Cloud Country | Arunachal Sojourns

We Indians have a serious commitment to the Himalayas. We go there in Summer to escape the heat of the plains, we go there in Monsoon to appreciate the lushness of the forest, we go there in Autumn to see the hills turn red, we go there in Winter to exclaim at the snow, we go there in Spring to see the forests in bloom and we find several more excuses to go there, several more times in between just because we can. No wonder then that we soon tire of the more accessible parts of the Himalayas. And once we are done exploring Kinnaur, Shimla, Chamba, Khajjiar, Lahul, Spiti, Garhwal, Kumaon, Sikkim, Darjeeling and even the slightly precarious Kashmir – we have to turn to the less explored North East – in our case this was Arunachal.

Tourism and infrastructure here is rather under-developed and word of mouth is your best and usually only source of intelligence. And even then the little information you thus come across, will force you to give your trip second thoughts. While Arunachal – the land of the dawn lit mountains – is celebrated for its virgin forests, ancient Buddhist monasteries and unexplored mountain passes, it also comes with very good reason as to why it is so uncharted.

The roads are appalling. The unpredictable deep mist combined with the hairpin bends and potholed roads ensure that no traveler comes back from Arunachal without witnessing at least one car rolling down the steep gorges, first-hand.  At the end of the bumpy ride, there are no posh hotels to greet you with luxurious baths or soft beds. Accommodation is as basic as you can imagine, sometimes not even that – no electricity, no network coverage and no 24/7 water supply. Also, unlike the warm and hospitable people of the Western Himalayas who embrace tourism and tourists, in the East they are far from friendly. Openly hostile until a decade ago, now you will get the feeling that mostly, you are being barely tolerated. Living under constant threats of Chinese invasion, the army is strict, suspicious and will subject you to infinite permit procedures and check posts.

But if you risk it all, at the other end of the hurdles is paradise.

What is travel without adventure? And what is adventure without the possibility of it turning into misadventure? Determined to conquer the forbidden territories of the North-East, we set off in the end of June, 2014. Our Inner Line Permit said Bhalukpong, Bomdila, Dirang and Tawang.

The drive from Guwahati to Tawang is living proof as to why the journey is often more glorified more than the destination itself. For those short of time, the Indian Army has recently started daily helicopter services from Guwahati to Tawang, but that, in my opinion negates the entire point of the journey. The ride is back breaking, no doubt --  but the verdant forests aflutter with exotic birds, vales carpeted with wild flowers, quaint villages, unexpected sightings of the shy mithun at random bends, slow crawls of the car through the near solid fog and snow peaks lining the horizon will ensure that a true nature lover will never tire of this road.

Happily, this is not true for the photographer. Muscles will cramp with all the pointing and shooting and lens changing, nerves will twitch with excitement throughout the ride, and the driver’s wrath at being stopped every two minutes will be constant companions for him/her.

Our first unscheduled stop was at Bomdila, after a twelve hour drive. We had intended to stop at Bhalukpng, but the slums bordering the roads, the mud and the slush had made us decide otherwise. Other-unwise, perhaps.

A thick fog had crept down the orchid and fern clad mountain slopes soon after crossing Bhalukpong, making the progress of our fog-lit convoy of some twenty odd cars extremely slow. Add to that a traffic stand-still revolving around the towing up of a car that had fallen off the road and into the slope with its drunken driver (who was alive and perfectly well), and before we knew it we were driving into the night on a highway renowned for robberies, wild animals and some rumored benevolent ghosts (spirits of men killed in road accidents who allegedly watched over the welfare of cars here)as well.

When we arrived at Bomdila, night had set well in on the sleepy little town. The only people we met in the dark, deserted streets informed us that there has been no power in the town for four days running. Also, as the chief lama of the Bomdila Monastery had passed away a few days back, hotels were filled to the brim by devotees come to pay their last respects. They also told us that it was completely unsafe and unheard of for two ladies to be travelling alone at night in that region.

At the brink of a panic attack, the Indian Army came to our rescue. And here I must take the opportunity to state exactly how responsible and brilliant a job the army is doing in these regions. While stories of army atrocities on locals are not uncommon in the hills, every single personnel we encountered happened to be an exception to this generalized model of spite, and went out of their way to make our journey smoother. Posted far away from home and friends and living a life of the harshest circumstances – they never seem to lose their smile. Promoting tourism seems to have become their second goal, after defending the nation. Army canteens, cafeterias and war memorials dot the country side and jawans welcome you wherever you go with steaming mugs of tea and friendly conversation.

Thanks to them, we found our way to the Circuit House, Bomdila. The chowkidar, true to all Hindi movies and books, carried a lantern whose halo did not quite illuminate his face. Shaggy mountain strays scurried at his feet, barking. Scary as it was – some puppy faces and a few flourishes of the Government IDs later we had been installed in what I believe was the only livable room in Bomdila. Sleep was only a warm showers and sumptuous dak-bungalow dinner away.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny to the gongs of the monastery echoing through the hills. The town itself was a surprise – a haphazardly placed group of green tin roofed houses. If you were expecting an aura of the Raj-era hill stations you’d be disappointed. There is no Mall Road with strategically placed wrought iron benches that leads to a church. The road winds along on its own accord, the houses grow organically up the hill slopes and if you want to visit one of them you follow one the trails through the brambles that others have left before you.

