A Day Spent Exploring Meghalaya’s Best-Known Tourist Highlights: Living Root Bridge, Mawlynnong Village, Umngot River, Indo-Bangladesh Border at Dawki

17 Nov, Sun:

Shillong And Outskirts

A Day Spent Exploring Meghalaya’s Best-Known Tourist Highlights: Living Root Bridge, Mawlynnong Village, Umngot River, Indo-Bangladesh Border at Dawki

And so we awoke to another day in Meghalaya. It was Sunday and since 90% of the population of Shillong is Christian, this means a day that begins in church. For us, in the tour group, our day began at Breakfast in our community dining room which included grilled vegetable sandwiches, omlettes, toast with butter and preserves and coffee or tea, followed by fresh fruit. It was a filling meal and when we’d had our fill, we undertook the short walk downhill to get to the meeting point at the junction to await our driver, Steven

People-Watching on a Sunday Morning:

This wait gave us the ideal opportunity to do some people-watching. And Sunday morning was the perfect time to do so as scores of people (mostly women) were making their way back from Sunday Mass in the Cathedral (which was not too far away). They happened to pass right by us—which gave us the opportunity to admire their seriously stunning fashion. Indeed, they were dressed in their Sunday best—the women in long skirts, short ones or pretty dresses or suits. It was chilly and the Autumnal weather allowed them to dress in layers. There were long-sleeved shirts and jacket or blazers, scarves or stoles, strappy sandals or pumps. Many were wearing opaque tights. Some of them were in traditional Khasi garb with matching bags or shawls or shoes. It was a joy to behold. I actually went and asked one of them where they acquired their wardrobes from and she said Police Bazaar—which is a popular, large market that specializes in clothing that has been imported from China. The fashion sense, the joy in dressing up, the thrill of knowing one looked one’s best, was clearly evident and we actually asked one of the girls in Khasi attire to pose with our group—which she did.

In this manner, we managed to pass time quite easily until Steven, our driver, arrived. Before long, we were off to the first stop on our agenda. It was, as were all the others, a very long drive. Once you leave the precincts of the city of Shillong, you are in the mountains where the going is slow and challenging for the best of drivers. Still, Steven did his best until he discovered that the filter had fallen from his engine and needed replacement. This resulted in an impromptu stop for us near the Mawdowk Valley where we passed time in a small tea shop or took a walk along the bridge to admire the outlook across the mountains.

When Steven returned, we piled into the bus and left—only to discover about ten minutes into our ride, that we had left a couple behind—Sunil and Nisreen. Of course, we turned back right away and retraced our steps, only to find them waiting for us, quite cheerfully, having wandered off more widely that the rest of us had done. We picked them up and were off again along the narrow mountain road that skirts the Mawdowk Valley. We realized that both bungee jumping and zip lining are available at this spot for the more sportingly-inclined. We, of course, just continued on to our destination, having lost quite a bit of time.

Arrival at the Living Root Bridge:

In about 45 minutes, we were at our first destination—the famous Living Root Bridge. Meghalaya has at least four of them sprinkled around the state and they have become the unique symbol of the state. These bridges are fashioned out of living rubber fig-tree roots that ingenious Khasi villagers have, over decades, trained across streams to form natural pathways. The roots are braided together to form a solid bridge over rivers. The method is hundreds of years old, and it takes almost 40 years to form a complete bridge. Walking on the living root bridges of Meghalaya is like entering a fantasy forest world. The Khasi tribes braid the roots of large fig rubber trees, allowing them to grow to the length of bridges. There is a Double Decker Living Root Bridge too—which is definitely the most impressive of all—but this one can only be accessed after a 2000 foot ascent, which is a challenge for most visitors and involves a whole day’s trek. This one, just outside the village of Rivai, is easily accessible and very picturesque indeed as it is constructed across a very pretty river, the Tylong, that is punctuated by large boulders that make for wonderful photo ops.

We parked in the parking lot allotted to the venue and joined dozens of people as they trekked to the spot. The trek involved a climb and an occasional descent along a narrow path built, quite ingeniously, from large, rounded boulders. However since these bridges are only make-shift structures, the stones tend to be loose and can prove treacherous. I had the good sense to pick up a sturdy bamboo staff from one of the little shops at the parking lot. For just Rs. 10, I had the stability and comfort of a stable aid that gave me much greater confidence as I walked over the stones. The trek took about twenty minutes and then the bridge came into sight.

