Being a Nepalese, Darjeeling had always fancied me. The historical war with the then British that lead to the separation of Darjeeling in the east, had buried in me, a firmly woven affection to that part of the lost land. The desire to witness the natural elegance, cultural grandeur and the lifestyle of fellow Nepalese people living in that part of India had been burning too fierce in the furnace of my heart. Eventually, all the stars in my sky aligned and my long-wished venture was on.
Nights are usually longer in December but that June night before our trip felt like the longest night of my lifetime. As I struggled to sleep, the dazzling Darjeeling of my imagination dwelled in my mind making me more sleepless. The next day when I woke up I remembered closing the curtains of my window but I could barely remember closing those of my eyes.
The last thing we wanted was to miss the earliest taxi that left for Darjeeling. None of my mornings had been as hectic and energetic as that, and I was enjoying every bit of it. We reached Nepal-India boarder in Kakarvitta before any departures and caught the earliest taxi. The old ten-seater Sum drove along the banks of Tista River, climbed the sloppy hilly roads in its least gears; then stopped alongside a tiny spring for a little refreshment after a non-stop 3 hour ride.
I’ve always had an uncommon love for the hills, the cold breeze, the green and the peace. I was born in Jhapa and raised in Kathmandu during the latter days of my childhood. The only thing I loved about Kathmandu was the road that we had to go by. The narrow, two-lane road that spun around the hills, taking you above the clouds always bounced my heart. Getting to Darjeeling had the same vibe; only here the roads were extra narrow and extra sloppy.
While the driver poured several buckets of water to cool down the Sumo’s engine, we picked up some snacks, gazed as far as there was no fog, took some photos and got back into the vehicle.
As we reached Kurseong, we could see the leaks of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. People were using handcars to transport water and other goods through the railway track; I had never seen those in real life. And god was bestowing everything at once. The Toy Train! Not even as wide as our public buses, only a little longer than those roller coasters we see in amusement parks; yet that was a train. I felt an earthquake of happiness. The aftershock hit even harder when dad said that we would actually ride it the next day in Darjeeling.
The Darjeeling taxi-stand was too busy and crowded. It was full of taxi drivers offering you the trip packages, jobbers asking you to stay in their hotel and porters seeking out to help with your luggage. Dad’s friend, who owned a hotel nearby was already there to welcome us. He guided us to his hotel and allocated 4 rooms for the ten of us. We had our brunch and others took a short power nap, but me. I was feeling like I got a new pair of wings and I sadly hoped if I could really have one, so that I could fly over the misty sky and glance the whole of Darjeeling at once.
It was 1 PM, but Darjeeling looked like a fresh morning. It was cold, breezy and cloudy. We decided to visit all the nearby places by the dusk and begin the next day excursion before sunrise. We walked the narrow streets, through the beautiful little markets and reached Chaurasta. Chaurasta, the junction of four roads was famous among the tourists and locals for basking and hanging around. Set atop a ridge, it was lined with arrays of shops and restaurants. Right in the middle was a gold painted statue of Bhanubhakta Acharya, the first poet of Nepal. There were horsemen that offered paid horse rides. I didn’t waste a second to hesitate and climbed into the saddles of a masculine white horse. Blimey! I’d never ridden a horse before; it was a jovial experience.
We then walked the south downhill road and end up at The Himalayan Zoological Park. It was spread across a big area, and took almost an hour to roam around. Of all the animals and birds there the most special to me was the white snow leopard. I usually prefer national parks and conservation areas over zoos due to my strong faith in freedom. Well, the only thing I could do was pay and look at the caged animals.
Within the premises of the zoo was the famous Mountain Museum. It featured various mountain climbing races of the Himalayan Region. Their clothes, utensils, homes and tools were pristine and no doubt the museum was preserving them for the generations to come. The gradual evolution of mountain climbing tools and costume was incredible and well-displayed. It just occurred to me that our ancestors didn’t have such great tools and equipments and still climbed the hardest of mountains but us, at this age of advancement are fighting against an invisible virus and no cure has been invented till date. Just a thought!
The sun was rusting and slowly hiding behind the clouds. The scenic blend of red, yellow and orange colors in the darkening sky made our walk back to the hotel dotingly pleasant.