A quick exploration of the monastery and town on foot, and we were on our way again. Our only stops were at the apricot orchards at Dirang and then at Sela Pass itself. Sela – world’s second highest motorable pass after Khardungla, is infamous for the unpredictable weather and passing Sela before 12, is strongly recommended.

It is customary for a traveler to make a top at Sela, to pose by the 2^nd Highest Motorable Pass (4,170 m) signage, pay respects at the chorten and take pictures of the Sela Lake. The lake is only moderate in size, but a haven for migratory birds if you have the time and patience to spare. 

Between Sela and Tawang, two more stops are absolutely recommended. The first, Jaswant Garh is an Indian Army War Memorial dedicated to the valor of Jaswant Singh Rawal, awarded the Maha Vir Chakra (posthumously), for holding back the Chinese Army single handedly for three days during the 1962 Sino-Indian War. The second is the waterfall at Jang, made immortal by Madhuri Dixits’s dance sequence in the movie Koyla. While the fall itself is inaccessible, small gazebos by the road before Jang can offer you ample sight.

Tawang, literally translating to “chosen by horse” was founded in the 17^th century by the Merak Lama Lodre Gyatso. It is said that while he slept, the 5^th Dalai Lama, Lobtseng Gyatso appeared in his dreams and told him to establish a monastery there. After he awoke from his sleep, Lodre Gyatso could initially not find his horse, but later when he did, he realized that the horse had lead him to the point where the Dalai had directed him to build the monastery.

His horse had clearly done a good job, as even today, the Tawang Monastery brings multitudes of tourist every year and a considerably large town has grown surrounding it. The fact that this is the birth place of the 6^th Dalai Lama, that the 14^th Dalai Lama had rested here while fleeing Tibet, and that this is the largest Budhist Monastery in the world outside of Lhasa only adds to its attractions.

The monastery standing on the highest tip of the town at 3,300 m, houses residences for 700 monks, 400 lamas, prayer halls, schools, a library of invaluable century old Buddhist manuscripts, a museum, a printing press and is an architectural wonder in itself. While architects will happily spend hours, days and weeks exploring this monastery that has sprawled down the slopes over 400 years of organic building activity, the less architecturally inclined will find solace in the markets of Tawang selling the usual plethora of Tibetan handicrafts, masks, brass and woodwork. The Tibetan cuisine here is unadulterated and an absolute must have.

Other places of interest in Tawang include the nunnery, the Urgyeling Monastery, the craft centre, war memorial and gompa (do not miss their Son-et-Lumiere that takes place at around 6:00 every evening). Sangetsar Lake and PTSo lakes, a four hour circuit outside Tawang Town are also major tourist attractions.

The journey back, downhill is easier to maneuver and a pleasant surprise came for us in the form of the cottages by Assam Tourism, at Bhalukpong. Just off the main check post, yet seemingly far removed from the bustle of the town, it is a birdwatchers’ delight. The Kameng river is flanked by dense vegetation and sudden, sunlit forest clearings and takes a magnificent turn next to the resort where a morning alone with the camera can yield splendid results. Sitting at the cafeteria overlooking Kameng and sipping the on the local Assam Tea, doing absolutely nothing is another idyllic option. The orchidareum, boasting of Asia’s largest collection of orchids is also only a mile’s stroll away.

A small detour to Pobitora Wildlife Sanctuary on the way from Bhalukpong to Guwahati also proved rewarding. Though the Sanctuary closes gates in May, a small bund on the road provides visitors with vistas of unending grasslands where sightings of the one horned rhino are an assured occurrence.

Word of caution: Trust no one, especially not your driver. For most part of the journey we almost felt as if locals do not want you to see Arunachal’s hidden treasures for fear that you may go back and send more suspicious tourists. The drivers again rent their cars by the day and not by mileage and hence will oppose too much exploring by refusing any knowledge of even the most popular tourist destinations and declaring most of them shut on whichever day of the week that it happens to be. Insist, persevere, cajole, bully and never give up. Arunachal is a difficult and expensive journey – one that you will not be making many times. Experience it all while you are there.

Desperately Seeking Shadow

Wandering through the dry, dusty fabric of the old city of Jodhpur, a traveller will often find himself in one of these cul-de-sacs leading off from the many chowks spread across the neighbourhood of Bramhapuri. Amidst the scorching, sun struck streets, the overlapping of centuries of organic building activities has managed to achieve intimate shaded urban oases of otlas, jharokhas and multitudes of staircases that welcome one to relax a while, enjoy the calm of the unexpected shade, admire its contrast with the hustle and bustle around and breathe in the aroma of the architectural wonder that is the Blue City.