One’s first sight of the Living Root Bridge is quite wondrous indeed. Although one has seen pictures, nothing prepares you for the sight of the thick roots of the two trees that seem to meet, as if md-way across the river. There is a dried, caked, mud path that is strong and very accessible to allow footfalls over on to the other side. Most visitors (and there are hundreds of them) are so excited about clicking pictures as soon as they see the bridge that they tend to block passage on to it You will find yourselves dodging crowds to get to the other side. The trees and their foliage create a shady canopy overhead so that sunlight filtering softly through the leaves creates a bosky space. Llew and I posed for pictures and then walked towards the sides of the bridges to get photos from different angles. It really is such an ingenious achievement that one’s mind finds it hard to accept that human endeavor is capable of such a feat. It is easy to see why this venue is so popular and holds such fascination.

After spending half an hour at this spot, we made our return trek to the parking lot where we rewarded ourselves with cold drinks or ice-cream before boarding the bus. It was time for us to get to the next item on our sightseeing schedule for the day.

A Quick Glimpse of Mawlynnong’s Balancing Rock:

We received one surprise, en route to lunch, when we stopped at an item that had not found a place on the agenda: a visit to a unique Balancing Rock near Mawlynnong. This turned out to be a giant oblong rock that was perched on a much smaller rock right beneath it. It seemed as if the larger one on top was balancing precariously on the one below. It offered good photo ops, but what really caught my eyes was the lush and very pretty bamboo grove just behind it that reminded me very much of the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove to which we had traveled in Japan in order to experience the thrill of strolling in a quiet bamboo grove without nothing but the soft swish of bamboo fronds in our ears. We did not make a long stop at this place—a few group pictures and we were in the bus again, driving on to the next spot.

b>A Visit to the Mawlynnong Village:

Mawlynnong Village is supposedly “the cleanest village in Asia”. I say “supposedly” because who knows who has given the village this moniker or why. I heard someone comment that if this is considered the cleanest village in Asia, then visitors have not seen Japan. Indeed, all of Japan is as clean and pristine as this village! Be that as it may, it appears that the developer of this space hit upon the idea of creating a village based around Nature and succeeded well in the endeavor.

After we parked our bus, we walked slightly downhill towards the entrance of the village. From this point, you are on your own. You can wander around wherever the will takes you. We took a well-trodden path and found ourselves looking at a gate opening up into a small church compound—The Church of the Epiphany. Of course, we had to visit it. Inside, we found a group of rural women, obviously taking shelter from the fierce sun to rest their legs and indulge in gossip in such loud voices that it was both annoying and disrespectful. There seemed to be no consciousness at all that they were in a house of worship, despite the fact that they were sitting and directly facing the altar. I was both shocked and irritated. When we tried to get to the front, kneel down at the pews and say our prayers, we were completely distracted by this melee. On my way out, I actually gestured to one of the women that she ought to pipe down. Not that it seemed to make a difference. This was a Church of North India.

Back outside, we followed the path and chanced upon yet another church—this one was much larger. It happened to be a Presbyterian Church and service was actually going on inside. Hence, there was pin-drop silence as the celebrant and helpers, at the altar, conducted the service, in Khasi. We sat for a while to reflect on the scene and say a few more prayers, before observing the interesting architecture and then making our way outside.

For the most part, we found the village fully occupied by the prettiest cottages and bungalows, all of which were described as offering “home stays”. While the cottages themselves were neat and beautifully maintained, it was the gardens that were quite the most arresting part of this village. Superbly manicured flower beds were a riot of color and tropical flowers were in glorious bloom: red ixora, red hibiscus, red bouganivillae. There were also white orchids, plus crab claws and Birds of Paradise. It reminded me somehow of Hawai’i and the many bylanes of those tropical islands in which vegetation was abundant and colorful. Yes, it is true. The village is spotless and there is not a cigarette butt or a scrap of paper to be found anywhere. It is clear that the village is trying hard to remain true to its reputation and, at least, not to disappoint visitors.

