“We are soon going to land at Mohanbari Airport, Dibrugarh. Passengers are requested to fasten their seat belts and straighten the seats…”
The voice of the Air India air hostess jerked me out of the light slumber that I had embarked upon. I had dozed off thinking about how a young Captain’s life was shaping up in the Army. Not very long back I was fighting the harshness of the Thar deserts, having remained mobilised for a war against Pakistan for a year post the attack on the Indian Parliament in December 2001. And about a year after in November 2002 I was headed for my deputation with the oldest paramilitary force of the world “The Assam Rifles”.
I was super excited about the tenure as I had heard a lot of interesting facts about the mystic North East and the adventure that the service provided while serving in these areas. This would be my first exposure to the anti-insurgency scenario and the twenty-something adrenaline level pumped itself up whenever I imagined myself like the gun-toting Sylvester Stallone in the movie Cobra.
I straightened my seat and looked out of the window. I was astonished by what my eyes caught up with. Where was the flight going? To my utter dismay, I observed that the Boeing was headed for a huge mass of water flowing in channels separated by jagged cliffs and pieces of forested land. As the aeroplane descended the slender streams began to appear wider making me wonder about the landing procedure of the carrier.
Probably my co-passenger sitting beside me observed my expression. The middle-aged Assamese gentleman spoke in an assuring tone, “That’s how the Brahmaputra looks from the air. Isn’t it majestic?”
I had to admit I had never seen such a natural spectacle earlier in my life. “But where is the flight going to land?” I asked.
“Ha Ha…Don’t worry. It will soon take a turn and align itself with the runway. Dibrugarh is on the banks of the river…” The man was happy to assert his prior knowledge about the process.
Soon the plane took a wide turn and gradually descended down to land on the Mohanbari airstrip.
Though it was around 2 in the afternoon, the November air was cool under a sunny sky. There was pleasantness in everything softly caressed by the golden rays of the adoring Sun. The airport area formed a part of the larger Air Force base. I took a deep breath. The air was fresh with whiffs of greenery and a typical fragrance hanging in the air which after some time I could identify as that of the tea plantation relating to my memories of visits to the Dooars of North Bengal.
The terminal was very small and non-descriptive but I liked the cosy set setup and the smiling faces of the staff operating there. If there were currents of insurgency the same was not palpable at least in the airport. After collecting my baggage I came out of the terminal building. My arrival details had been intimated to the Assam Rifle battalion I was going to report to. Mobile phones had not become a common mode of communication except for in metro cities. So there was no sharing of numbers and contact in mobility. Outside the airport I found many security persons thronging the area. From Army to state police and paramilitary forces the different shades of camouflage uniforms competed with each other to merge with the surrounding.
I spotted two soldiers with AK47 slung around their chest looking at me expectantly, hesitating to approach. When I took a closer look I could spot “Assam Rifles” shoulder title peeping from under the bulletproof vest of one of the soldiers. My fauji instincts instantly said these were my men. As I approached them the taller one of the two asked, “Capt Mukherjee Saab”?
As I nodded in affirmation they picked up my luggage (something which I never liked to be practised and always insisted to carry my own stuff) and led me to a blue coloured Maruti Gypsy vehicle.
Wow…I was already feeling like a king. A Captain with three and half years of service getting a gypsy ride with armed escorts was a royal change from the official transport, KCL Nissan One Ton Trucks meant for youngsters like me in Army those days. I was really excited at the prospects that further awaited me. Later I had come to know that Assam Rifles being a paramilitary force committed to border guarding and anti-insurgency operations was a very well-resourced organisation. Also, their heritage and presence in the North East for almost a century had made them well settled with adequately comfortable infrastructure even in remotest of the places, this I would be witnessing cherishingly in days ahead.