Mehrangarh Fort, Jodhpur: The Citadel of Sun!

It all began when I was 5, my father who was in the Indian Air Force then got posted to this bizarre place in the atlas of my mind called "Jodhpur", all I could decipher from whatever I was told about Jodhpur was that it is a place in desert, in a state called Rajasthan, where the kings still lived and since it was in desert there would be no water. Thankfully, none of that came true. Jodhpur, became the place I called home for the rest of my life.

The buildings in stone, spoke the story of hundreds of years the city boasted off. Perhaps, acted as the first inspiration towards architecture for me, knowingly or unknowingly I fell in love with the city.The old city of Jodhpur, which still forms the core was a fortified town ringed on all sides by massive sturdy walls and bastions with seven impressive gateways, each named after the other major towns in Marwar they happened to face. Rising in the middlle, high above the city, is the daunting citadel of Mehrangarh, an invincible fortress within which are juxtaposed exquisitely carved stone palaces. Spread out between the Mehrangarh and the city gates lies the historic city. It boasts of a traditional urban fabric which reflects the culture, climate and geography of the region. 

When Rudyard Kipling visited the Fortress, he rightly called it the Palace of Angels and Demons. Mehrangarh stands tall, now in the center of the city boasting of the valiant Rathores. Proudly overlooking the city of Jodhpur, the Fort is even visually the guardian of its subjects. 

The huge walls, the forty feet high defense walls.. the haunting palaces of the top of the hill, make it a place for the ruthless demons. The ever chirping pigeons, add life to the dead stone. The scale and size of the structure being so huge, would force you to imagine your humble existence in front of the mighty seat of the kingdom. The visual extravaganza, never ceases to flaunt the fables of triumph.

The windows overlooking the main access to the fort, house a mysterious silence now..forcing the visitor to imagine what could have been housed there. Perhaps the pigeons know the mysteries, after all no war killed pigeons. The blue sky above, which you can almost touch by raising your hand up adorns the silent palace.

From the dressing up to the daily routine, from dining to recreation, everything that was done by Their Highnesses had a sense of style and elegance; everything spoke an imposing and unparalleled language which commanded in a very subtle and a gentle way. The lavish life style was visible from the way history describes The Majesty and by imaging the area that flourished under the reign of His Highness. So how could His Highness not consider making his den a ‘ruby in the crown’?

  

And then comes the the abode of the angels..the Mahals.. where The best of craftsmen were appointed, the finest materials was brought from across the globe and expenses were no bar.Continuos effort of labour for years was put in to give an impeccable image to the abode which spoke of the power, valour and glamour of the kingdom. The palace,imposed upon all other abodes within the fortified walls of the city. After all there has to be comfort for the brain which governs lives and thus the Majesty lived in a fairy tale world with all the imaginable comforts.

Then arrived a time when bugels saluted and trumpets announced the arrival of the royal heir in the same palace, who inherited all the estate alongwith the den built by the Majesty. The new heir started a new chapter in the fairy tale and brought the dream land of the palace to a new level. He made changes that suited his needs; he updated the palace as per his will and made it again a fairy tale for a common man.

Thus is the saga of this magnificent Fort, which is a guardian angel for the blue city on the foothills...

The Facts:- The fort of Jodhpur was the first structure constructed by Rao Jodha in A.D. 1459, when he shifted his capital  from Mandore to present day Jodhpur. The fort stands in great magnificenece on an isolated rock rising above an expanse of sandy plains. The fort wall consists of a two tier defense wall, covering an area of about 460 x 230 meters. This enclosure comprises of a number of palaces, baracks, stables. And gunpowder magazines, temples, baoris, etc. the height of its walls varies from 6 to 36 meter. Seven barriers , each having eminenet portals, are thrown across its circuitious ascent.The fort mirrors the hierarchy prevelant between king and the subject. The main palaces are named after ruler or to indicate the activities carried out there. These palaces of kings and queens are built around inter linked courtyards, that link them together. The palaces within the fort are not individual but are connected both horizontally and vertically. A certain amount of spatial continuity is maintained. The palaces are constructed entirely in red sandstone and display intricately carved and highly ornamental facades around central courts. These facades have elaborately carved openeings, jharokas,chajjas and jalis. All these are classic examples of sensitive craftsmanship of those days and builder’s taste for excellence. Fort Mehrangarh stands as an outstanding example of Rajput architecture. This architecture is characterized by a fusion of Hindu and Mughal elements. The typology of fortified palaces- ‘garh’ is generally encountered throughout Rajasthan, although with regional differences. It is marked by contrast between massive fortifications and graceful palaces. The ‘garh’ palaces of Jodhpur represent a type of architecture carefully adapted to the climatic conditions of this arid landscape. The most characteristic and dominating elements is the filigree jali– grid like sand stone screens that serve as windows and permit light and air into the rooms.