A Stop for Lunch:

By the time we finished our leisurely stroll through the village, we were hungry and ready to attack a good meal. However, it seems that the usual restaurant (Shayiar) that our tour group uses to feed us, was closed. With only one other place (Eliza’s) open, we had no choice but to use it. I have to say that we were warned that we could accept the food offered at this place or make do with bowls of Maggi noodles—which, by the way, for some inexplicable reason, have become standard fare for travelers along the highways and byways of India—including on Himalayan expeditions! So, I guess we ought not to have felt disappointed by the fact that there were no rotis (only rice) available here, that the dal was extremely thin and watery (and, therefore, tasteless), that the food was far from satisfactory. Still, since we had no choice, we ate and then used fairly decent (pay-to-use) restrooms before we made our way back to the bus for the next item on our program.

If our meal left a lot to be desired, the treat that followed more than made up for it.

Encountering Signs of the Indo-Bangladeshi International Border and Fence:

From this point on, we undertook what will remain in my mind as one of the most interesting and most exciting drives I have ever taken. Driving south to the border of Meghalaya, we began to encounter signs that we were leaving the limits of the nation of India behind and skirting the territory of its immediate (and very friendly) neighbor, Bangladesh. In fact, as we had been prepared for it by our tour guide, Anita, we were not surprised to find wrought iron fences topped with barbed wire bordering the road for miles on end as we approached the border—a sign of the fact that on our side of the road was India and over the fence, was Bangladesh. This was so fascinating to me that I had a hard time wrapping my mind around this geographical fact. Interestingly, as soon as we began to encounter the fences, my phone’s Airtel service informed me that international roaming was available to me at an extra charge! It is amazing how sensitive the GPS on our phones are and how quickly they react to the proximity of national borders.

What was even more interesting to me were the dozens of miles that flew past us lined by thick groves of palm tress—these turned out to be areca-nut (or betel-nut) plantations. In India, a regular pastime is chewing betel-nut (known as supari) and large cane baskets lining the road provided testimony of the fact that growing, harvesting and cutting areca-nut is a thriving cottage industry in these parts and probably provides the livelihood of thousands of people. It was clearly obvious that areca nuts were hanging from the top of the tress (like coconuts or ice-apples).

At any rate, the wired fences are a sight to behold. They go on for miles along the greenest territory and, eventually, part company with the road to continue deep into the countryside. As this part of the planet receives some of the world’s highest rainfall, I suspect it is green all year long. There are occasional stretches of water that enliven the scenery and make driving in this area very picturesque indeed. Before long, we saw signs of occupancy by servicemen from the Border Security Force who man small kiosks that are referred to as the “First Line of Defence” and, in one case, the cabin of “The Border Man”. Occasionally, I saw soldiers pass by, fully armed, with guns slung across their shoulders. But other than these signs of international security at work, there is the same continuity of landscape that features across two nations that were once one land and one people. I was super excited to be at the Northern-most reaches of India on its eastern boundaries.

Boating on the Umngot River:

After what seemed like a very long drive, we arrived finally at the Umngot River banks where all of humanity seemed to have converged. It was so odd, but for what seemed like dozens of miles, we did not see anyone—not another vehicle on the roads, And suddenly, we were in a space that was unusually crowded. That’s when I realized that in remote places, such as these, all roads lead to the same place. No matter where people set off from, ultimately, they will converge on the same spot. The reason people were on the banks of this river was that there was opportunity for boating.

Indeed, a vast number of colorful river craft were in the water and tour groups were being led down to the banks by their leaders. We too were, in turn, taken down to mess about in boats. We were placed, two (or at most, three) at a time, in the hands of the boatmen who them rowed up along the river just as the sun was sinking low in the West. As we bid the riverbanks goodbye, we could see, ahead of us, the vast span of a metal bridge over which our bus had driven, only half an hour previously.

