcycle, while in motion, felt wobbly and unbalanced over the loose
boulders that a simple touch would have toppled it. But overall I was impressed
with the cycle.
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| Forests in the Singalila Ridge |
By the time I reached Tonglu, the mist had rolled back in with impunity,
causing unnecessary delay in finding the home stay, where, after a hot meal of
rice, dal, omelette and beans curry I sat on the chairs laid out on the verandah
and wondered “what to do” and observed the fight between the mist and the sun
for a while and reflected upon the ride.
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| Mt. Jannu ( also known as Kumbhakarna) |
In the late afternoon hours as the cold started to peak, the urge to buy
some cigarettes and certainly to escape the gripping cold got over me. And I
went for a short downhill walk to Tumling along a path that cut through an open
ridge over which the wind was always howling. The clouds and thick mist felt sad
and lonely. Dense junipers and trees had grown wild and the rhododendron bushes
had turned brown due to the autumn. The valleys on either side were bucketed
with clouds. And the sun appeared to be almost non-existent in the dense mist
above. The forests that extended from the hill sides were red, brown, yellow
and green. A folk of sheep was returning back home from the pasture lands. All of
these represented Tumling, which until a few years ago had only a trekkers hut
and a solitary homestay. But today boasts of quite a few houses.
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| The Toy Train Engine |
The commercial break at Tumling was prolonged further by a long
conversation with another trekker, which finally ended in lighting up a camp
fire with glasses of Thumba (local beer made from bamboo root and stems to keep
the body warm).The wind along the ridge remained ferocious and kept rising and
it thwarted all attempts to lit up the fire initially. But later it relented
and a big fire was lit, around which a dozen or so folks, most unknown to each
other, sat over glasses of Thumba. And as the flames flickered wild and high, stories
of ghosts in the mountain, shadows moving along ridges, foot prints of snow
leopards, mythical birds, of treacherous snow, of the Kanchenjunga massif and
its glaciers and crevasses lit up a story like, enchanting evening. By the time
the glasses had been wiped clear and the session had ended, the wind had lost
its force and it had turned pitch dark.
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| Darjeeling Town |
Armed with a pocket torch, I retraced the path solitarily. Somewhat
afraid of Bon Manchis and wild predators that we had discussed only very recently.
But then threw away the fears out of my head and instead concentrated on walking
briskly. The Thumba proved be an effective antidote to the cold. And at times
to reassure that everything was well and fine, I kept looking back at the lights
from the hamlet of Tumling. I continued to walk further till I reached a point
where it felt strange and lonely. There was complete silence. It was cold, but
not windy anymore. Beyond the silhouette of the stunted bushes and an
undulating hill was the sky. The clouds had disappeared and instead it was a
starlit sky of constellations –the Milky way and God that was a beautiful! I sat
on a boulder by the road side and lit up a cigarette and watched the stars
above. This place, right in the middle of nowhere remained the unhurried,
calmest spot in an otherwise busy journey. This short walk reinforced the
belief which I had carried for long. Walking should have been the way to
explore this trail. Riding a motorcycle has been a sacrilege of sorts. The
barking of a dog somewhere broke the moment of consciousness and reminded me to
reach the Tonglu hut; where I came to realize that my absence had ticked off
some frayed nerves. A couple of men had gone looking after me and I was
severely rebuked for my acts.
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| Darjeeling Town |
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| Livestock at Tumling |
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| Misty forests near Chitrey |
The commercial break at Tumling was prolonged further by a long
conversation with another trekker, which finally ended in lighting up a camp
fire with glasses of Thumba (local beer made from bamboo root and stems to keep
the body warm).The wind along the ridge remained ferocious and kept rising and
it thwarted all attempts to lit up the fire initially. But later it relented
and a big fire was lit, around which a dozen or so folks, most unknown to each
other, sat over glasses of Thumba. And as the flames flickered wild and high, stories
of ghosts in the mountain, shadows moving along ridges, foot prints of snow
leopards, mythical birds, of treacherous snow, of the Kanchenjunga massif and
its glaciers and crevasses lit up a story like, enchanting evening. By the time
the glasses had been wiped clear and the session had ended, the wind had lost
its force and it had turned pitch dark.
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