What does one look for when planning a trip with the family? In my case, it has always been a place where nature reigns supreme, human company is at a premium, and return on investment (in terms of time) the maximum.
When the opportunity came for an ‘excursion’ to Tawang, naturally I grabbed it with both ‘paws’.
My family—myself, my wife Madhavi, my daughter Ankita, a full time traveller, and my son Aniket, a UX designer—met up at Guwahati and started off. We had a two day halt at Shillong, to enable me to complete my act as a resource person for a national workshop on creative writing.
From Shillong, we moved to Dirang. On the way, at Bhalukpong, our interline permits were checked by the police. It was slightly difficult to explain to Aniket why we needed permits to go from one state to another within our own country.
We stopped for a night halt at Dirang, a picturesque little town which goes to sleep at eight. Its most popular hotel had an awesome view of the place. There were quite a few places of tourist interest in Dirang, but we were in such a desperate rush to reach Tawang that we gave them all a miss.
A little distance from the town is a hot water spring. We went down a lot of steps to ultimately reach a tank, which served as the ‘collection centre’ for the spring water. It was a huge disappointment since I was hoping to wade in a gurgling, springy, ‘cousin’ of a brook, and gift my family a Lourdes-like experience.
On the way we stopped at Tenga, an Army post to sample momos at a restaurant called Chulha. The ambience was near perfect and we truly enjoyed the hot and spicy snack.
Scenes from Tawang | Ramendra Kumar
We, as a nation, have often been accused of not acknowledging the contribution of our martyrs. I was thrilled to see that at least in Tawang our brave countrymen were given their due respect and their saga of sacrifice engraved in rock, steel, glass and more.
In Jaswant Garh, the place named after Jaswant Singh Rawat, there is a memorial dedicated to his deeds. It comprises a glass house with a monument on which is placed his bust. The inscription on the monument, “In the loving memory of Rifleman Jaswant Singh Rawat MVC(posthumous) of 4 Garhwal Rifles who laid down his life on 17 November, 1962, in defence of Nuranang,” gives a glimpse of the patriot’s greatness. On either side are chambers showcasing his personal belongings right from the rifle he used to the slippers he wore.
As I left the sanctum sanctorum of sacrifice, nestled in the clouds, I felt a sense of pride. And this feeling deepened a day later when we visited the war memorial in Tawang. The memorial, according to a commemorative plate, reads, “In memory of the over 2,420 officers, JCOs and soldiers who laid down their lives in Kameng sector during the 1962 war. THEIR NAMES LIVETH EVERMORE.” It is dedicated to the martyrs of the Sino-India War of 1962. It is a magnificent structure clearly influenced by the aesthetics of Tibetan and Chinese culture. What struck me the most was the legend on one of the plaques, which read: “The memorial is in the form of a traditional chorten (shrine) which venerates the departed in the Buddhist custom. It signifies the eternal spirit and has been constructed in accordance with the religious praxis. In keeping with tradition, this chorten was blessed by monks and local citizens of Tawang. They also donated scriptures, idols of Lord Buddha, gold and silver ornaments which are consecrated within. These include scriptures and idols of Arya Avoloktheswara and Lord Buddha which have been personally donated by his holiness The Dalai Lama.”
Coming back to our journey to Tawang, easily the most delectable of part of this phase was our tryst with the Nuranang Falls also known as Jang Falls. The milky water was hurtling down from a phenomenal height, its whiteness brilliantly highlighted by the myriad shades of green all around. I just stood mesmerised by the sight, which seemed to have been lovingly created and then artistically photoshopped by the master himself.
According to a popular myth, Nuranang falls are named after a local Monpa girl named Nura who had helped Jaswant Singh Rawat in the 1962 Sino-Indian War. The girl was later captured by the Chinese forces. Her selfless sacrifice has been immortalised by the pure and pristine waters of the enchanting falls.
We reached Tawang in the evening and were taken straight to the VIP guest house. We were greeted by a girl who looked barely sixteen and a man the lines on whose face indicated he had weathered many seasons. He was sporting a monkey cap and a serious demeanour. The girl on the other hand welcomed us with a smile that would give Madhuri Dixit a complex.
As the man picked up our luggage I rather tactlessly asked him, “Is the girl your daughter?” He looked at me for a second and replied curtly, “She is my wife.”
I felt like kicking myself and the kids added to my embarrassment by continually reminding me of my faux pas. Fortunately the husband, Dawa was a sporting fellow and I think by next morning forgave me for my peccadillo. Seeing him without his monkey cap and with a smile on his face I realized that he looked quite a match for the minx who was called Lhamu.
Next morning, we were off to visit the second largest monastery in Asia—the Tawang Monastery. Tawang has been named after this monastery which is perched on the top of a mountain at a height of 10,000 feet. The piece de resistance of the monastery is the 18 foot high statue of Buddha seated in a lotus position. Below the statue is a framed photograph of the 14th Dalai Lama.