There was something incredibly evocative about this place. On both sides of us, the sharp heights of a canyon-like space enveloped us. Ahead of us, lay the narrow ribbon of the river, so astoundingly clear that you could see into its furthest depths. Further upstream, the rounded boulders at the bottom of the river were clearly visible. As if this were inadequate, small silver fish played somersault games as we were rowed by. It was very quiet indeed on the river and but for the occasional swish of the rowing oars, there was not another sound. It was comforting to see other members of our party ahead or behind us as they slid past, soundlessly. We took pictures, lots of them, of ourselves and of each others’ boats, because there was not much else to do really, apart from taking in the unusual ambience of the place.

And then, after we had been rowed for about a half hour, the return paddle began. At this point, we realized that quietly, behind us, the sun had begun its daily disappearance over the Western horizon. In fact, the sky was a blazing orange and the sun a golden orb as we rowed closer to the shore and other boats appeared in magical silhouettes against the luminous clouds. My camera worked overtime to try to capture the serenity of the scene and the unbelievable beauty of the riverscape. This is the stuff of which landscape paintings are made, I thought, as I absorbed the full impact of the scene.

Back on the riverbank, it was time to take pictures against the large posters that were parked there announcing that we were on the Indo-Bangladesh border. Indeed, only a few rural miles separated us from our next-door neighbor. We had been instructed to buy snacks/nibbles/drinks at the shanty shops that lined the areca-nut groves to our parking lot and this we did. Armed with biscuits and other snacks, we reboarded our bus and although we were fast losing light (darkness falls swiftly and suddenly, in these parts), we headed off to the actual border in the little village called Dawki.

Arrival at Dawki on the Indo-Bangladesh Border:

Our guide, Anita, had sounded us out in advance: do not expect any kind of theatrics at the border. At the Wagah Border on the Western boundaries of India that touch Pakistan, close to the city of Amritsar, is Wagah, where daily, at sundown, a dramatic ceremony marks the close of another day as Indian and Pakistani flags are lowered to much sound, pomp and circumstance. People flock to see this display of histrionics each day and it has become a mandatory part of an itinerary in Amritsar.

Not so here. Dawki is very low-key indeed. Yes, after you alight from your vehicle in the parking lot, you make your way to a large round arch strung in the colors of the Indian tri-color flag. You go past this and take a few steps ahead towards a large square arch in green—the traditional color of Bangladesh and a sign that says, “Welcome to Bangladesh”. There is no mistaking the fact that you are at an international border. There are flags, there are Border Security Force personnel, slung impressively with firearms, there is a small Customs’ kiosk and a visa-control spot with a window through which one might show papers to enable entry. Yes, there is also a small No Man’s Land and it was there that we posed for pictures with the Bangladesh sign right behind us.

Sadly. It was almost pitch dark, by this point, and the area is very poorly lit indeed. What pictures we did get on our cameras were very faint and totally unimpressive. They merely served to illustrate the fact that we had actually been there--should any doubt of the extent of our excursion arise. There is also a milestone that, rather unusually, says ‘India’—to mark the furthest Northeastern spot of our land. After we’d taken our fill of pictures, we turned back to make our way to our bus, when I was astute enough to notice another sign, on the opposite sign saying, “Welcome to India”. Of course, both Llew and I had to take pictures at this point because, come on, let’s face it, where in India are you likely to come upon such a sign again? I was like a kid in a candy shop—so excited to have these distinctive photo opportunities that, by the time I re-entered the bus, I was just thrilled with myself and so happy that the end of our day-long excursion had proven to be so gratifying.

Back to Shillong:

Yes, we had been warned that it would be at least a four hour run back to Shillong—so we were prepared for it. We made ourselves at home, once again, in our bus, and as it was pitch dark outside, I must say that it was grand to have an unbroken view of the autumnal full moon (the harvest moon) follow us all the way back home. We stopped en route to pick up booze from one of the liquor shops, but it was a brief pit stop before we headed on.

Back in Shillong, we encountered the expected traffic jam and had to have infinite patience while waiting for it to clear. Back at our hotel, all that was left was to make our way to the community dining room for our dinner. We were tired and famished and ready to eat the proverbial horse. But we contented ourselves with rice, roti, pork with mushrooms, chicken, salad and ice-cream with rasgollas for dessert.

It had been an awesome day and we were thrilled to get back to our rooms and bed down for the night.

Until tomorrow…cheerio.