A Journey to Heaven-on-Earth

And it wasn’t my first trip to Sikkim either. Six years ago, I had ex-plored the western part of this small, mountain state, and promised myself a return visit after eye-popping views of the Kangh-chen-Dzonga, whose beauty and aura I rate at par with Angkor Vat and Venice as one of those must-see-before-you-die sights.

This time round, cloud cover played mischief. But then, we had the sheer beauty and remoteness of the northern part of the state. It’s been quite a while since these army-domi-nated areas have been opened up to domestic tourists. But that still doesn’t explain why, barring the tireless Ben-gali traveller, monkey-cap and all, not too many make it here.

For all the hard beds and long dri-ves over the next six days, we drove and walked past hundreds of gurgling waterfalls (I stopped counting, but firmly believe the sound of rushing subsidiaries of the Teesta should be the state’s anthem), landscapes that ranged from picture-postcard moun-tain forests to the bleakness of the be-ginnings of the Tibetan Plateau and, tellingly, warmth and openness from the local denizens.

As you may have figured out by now, the joys of the journey are on the road, with very-loud-musical jeeps hurtling under waterfalls and over breathtaking gorges. Final destina-tions are but pit-stops to recharge your batteries, acclamatise to the higher altitude, and imbibe the local flavour. Our chariot was a new Mahin-dra Maxx, a sturdy 4×4 that packed in our party of six (including Shyam, our guide, and Simon, the driver).

As we slowly wished a way the grime of Bagdogra,it took us six hours to reach our “base camp” at Singhik Tourist Lodge, run by a soft-spoken footballer who had once played with Mohamed-dan Sporting. The journey was un-eventful, barring our first crossing of a muddy Teesta, a river we would dis-coverinmorepristineformhigherup. After an unusual breakfast of om-lettes cooked in mustard oil, we set forth from this pleasant hill station towards Lachung, known by students of civics all over the country as one of two areas (Lachen is the other) in In-dia where the local self-governing body, the Dzumsa, metes out justice.

At around 8,000 ft, Lachung’s skyline is changing fast, with innumerable hotels feeding the growing influx of tourists. It wasn’t very cold, but we got our first feel of the wind-chill, flutter-ing Buddhist prayer flags.

Two hours away from Lachung is Kataw, a tiny outpost at 13,000 ft that marks the beginning of the army terri-tory on the Eastern border. Bunkers and barracks litter this snow-covered landscape and the cold (in summer, mind you) is bone-chilling. Tired after a day of travel, we retreated to the local bar back in Lachung for some changh, and company. We got both in ample measure, as the regulars chatted about sanitation, education, alcoholism, and, yes, the World Cup.

Rather late the next morning, we headed towards Yumesamdong. This drive was by far the best of trip, though we didn’t get to see the carpet of Rhododendrons we had been promised. What we did get to see was “Zero Point”, where the road mysteri-ously ends in the lap of the Teesta.

Surrounded by snow-capped mountains and crystal-clear water, we jumped up and down as if we had climbed the Holy Mountain.

Late in the evening, we reached Lachen, a small one-road town that appears more innocent than its (near) namesake. Fires in the rooms, and ex-cellent food made for a relaxed night.

Which was just as well. The next morn-ing we drove three hours towards Thangu, our resting place at 15,000 ft. Here, the wind tore into us, appetites disappeared, and headaches set in. Despite seven layers (and more), the cold always found a way to get in. There was no bijli, but it took a lot of Maggi and brandy to keep us warm.

We work up in darkness on our final morning. The summit, Gurudongmar Lake at 18,000 ft, was a couple of hours away. As the treeline disappeared, the plateau emerged. Then, the track dis-appeared, and we all took turns at dri-ving on one very high TT table. Finally, we reached The Lake—calm, serene, and very clean. We have a little time before the wind gets going, so we walk around, slowly, and pray, for that seems the right thing to do in a place so beautiful.

On the long way back to our base camp, it hits home: we’re heading back. For once, we don’t look around, goggle-eyed. We sleep.