Scenes from Tawang | Ramendra Kumar
As I entered the monastery what engulfed me was the complete peace and quietude, and an absolute riot of colours all around. The ornate designs, the beautiful patterns and the spectrum of colors left me breathless. It reminded me of my experience at the Temple of Heaven in China. The monastery offers a rich tapestry of legends, each more fascinating than the other.
As per records, in 1959, the Lama fled Tibet, and after an arduous journey, crossed into India on 30 March 1959. He reached Tawang and took shelter in the monastery for a few days. The photos chronicling his historic journey and his stay in the monastery were on display.
The next morning, we started for Bumla Pass or the Indo-China border which was located 37 kms from Tawang. Our driver cum guide, who looked like a rock star, was called Nima.
I have roamed many parts of India as well as abroad and enjoyed the grandeur of nature. But I found this experience incomparable in every sense of the word. The road was treacherous and tourists are advised to take it only on clear days. When we started it was foggy which I think added to the surreal mystique. Nature seemed to have unleashed its charms with a vengeance. The landscape almost had as much variety as Madhavi’s wardrobe. One moment there was a wave of bright yellow flowers, rivalling a Van Gogh in beauty. The next minute we were serenaded by purple hues. A few moments later we were treated to a red carpet welcome, with leaves the colour of cherry casting their mesmerising spell. Chocolate brown, beige, jade, olive, and sea green—the mountains were like an artist’s palette. And the best was yet to come.
As we climbed up we had our first glimpse of snow. Soon the green and brown started giving way to white. It was almost as if the master had taken time off his busy schedule to pick up slabs of ice and place them on peaks and slopes.
We stopped on the way to show our permits (special ones for the Indo-China border) and to refurbish our tummies at the army canteen. Hot jalebis and samosas sipped down with hot tea.
I got talking to a jawaan who related to me his experience during the Kargil war. “Whether it is Kargil or Tawang, war or peace, a soldier’s life is always tough. A few hours in these environment can be fun, but if one has to spend months and years it can be cruel.”
We moved on and soon reached the border. After the routine check we were taken across the line of control by a team of charming army personnel.
Their spokesman, Jagatar Singh, welcomed us. “The Chinese and Indians who fought a deadly war at this spot, now present cultural programmes for each other, right here,” he said showing us the various points of tourist interest including the ‘Heap of Stones’, and the ‘Rock of Peace’.
We were now at a height of 16,500 feet, snowflakes had started falling ever so gently and the mercury had dipped below the number India had invented.
Standing at the confluence of two greatest civilisations of the past and possibly two most powerful entities of the future, shivering in the bone chilling cold and basking in the majesty of the moment I couldn’t help but feel how wonderful it would be if these borders were dissolved forever.
One thing which struck me as I travelled across the paradise was the sheer profusion of lakes. We would be driving up the serpentine roads and I would glance below expecting to see chasms girdled with green and brown; instead my heart would imitate Wordsworth’s as I beheld a pool of grey or blue.
Of all the lakes we came across, the most gorgeous one was Shungetser, a lake that is sacred for the Buddhist Monpa tribe of Tawang. The lake was rechristened ‘Madhuri’ lake after the Bollywood Diva, whose dance number for the movie Koyla was shot here.
It is believed that this lake was created by flash floods following an earthquake – not the one unleashed by Madhuri’s twinkle toes, but an actual seismic shock. That is the reason its placid waters are still punctuated by tree trunks.
When we reached Shungetser (the other name sounds too cosmetic), it started drizzling. We walked up a wooden bridge and, under a canopy, set our eyes on the lake. The mist, the dew drops on the still waters, bare trees standing like morose sentinels and the freezing cold—it was an experience I shall never forget.
We ‘met’ a huge yak. As I started trying to use my PR skills on it, an Army jawaan ran towards me asking me to desist if I wanted to return limb and life intact.
After a round of a couple of monasteries, we left for Tezpur the next day. On the way back we went through the Sela Pass which is at a height of 13,700 feet. Here too the special attraction is the eponymous lake with its sapphire blue languid waters.
As we made the descent to Tezpur, the fog increased in intensity. On occasions we could barely see a few feet, it was almost as if were floating in a sea of mist. I was amazed at the dexterity of the driver, Ram, who negotiated every twist with aplomb. On numerous occasions, as he turned the wheel, I was wondering whether I would live to see my grandchildren. To add to my concerns it started raining. However, Ram was unfazed as he took us safely. On the way he stopped to show us a few sights which served as punctuations marks while the vehicle caressed the slopes.
As I bid the last of the curves goodbye, I replayed the myriad scenes of the past few days. I wondered whether I would ever get a chance to see nature in such a pure and pristine form, almost untouched by the ogre called civilisation.