Haflong Days: Oops we did it again!

I have this great urge to write “Khaise Abar Aise”, but I am afraid only a select few will get the joke. The year after we had the infamous trek through the muddy jungle (read previous post), and swore not to repeat such a performance, we went and did exactly that –had another unforgettable adventure.

This was BA final year and many of my last year’s buddies had dropped out of class or honors subjects. This meant I was left with another bunch of friends, who too wanted to have that one last blast before leaving the student life behind.

However, in the past one year, some significant changes had happened. The problem of terrorism, which we were no stranger to, had reached another level of nuisance. The town was full of military personnel and severe checks and restrictions were put in place, which meant many of the usual picnic spots were out of bounds.

Eventually, we decided to picnic in the backyard of a friend who lived in the outskirts. Around nine of us met up at her place and started towards the so-called picnic spot which was a few kilometers (backyard can mean the whole village mind you) from her place and had a small waterfall. However, being the smart college students we were, while asking for direction from the natives we said “river” not “falls”. Not surprisingly, we found ourselves walking on a narrow ledge of a mountain, with the trail going neither down nor up!

Now, most trails lead either down towards the rivers or up and away from them towards the villages. We realized very soon that since this was going neither way, it was actually a path that is possibly used to cut across the mountain to the bordering states of either Manipur or Mizoram. And here we were expressly trying to avoid extremists.

But, being young and gung ho, we down played the seriousness of the situation and boldly decided to push forward. This attitude though faded after walking almost two hours along that ledge, which showed no signs of reaching any destination. By then we were cranky, thirsty and well cranky. Moreover, we couldn’t hear the river at any point and had no idea which way we were walking. The dominating sound was that of the bamboo plants rubbing against each other as the wind swayed them. It sounds like a constant loud whispering and can drown out many other sounds of the forest.

Then we started coming across a few mountain streams with the native version of bridges – two bamboo poles tied together with ropes- just wide and strong enough for one person to cross at a time. The head-cracking view is also very nice. But we were happy with these signs as it meant we could at least picnic somewhere near a water source. And then it happened.

The two girls who were leading the group took a turn and came to a stand still with identical, wide-eyed slack-jaw expressions! Surprised, the rest of us took off running to see what they had seen. And believe it or not, there was the god forsaken river Diyung (the very same one we had been to before, but it was on the other side of the town this time) which looks like a tiny stream from my friend’s house. It is then that we realized that we had actually traveled a good 40 kms downwards from the chosen picnic spot.

With no options open, we decided to make the best of the situation and picnic on the river bank and then think of a way to tackle the problem of climbing 40 kilometers after lunch, while racing a setting sun. And we had come across many forks in the way down and had no confidence that we would be able to follow the right ones back.

But before that, we first had to reach the river which was still further away. Seeing no trails that led towards it, we decided to make our own. The land that separated us from the water was half jungle and half paddy field with dried up golden paddies. The land nearest to us turned out trickier to navigate, with burnt and hacked bamboo shoots sticking out of the ground here and there. This has once been a full bamboo grove and had been burnt down for Joom kheti (a traditional practice in the NE, which involved burning the forest to clear the land and then planting on it. It reality, it makes the ground infertile in the long run and is regarded as a major cause for the dwindling forest lands).

We picked up a few sturdy branches and started to hack away at the small shrubs to make our trail. Occasionally we came across shrubs in the ground, which were merely covering nice big man sized holes. The idea was to go around and not step on them. The going was slow, but we finally made it to the paddy fields and here again started the whole savage dance routine, but this time consisted more of whooping and yelling while running towards the water.

This time we had to stay away from most water sports as the river in this point had no stones and was snarling and foaming its way to somewhere. There was a bare train bridge over the river and we got to wave at delighted passengers whenever any of the steaming behemoths rolled by.

We spent the evening skipping stones in the water and trying to play baseball with tree brunches and a nice round stone. The sandwiches and junk foods we had packed vanished like turkey dinners in Somalia. Then we settle down in the after noon sun to have a small siesta. It’s an amazing way to laze, with only the sound of water, wind and birds to give you company. This was also a time to actually sit and talk about our future plans, who was going where and laugh at the old times.

But as all days, this one was coming to an end too. Around 2.30 in the afternoon, we spotted a group of traditionally clad women carrying tinder from the forest. We caught up to them and asked if they were going to town, to which they answer yes. We decided to tag along with them, as they knew the way back.

Now their shortcut back first consisted of climbing this vertical wall of rock, while carrying their load, where looking down meant seeing this very still, dark pool of water which looked pretty deep and scary. We managed to scrabble up this wall with only damage to our egos, as the tribal women kept laughing at our efforts. Mind you though, we were pretty good climbing hills at that point, with most of us used to such terrain from birth. But we didn’t have the agility or strength of these women who did this daily.

Once we had reached the train tracks, the group came to a stop and no one made to enter the tunnel that was in front of us. In a few minutes the reason became clear as the ground shook and the howl of a train horn could be heard echoing on the hills. Once it passed right in front of our noses, we started walking into the tunnel. About half way through, it turned pitch dark and I tell you, train tracks are not the best terrain for steady trekking, There was muttering of curses, scuffling noises and occasional yells when some one decided to take advantage of the dark to play pranks. But in a few minutes we were across and into the light.

We followed the tracks for a few kilometers more and came across a staircase that spiraled upwards reminding me of the Jack and the Bean Stalk legend. Here the tribal women pointed us up and continued on their way.

So we started the long winded climb, spirited at first, panting like dogs by the end. I counted till 500 steps and then decided to give up. But finally, we found ourselves right where we had started - at my friends house. Her mother was ready with a few snacks and cups of tea and then we were on our way home in autos. So no truck rides this time, thank god. But it was another of those treks, which gave us these stories to tell years afterwards. Now what good is an adventure if it is forgettable?