On inquiry from the person who had come to receive me I was told that we would be travelling to a place called Rupai, approximately 70 Kms from the airport, where a transit facility of the Battalion was located. We would have to spend the night there and the next day would proceed further eastwards for our HQ in the Lohit District of Arunachal Pradesh. The most interesting part of this journey would be crossing the Brahmaputra River by steamer the next day at a place called Saikhowa Ghat further ahead of Rupai.
As we travelled out of the Airport area and the urban areas of the town, the scenery around had an amazing effect on me. The two-way highway, which I surprisingly found to smooth and devoid of any potholes considering the remoteness of the area, swerved through lush green tea plantations on one side and clusters of picturesque hamlets strewn around paddy fields on the other. The November air under the softly reclining Sun was fresh and carried a peculiar fragrance, a heady mix of raw tea plantation leaves and the green foliage everywhere.
A meter-gauge railway line accompanied us on the right side and intermittently there were houses just next to the elevated railway tracks breaking the streak of the continuing tea gardens. The small brick houses resembling cottages were bounded by bamboo fencing on all sides. Most of them had tiny patches of gardens with useful vegetables and spices growing on them. The womenfolk sitting in front of the houses tending to the homely chores and the kids painted a perfect picture of peaceful domesticity. Whenever the tea gardens and the houses gave way to open spaces on the right side of the road the eyes would be treated with the distant, shadowy ranges of the eastern Himalayas standing against a bluish horizon.
Yes, the far-off mountains, where I was heading to, stood like mysterious guards beckoning me to unravel the many secrets they held within their slopes and curves; the stories that the cackling streams and gushing torrents kept on narrating relentlessly for travellers to hear; the unknown fables that the tribes nestled in those mountains held on to preciously and appealed to be discovered. My journey had begun.
After a cosy night stay in the transit facility guest room at Rupai, courtesy of the warm hospitality of the men looking after the arrangements there, the next morning I moved along the same road towards the north and the crossing point on the Brahmaputra, the Saikhowa Ghat.
The majestic and mighty Brahmaputra, the son of the creator Lord Brahma, the only male river in India flowed magnanimously in front of my eyes. You can’t but naturally, get overawed by the vastness and dimensions of the river. The white placid expanse stretched as far as one’s eyes could behold. And beyond that probably the imaginations took off. Vessels ranging from small fishing dhows to large steamers and barges plied on the munificent bosom that had cradled the North Eastern civilization since time immemorial. I bowed my head and said a silent prayer dedicated to the great source of life displayed magnificently before me.
“Sir that is the steamer we need to board.”
I was brought out from my trance by the Subedar Sahab, in charge of the Rupai facility who had come to see me off till the River jetty.
It was a huge vessel and I was surprised to see that a huge truck was rolling onto its deck gradually over a jetty constructed specially for vehicles to get on board the steamers. Once it got settled our driver led the Gypsy with utmost precision and expertly managed to park it on the available space on the deck. The vehicles were lashed tightly with the hooks constructed on either side of the vessel.
“Are you sure the steamer can sail carrying such load?” I asked the Subedar Sahab.
He said that these steamers could carry even two to three trucks fully loaded with essential items and sail to the far bank unloading at a town called Sadiya. From there they would travel deeper into the Lohit and Dibang Districts of Arunachal Pradesh. Once the vehicles got loaded the passengers boarded and settled themselves inside the cabin. Few chose to stand on the deck holding on to the side railings. As all the boarding completed the steamer set sail for the far bank.
This is the first part of a multi-part series on Udayaditya's travel through the northeast. You can read the second part here. and the third part here.
Having served in the Indian Army, Udayaditya has travelled far and wide across the country and has been particularly fascinated by the diverse ethnicity, customs, and culture prevalent in various regions. He is the author of Rhythms in Solitude – Love, Nature and Life through Poetry, a collection of soulful poems published by Kaveri Books, Delhi, the poignant short story “A Beautiful Life” in the anthology Twilight’s Children – Chronicles of Uncommon Lives and the e-book, By the River Dibang and stories from the North East, both published by Readomania.
You can read his work on Amazon or on Readomania
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