A weekend trip to the Land of the Thunder Dragon

These days it takes less than three hours of driving to get to Bhutan from Guwahati, yet I had never been there. So this weekend, Prabin da, Manjushree bou and I set off to Sangrup Jhonkar, which was supposed to be a very pretty place in the Bhutan hills. And since we wanted to make the most of the two days on hand we decided to take a long detour to Sangrup Khonkar and go via the scenic spot of Daragaon on the Diring river beyond Mushalpur and Nikashi. Here is the account of our trip.

We set out early but had an early stop to get the tyres checked and then another at Praneeta for a rather late breakfast. Travelling in the summer monsoon season is very different from travelling in winter. The dust-free fresh green of the leaves and the fields is very lush and soothing.  There was a lot of new constuction on either side of the highway, and where there wasn't buildings at least there were solid brick bounday walls that had quartered much of the rice fields on either side and obstructed the view of the fields beyond. It was greener once we left the highway. 

By the roadside in the BTAD area

Soon we were in the BTAD area and the sight of Dokona clad women going to work and girls going to school made me happy. Smartly dressed students had gathered near the stadium in Mushalpur, the district headqaurters of the Baksa district. Preparations for independence day were in full swing there.  I had heard of but had never been to places like Mushalpur and Nikashi and hence it was a special treat. It was also interesting to see how things were changing in those far flung places.  Roads were good and beyond Nikashi the vast green rice fields that had accompanied us most of the time gave way to tall hills of Bhutan that crowded the skies in front of us. Soon we entered the Diring reserve forest and made our way along a meandering road to the Daragaon picnic spot. As we neared the place there was a lot of traffic, mostly motorbikes with young people going to enjoy their Saturday afternoon in the cool waters of the Diring river. 

Soon we came to a roadblock -- young men collecting donations.

For what, we asked.

For the Bolebum festival? 

But are you Bihari, I asked. 

No.

Since when have the Boros started celebrating Bolebum?

No, they dont.

Then why are you collecting chanda for the Bolebum festival?

Because Bolebum is a Hindu festival and we are Hindus!

The look I gave the fellow made him give way and let us go. 

These young men needed chandas not to celebrate any festival but to get drunk in the evenings, Prabinda added.

Then why do you give them any chanda?

Because that is the easiest way to get them to stop bothering us and let us go.

Typical Assamese, I told myself, first to find the easiest way of making money by just standing on the road, obstructing the way and collecting chandas (for whatever reason one could think of) from other Assamese like us for whom paying hundred rupees is the easiest way of solving that problem. It is because we are so compliant that these young men dare to even ask, I told myself, but did not speak out aloud. We were only a few hours into our trip. It wouldnt do to start a fight already.

It was past midday when we arrived at the Daragaon picnic stop. We paid the entry fees at the gate but beyond that point, we were completely on our own, there was no one to ask where we could park, how far we could go and what we could do. Collecting money is the only activity our people can do with some degree of proficiency. And of course they will never have any change, so if you dont have the right amount, then it is your bloody problem. Those gatekeepers will just sit there, expressing helplessness and wait for you to come up with a suggestion.  Why do I let these little things annoy me? I asked myself. I should concentrate on the physical beauty of the place. But the litter of plastic bottles and wrappers everywhere continued to annoy me... further on, we came to a ugly solid building to the left marked 'Toilets' -- yes, we needed to relieve ourselves. But the stink emanating from the building did not allow us to go anywhere near... we decided it was not so urgent. But for what did we pay the fees if they cant even maintain the loos, I shouted. 

But Prabinda and Bou had decided they would not let such things spoil their day. They had moved on and were busily buying thekia, lemons and bhat-kerela from a local tribal woman. There were lots of little food-joints in a row. They were all serving lunch at that hour. We had seen a signboard which said 'Alcohol strictly prohibited', but there were people drinking beer everywhere...So much for rules and regulations. As we walked on, the river came together in a small deep canal where the waters had a very strong current. I looked around for life guards. I could not find any. If somebody got washed away with the water, it would be tough.

