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| First View of the Morning |
The day of the Sabbath dawned rainy and overcast with the monsoon fed Umngot river rushing by our tent. Surprisingly, both Anu and I slept really well in the tiny tent, and we were fresh for an early start. We woke up as the clock struck six chimes and stepped outside the tent, soaking in the lovely atmosphere of the pristine river before the daytime visitors arrived. An hour later, the rain clouds opened up once again, sending us scuttling for our little abode for another hour's post tea nap. Eight AM. saw Kenny knocking on our tent door. He was going to church and we requested him to exchange Anu's phone for mine at the charging point at home.
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| Suspension Bridge over the Dawki |
Enquiring about boating on the river, we were told that the service only started at 10 AM. Knowing that a trip to Dawki would not be complete without a ride on the traditional fishing boats, we decided to wait the couple of hours. We soon found a restaurant that served a simple and tasty breakfast of rotis, channa, omelette and tea. After this, we returned to the tent and started packing up our things as we intended leaving soon after the boat ride. Finally, the boating counter opened and we were given life jackets to don before boarding a starry blue boat helmed by a young boy. With a clever combination of rowing and punting he manoeuvered the boat off the shore and into the river.
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| Going out for their Morning Catch |
Heading upriver, he skillfully guided the boat between the rocks and shallow patches, sometimes avoiding the obstructions by only inches. A fascinating sight met us as we plied upriver. All along the river bank, people from various classes of society sat beside each other, the clothes they wore and fishing rod they used being their only give aways. From leisure fishers to livelihood fishers, well dressed city boys sat beside old tribal women. Dozens of boats drifted in the shallow waters with fishermen manning bait laden lines vying for the attention of fish. Scores of cans too had been floated around the river with fishing twine and weights attached to them. Finally, there was thicker twine with larger hooks attached to branches on land for the big fish. Stunning as it was, our boat boy explained that the river was many times more beautiful in winter, the water clear as crystal, the thirty foot bottom clearly visible from the surface, alive with the creatures of the deep.
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| Difficult Riding - Mountains Shrouded in Mist |
Forty five minutes later, we arrived back at our starting point, thanked our boatman and returned to the tent. Finishing off the packing, we carted the bags to the parking lot at the top of the hill. Loading up, we departed Shnongpdeng before noon. As we pulled up to Dawki bridge we were met with an interesting signboard that read ‘WEAK BRIDGE, GO SLOW, INCONVENIENCE REGRETTED’. Deciding not to think too much about the sign, we crossed over. Once we had negotiated the crowded river bank with irresponsible tourists and taxi drivers using one half of the narrow road to park their vehicles, we quickly left the heat and humidity of Dawki behind as we climbed into the hills. In a short while, we were instead received with the thickest fog we had experienced yet, accompanied by a biting wind that very soon had me chilled to the bone.
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| Hills of Dancing Clouds View Point |
Deciding to stop for a hot lunch to warm up our bodies, and with it our spirits, we chose a Chinese restaurant with us being the only customers. Everything we ordered came in giant portions and we had to overeat to finish it, all while watching the spooky Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on television. The fog seemed to thicken as we got back on the road. With visibility of only a few metres, I chose to tailgate a confident Maruti Alto ahead of me until half an hour later, taking a sharp turn in the mountain, we abruptly emerged out of the wall of mist into perfectly clear weather, rolling moors escorting us on either side as we headed into the last hour of our journey toward Maple Pine Farms at Mawphlang, our shelter for the night.
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| Cute Cottages of Maple Pine Farm |
The last twenty minutes saw us getting off the highway and onto narrow country lanes, a bumpy end to a tiresome journey. We finally arrived at the farm, a lovely setting in the meadows of Central Meghalaya. It was owned and had been set up by a friendly Canadian gentleman named James who had married a local tribal woman. They had set up the farm five years earlier and had three little cottages that they gave out on rent. Anu immediately fell in love with the construction of the cottages that looked straight out of the pages of a children’s fairytale book and began pleading with me to build her one just like it. They had a little boy named Imryie who came and said hello a little later. Also part of the family was a lovely Alsation named Caesar who came and made friends with us right away .
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| Road through the River |
We were shown our room, and exhausted from the journey, crashed for half an hour. I woke up a little later and walked around the property. James had built almost all of what lay around the house all by himself. Two windmills towered over the property and a dozen or more solar panels were mounted beneath. They had been set up with assistance from the Meghalaya New and Renewable Energy Agency.
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| Backyard Pond |
A pond of stones lay behind the house, and beside it was a gate leading into a shallow portion of the stream. One had to drive through the stream to get across to the other side. Across the river lay a football field. Two teams of girls were playing a good game, while a bunch of boys were warming up on the side for the next slot. I too went across to ask if the boys’ game had a vacant slot for me. It turned out that it was an inter village match and both teams had eleven players each. Though one of the boys offered to step out after a while and let me play, I did not want to be an intruder in their game and chose to diplomatically back out.
Returning to the farm, I had a warm bath and change before crossing over to the living room and finding myself a book to read. It turned out that James had been a marathon runner in his younger days. Dinner was a tasty affair of chicken, rice, dal, rajma and potato after which James talked to us about his running days and the initiative he was taking on to find and train young runners from the North East. Wishing them good night, we returned to our cottage for an early night as Anu wasn't feeling too well.
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