At 8, we had a delightful Thakali dinner. While others went to their rooms and rested, me and my brother decided to ramble the streets of Darjeeling at night. Darjeeling was livelier than it was on the day. All the vehicles had disappeared and young folks were roaming around. The sweet aroma from the bakeries and coffee shops, the colorful lights from the motels and the crowd gathered around the street vendors were adding more beauty to the evening. Although we had had our dinner, we couldn’t resist going into a restaurant and trying something new. We jammed up the menu for quite a while and ordered fish barbeque and Tibetan thukpa. The fish barbeque was heavenly. I thought of ordering it again, but I guessed that would be awkward, thus ordered some drinks and emptied the table. At around 11, back in our room I regretted it.
Before sunrise, a taxi arrived for us. We left for Tiger Hill to see the sunrise. We had to hike in the dark for half an hour to get to the top of the hill. Glad, we hiked quick and occupied a table at a resort there to watch the ascending sun while sipping our coffee. I was so encompassed in divine aesthetics when the sun rose to our side of the earth gleaming like a red ruby above the clouds. Though I had a feeling that I was so close to the sun, I could sense my fingers getting numb and my coffee getting iced due to the freezing cold up there. We stayed at the hill-top for about an hour and did our breakfast. As the air lightened up we hiked all the way down, took a taxi and began the detour.
The first place we went was the World Peace Pagoda. Based on the Buddhist religion, the World Peace Pagoda prays for world peace and prosperity from the top of the sky-kissing Darjeeling hill. The world looked so vibrant and silent from the hill top. Buddhist hymns were spread across the air making the morning so valuable and divine that for a second I felt like banishing myself from the world and dissolving in tranquility.
Now was the time for the most anticipated thing. The Train Ride!!
We left for the train station after spending an hour at Pagoda. We booked our seats and waited for the train to depart. The seats were wooden and the windows were huge. The ceiling was a bit short for someone tall like me; but that was fine.
It was like being on the train to Hogwarts from the King’s cross station. I took the window seat at first but I had to leave it for my brother later on. When I took my head out, the wind hit me hard in the face and my hair was blown backwards.
That was a short ride of about 15 minutes. The train goes all the way down to NJP in Siliguri but we left at Batasia loop. There was a view point to look at the snow capped Kanchunjanga Range. I inserted a ten rupee Indian coin and glanced the mountain through the telescope. The day was clear and the view I got was splendid. In the middle of the loopy garden was a war memorial. The statues and inscriptions of the Gurkha regiment soldiers who fought gallantly in Darjeeling for India’s independence made me very proud of being able to call myself a Gorkhali.
I saw a historical loop there. One generation of Gurkha Army died trying to protect Darjeeling and Sikkim; unfortunately lost it to the British. The next generation of Gurkha Army, could be their sons or grandsons, again fought against the British; they succeeded; only this time Darjeeling and Sikkim were foreign lands that belonged to India, and India had honored them in the very place we were standing.
The next destination was Rock Garden, but since we saw an elegant monastery along the way, we stopped and visited the monastery. The five storey, red painted monastery was a hive of art and architecture. Founded on the mo rals of Buddhism, the monastery was home to hundreds of Buddhist children pursuing education based on Buddha’s teachings. No matter which religion you followed, whether you are an atheist or agnostic, you are heartily welcomed and are free to meditate amidst all the other people. The lama children, dressed in orange vest and red silk dhoti, had their hair saved and were very happy to see tourists like us visiting their monastery. I didn’t meditate among the priests but I could already find some sort of solace within.
It was 11 and we had to lunch now. The driver said he knew a good place along the way so we went there. We grabbed some food and fruits and returned to the road. Rock garden was a hill away. You had to climb to the top of the hill and then drive down, to the other side to get to rock garden. Rock garden was much a waterfall than a garden. The crystal white water that fell atop the colossal rocky hill was indeed the best waterfall, I’d ever seen in my life. I wish there was a keyboard of emotions rather than alphabets because it’s literally a very tough job to find the words to say how it was in Rock Garden.
The only thing that comes to my mind when people say ‘natural beauty blend with human artistry’ is Rock Garden. The waterfall was like bliss of the lords straight from the paradise and to my amazement it was so well decorated, built and preserved by the state of Darjeeling. Stairs carved from the rock itself would take you to the top of the waterfall, but the top would seem like the beginning once you end up there.
We were all surrounded in the overwhelming bliss of nature. The melody of the falling water, its view from the wooden-bridge below had literally blown our mind and never could they suffice us.
All of us had a heavy heart while leaving Rock Garden; it weighted much more when we departed from Darjeeling.