The gushing waters of the Diring against the backdrop of the Bhutan hills made a very pretty picture. Further on was remnants of a bridge probably abandoned half way or destroyed by the strong current. Beyond the river flattened out and there we saw many people, hundreds of people, sitting on the water in groups, just letting the cool waters flow over them. I bet most of them did not know how to swim but they were sitting in the water in groups, with only their heads and necks sticking out, just enjoying the moment. They exerted themselves and moved around, only to take selfies in different poses and formations. A bath in those waters had been highly recommended. But all the points at which one could reasonably enter the river were taken. There were flimsy enclosures made of plastic sheets that were supposed to be changing rooms. But no, there was no way I was going to change there. We decided that just wetting our feet in the cool waters would be enough. 

Bathers in the Diring river

Although it was past three on a Saturday afternoon when we made our way out, we crossed people in cars and motorbikes who were still on their way to Daragaon. Well, soon it would be dusk, they better hurry. The place was nice but somehow overrun by young people who went there to get drunk, lie in the water, take selfies and then return after having a meal with smoked meat and other tribal dishes at a small price. Like many other tourists spots in Assam. Eating, drinking and taking photos are the only things tourists in Assam consider fun. Everything else would be too strenuous. Why would anyone want to exert oneself?

Stop finding fault with everything, I told myself. You are ruining your own holiday. Let things be.  We had other worries. We still needed to find our way to Sangrup Jhonkar. People gave us contradicting directions. Google was also not so reliable in such remote parts. And many roads had been dug up for repairs, some bridges had collpased in the floods and had not been repaired. So it took us quite a while of going over bad or still under repair roads and several false turns before we got  onto the highway at Tamulpur and took a left turn towards the Bhutan border at Darannga mela. So what should have taken us just over an hour took us more than two hours. The town of Tamulpur has an old time feel about it which is difficult to describe. Ages back, I had gone with my mother to visit Hem Bhai's Gandhi Ashram in Kumarikata. But Kumarikata was a sleepy little place then, not any longer. We had a quick tea stop at Jamguri where we made our aquaintaince of a widow Rita Rabha and her 12 year old son Ratul Rajbonshi who ran a tea stall in a roadside shack. 

We then proceeded to the Bhutan border at Daranggamela where, as expected, there were many cars waiting to cross. We parked where we could and walked up to the border gate to get the formalities done. It was aroud 5 p.m. The Bhutia guard at the gate politely asked us to show him our Voter ID cards and also for the Driving License of the driver. We two ladies were then asked to go through the gate and wait at the other side. In a few minutes Prabinda also came out with the entry pass but went back through the exit gate to fetch the car.  The 24 hour entry pass had cost nothing. As we waited near the gate, the air suddenly felt cooler, the hills beyond the gates beckoned. As we waited there and watched how the border guards were efficiently and systematically processing the entry process without shouting or rushing about, we could feel, in more ways than one, that we had entered a different country. The Entry Gate to that tiny Himalayan Kingdom stood proudly in front of us, built in the typical Bhutia style, adorned with colourful Bhutia motifs and shapes. Welcome to Bhutan, the land of the Thunder Dragon, I told myself. And within me, I could feel that somehow things could only get better from then on...

A smaller temple at the monastery

The typical Bhutia architecture was to be seen not just at the gate but in every big building we crossed on our way to the Tashi Gasel Lodge which was located on a hill overlooking the city, next to a Buddhist peace centre. On the way we stopped at a petrol pump to fill up. The fuel costs were signifiacntly lower in Bhutan (67 rs as opposed to 97 rs in India). We thought it best to fill up. Latest when it came to paying we realised that Indian currency notes were the only things that worked there, Gpay, credit cards, debit cards etc would not work. We had not realised that that could be a problem. I had only about 5000 rs. in cash with me. Bou did not have much more than 2000. Well, we hoped the hotel would accept some other form of payment. Otherwise we would be in trouble. What did you expect, I asked myself. Why are you so surprised? This is a different country. Just because they do not demand to see passports does not mean everything else would also work as back home.

The Hotel looked very pretty from outside, the garden around it even prettier. It took us a while to find someone to let us in.  There were a couple of men sitting at the back, drinking something. They were talking to each other, but there was no noise. They did not react to our hellos. Perhaps they were also guests like us, there was no way to tell. A young girl came and showed us our rooms. Again silently, no shouting, no hurry, with a faint smile on her face. Just like that border guard.

The entrance to the main temple in the monastery

We had booked two rooms over the net. But had not paid any advance. And no, they accepted only cash. But thankfully, the room rates were reasonable, only 1500 per night per room plus food. We should be able to manage with what we had if we were a little disciplined. But still, it was a little stupid of us to not have inquired. Well...The rooms looked nice and clean, but on closer inspection, they could have been cleaner. The window sills were dusty, probably guests did not draw the curtains. But why didnt they, I wondered. The views all around were breathtaking, esepcially from the restaurant terrace. The toilet had running water and also hot water, but again, the toilet seat was soiled. Well... I was not going to kick a fuss here, I told myself. After all it must have been some uncivilised tourist from Assam who must have dirtied it. 

We were tired after the long day. We would have an early dinner. Did they have a typically Bhutia dish on their menu -- Chicken/Pork Datshi was the answer. It is chicken made with cottage cheese.

What if it is not nice, Prabinda queried.

If we don't order we shall never find out, I replied.

We ordered Chicken Datshi. 

And it was delicious...

Next morning Bou and I woke up early as usual. Not wanting to miss the birdsong at day break we decided to go for our regular morning walk, only with a change of place and country! The sond of the birds was drowned by the loud sound of fireflies. And it refused to die down. Should we go left or right, we wondered. We decided to walk downhill and explore the town. It was around 5 am. The road was nice. and the hill covered with dense vegetation. Every now and then there would be signs of a few stones and some earth rolling down the hill onto the road. And we could hear the sound of water gushing downhill at places where the road crossed over from one hill to another. They knew how to manage their water, we told ourselves... there were culverts and drains for the water to flow into. Soon there was even a footpath on one said of the road. That was a sign that we were getting close to the city. A flight of steps appeared leading down. We decided to leave the road and take the steps. There were nice benches to sit and rest along the way. They had not cut but built around the trees that were growing along the way. Everything looked right. 

The living area of the monks at the monastery

But the array of buildings in front of us, all built in typical Bhutia style, took our breath away. The huge stately building n front of us was the DC Court we found out. Opposite it was the District Courts and beyond that the biggest monastery of the district, the Dratshang. Two young men dressed in traditional Bhutia attire were leaving the monastaery just then. We got talking. They spoke English fluently and also spoke a bit of Hindi. They lived and worked down in the city which was another level lower than where we were (and could be accessed through another flight of steps) and had decided to come to the monastery for Sunday morning prayers. I could not think of any young man (who lived and worked in a city) in Assam who would want to get up at 5 on a Sunday morning to attend prayers at the local temple. We asked them whether they have been to India. They said they often go to the Darangga bazar to do shopping and to eat momos! Shopping was fine, but to come from Bhutan to Assam to eat momos! Well... We asked them whether we could also visit the monastery. They said we could. We would come back later. We then walked back with them, past the District Veternary Hospital and other public offices till we came to the Forest Office and the road winding up the hill back to our hotel. We had done more than our regular 10,000 steps and had climbed a rather steep hill but we weren ot tired. It was the fresh unpolluted air that was probably helping.

Back in the hotel we asked for some tea. We shall get some once the girls arrived, we were told. So the girls did not stay there, they worked there. The owner of the hotel probably lived there. Our tea did come sooner than expected. We ordered breakfast for 9:30 am. and went up to bathe and get ready. Once we were ready we decided to walk to explore the Buddhist Peace centre next door. It was again a very quiet and peaceful place, relatively new as it was built only in 2013. Some construction work was still going on. It did not take us long to return, even after we had done a full circumbulation of the prayer wheels (khorlo) arranged around the stupa.

A herd of capped langurs with long tails descended on the restaurant verandah but left when they did not find anything interesting to eat.  Nobody chased them away. There was no shouting. We understood that the Bhutia are a silent people. Even when they talked among themselves, they did it so quietly that people further away did not hear. It was only 9 am when we got back. We would have to wait another half hour for breakfast. But to our surprise, breakfast was already ready. It was only then that I realised that Bhutanese time was half an hour ahead of Indian time. Although Bhutan is to the west of Assam, it is still ahead in time because the rest of India is to its west. We were in a different country, we must not forget that.  We checked out after breakfast and decided to take the longer route into the city, past the arched bridge which we could see from the restaurant terrace. We then crossed a beautiful complex which a signboard told us was the city's primary school. Imagine going to such a pretty primary school, we told ourselves. The kids in SJ had it very good.

A primary school in Sangrup Jhonkar

The road wound around a bit but before we knew it we were on the way back into India. But no, we wanted to go to the monastery and also to the market before returning. So we quickly turned back. Some tourists from India had already started to arrive in the city by then. We met a group at the monastery that had started out from Sualkuchi at 6 a.m. It was not much later than 10:30 then. We met many more later in the market. But everyone had more or less the same questions -- what can we do here? How can we pay here if we don't have cash? The fact that only Indian currency was accepted meant that Indian tourists who had expected to pay using Gpay could not buy very much in the markets even if they wanted to. In any case there was not much to buy that one did not find in India. I wanted to buy a Bhutia long skirt called Domyan and also a couple of Chinese made porcelain tea mugs with lids. 

A hill river at Sangrup Jhonkar

We asked an old shopkeeper from whom I bought a pretty Bhutia handbag, what else there was to buy or do. There is nothing to see or buy here, he answered me. I have no idea why you Indians keep coming here. There is nothing to do. Why do you people keep coming? I told him we came for the peace and quiet, for the good air, for the friendly people who were not shouting at each other, for the tall mountains, for the langurs, for the food,...but most of all for the smiles on everyone's faces...that was not something one normally saw back home in India. He did not reply, but it was clear that he was not convinced. He just walked back into his shop saying that his business was so down those days that he was not sure how long he would manage to keep the shop open.

The morning sun was beating down on us -- it was really hot in SJ that day, almost as hot as back home in Guwahati. It was no fun roaming about in that heat, especially if there was nothing very interesting to do. So around 12:30 we decided to start our journey back home. We would have lunch somewhere along the way, we decided. And it was too hot to have a cup of tea just then. Back at the Bhutan gate we did not have to wait, we could leave after showing our pass to the sentries there.

It did not take long for us to have Bhutan behind us and drive through the pretty and soothing Menaka tea estate. After another tea stop at Rita's shack in Jamguri we decided to stop for lunch at Rangia. We were there in no time, the highway was excellent and traffic was sparse on a Sunday. But where in Rangia? As we were crossing the crowded part of the city, a rather intriguing signboard for a restaurant named Adda caught our attention -- we should stop and find out more about this place, since we also had an Addaghar back home. The restaurant, located right next to the Vishal supermarket, had ample parking outside and a Kulhar tea stall outside. The AC restaurant itself had wall murals of famous Indian actors Rajesh Khanna, Amitabh Bacchan etc right up to Hritik Roshan. Quite large figures, very nicely done, very recognisable. Along the other side were famous lines from popular Hindi movies. The entire menu card was a play on the same... It was really very nicely and tastefully done. 

We met the young owner, Udit Narayan! Did he also sing, we asked. No, but he was a theatre buff.  Well.. well... the food when it came was excellent, the tea when it came in the earthen kulhars was more than excellent. We prasied the old chaccha who made the tea, he had been brought from Fancy bazar to make tea, and there would be quite a crowd there for the tea every evening... We could believe that. It was tea to die for. I would have loved a second cup but we wanted to keep moving. So we left after praising everyone and promising to return.

That was a very nice discovery, but as we drove on, the thought of being back in Assam with all the filth and madness was making me restless. The trip was too short. We should have stayed there another day at least. Well...We talked about all that that was different across the gate -- the level of noise, the degree of cleanliness, the friendliness and calmness of the people, their glowing good health, Buddhism, and also its natural beauty, the deep beauty of the hills and the stately yet colourful and many layered elegance of  Bhutia architecture. Of course we had not really got into any proper conversations with any Bhutia people so there was much more to be discovered but still... How could just an international border make such a big difference? Other differences, the difference in time, and in the price of petrol, and the fact that Indian currency worked only as cash there. In that short time we were there, we did not see much of  Bhutan as the land of the thunder dragon, but we did get a glimpse of Bhutan as the land with a very high happiness index!