Ain and his demon

The jungles of Mugu (photo: Vivek Singh)

We were very excited that night because it was kind of a mini feast, and on the plate was meat. Our excitement, however, quickly turned into bitter disappointment and annoyance, because what was to be delicious food got cooked rather blandly (Sauji (the shop owner) was a close-fisted chap whose number one priority was cash, not customer satisfaction. I can’t blame him though; adversity brings out the worst in people).

Anyways, it was around 9:00 pm in a place called Bakaura, and our lodge for the day was a small hotel with a galvanized iron roof (oh, now that’s posh!!) in the middle of the foot trail from Humla to Mugu, two of the most remote districts in Nepal where I was working in, which ran through a dense jungle. There were no settlements and houses within an hour’s walk. That hotel in Bakaura was isolation objectified.

In the kitchen, with a bowl filled with meat is his hand were me, Vivek (a colleague and friend) and three remarkably garrulous people from another close-by district called Kalikot. The others were Sauji, his wife, and who could forget, Ain.

Ain was one of our survey helpers, and that morning, he could not go to work because he had a problem with his knees (we later found out that he was suffering from high uric acid levels). When I had returned back from work at around 6:00 pm that evening, I had a small chat with Ain because he was not looking good. I found out that he was also down with a mild fever, but he reassured me that it was not a problem and that he would be up and running the next day.

So, amidst all the know-it-all, pretentious and trivial conversations of the men from Kalikot, the outright disappointment of our taste buds and the blistering smoke from the kitchen fire, Vivek and I were still trying to have a good time. Meanwhile, Ain was resting in a bed.

Protagonist Ain with fellow survey helpers (photo: Tika Maden)

Because Ain was not feeling so good, his daal-bhat (rice and lintels) had already been prepared and served. Sauji called out to him a number of times, but he did not respond. We thought he had fallen asleep, so we decided to wake him up. Our concern started growing when he did not respond even to several nudges. I felt his forehead and he was burning hot. We were in the middle of nowhere, and apparently, this lad was unconscious due to high fever. The nearest health post was hours away, and there was not enough manpower to carry him there. It was then when the three blokes from Kalikot took notice of our concerns. “Don’t worry sir, he will be fine”, one of them said, dismissing our fuss as if it was nothing. At that point, Ain was shivering, and was muttering things off his mouth that was creeping me out a little.

According to Sauji, he was doing fine in the afternoon and the evening as well, and was scratching his head thinking what could possibly have happened to him all of a sudden. “I don’t understand”, he said, “He was doing so good, I even gave him a bottle of Dolphin” (dolphin, probably the cheapest Gin in the world).

So, this was what had happened. Ain was trying to recover from a uric acid impact and was resting, and had “helped” himself with 180 ml of alcohol, and Sauji was “kind” enough to give it to him (providing what the customer wants for their satisfaction; oh the irony). We found out that Ain had been sleeping the whole day without food and water, and had worsened his situation with Dolphin.

With that revelation, we guessed that he was dehydrated, so we tried to get him to drink water, unsuccessfully. All the while, the people from Kalikot were insistent that we let the matter go, and that he would be fine. Vivek and I were city boys, and sure enough, this was a panicky situation. Ain’s mumbles were getting louder by the second, his eyes were flipping and his shivers were getting stronger.

Now as I said, there were three people from Kalikot, and two of them were rattling about how they had seen a dozen cases like this, and how he’d be fine and how they had seen a couple of people die under the same circumstances (??). The third one had not said a word. Then, he decided it was time.

“He has been possessed”, said the third guy. We saw that he was tipsy, courtesy to Dolphin. “Leave him. I will take care of him”.

I feel guilty that I found the situation a tad funny at a time like that. I nudged my friend to leave Ain and see what tricks he had up his sleeve.

The man pulled Ain out of his bed and started with a tight slap to his cheek. At that point, Vivek and I were too rattled by his actions to do anything. “Mero Kanchu lai kasle samatyo!! Oye Bhut!!! Chod mero kanchu lai! (This is too good to translate to English, but what i can say is that he was talking to the demon who had "possessed" Ain)”, he said, shaking the life out of him. Ain had that usual mumbling and shaking going on for him. Before we could stop him, he started delivering blows to Ain’s back. The whole situation was down-right hysterical. We watched in horror as the man got more and more excited with his Kanchu (the guy was reffering to Ain as Kanchu, a term you use to a younger person with love) when all of a sudden, there was an “Aiya (ouch)” from Ain.

Ain was getting better??!! He started regaining his senses, and with each blow, Ain seemed to be returning back to his usual self. The man’s extreme drunken tricks were working, and after a while, we decided it was enough, and so, we took over. We managed to feed him a bowl of milk and rice, and by the time the bowl was empty, Ain was almost completely fine. The next day, like he said earlier, Ain was up and running.

Bakaura, where it all happened (photo: Tika Maden)

 Maybe it was Ain’s own consideration of being possessed by a demon that did the trick for him, or it was because the exorcist beat the sickness out of him. Either way, I was glad in the end that the three obnoxious people were there with us that night.

Ain’s story turned out to be a very entertaining anecdote in Kathmandu amongst friends and family, but my personal involvement that night made me realize that the idea of possession by demons still exist in these rural parts of Nepal (which is very sad). Lucky for Kanchu, it was that same idea (and of course, Dolphin) that saved his life.

Curse of the Cucumber

The central office in Kathmandu formed a team to conduct a survey of the Humla-Mugu road, which would connect Humla for the first time with the rest of the world. I was one of the members, and I was exhilarated because this time around, we had to stay in really rural places without shelter (probably), good food, internet and even a phone connection. I had never imagined that I would be presented with such an opportunity. It was a free ticket for a whole new experience, and a rare one at that.

We reached Gamgadi, the headquarters of Mugu on 10^th September (2015) and so began our 35 day long trip to one the most rural and challenging places I have ever been to (and probably will ever be) in my life.

Thirty five days in an unknown land with unknown traditions and unknown people is a recipe for bizarre and extraordinary stories, and I could even write a book about it, but a blog will do for now. So, I’ve decided to share some insane events that occurred during my time there in separate posts.

I call this story: Curse of the cucumber

Luma Village, where the incident happened (photo: Vivek Singh)

Luma Village: It happened on the very first day of work. My friend and I were supervising survey work in a cultivated field when a local helper (we had employed eighteen locals to help us with the survey and carry our luggage) came to us with two cucumbers. “Kakro Khane ho sir? (do you want to have some cucumbers?)” he said.

The sweltering heat of the Mugu sun owed to the craving for a cool snack and there was no way we’d say no to cucumber. We took them without hesitation, sent him back to work, and sat down in the cool shade of a nearby tree. My friend always carried a knife with him in the forests for protection (against “wild” animals, he says) but throughout our time in Mugu, it served a very menial purpose (cutting apples and cucumbers) than what it was actually meant for (except in one occasion, the knife claimed the life of a sheep under very unusual circumstances, but that’s a different story altogether!). This was the inauguration. The outer layer of the cucumbers were a bit dusty, so we decided to cut them longitudinally, eat the inner soft part and throw the outer layer.

What we didn’t know was that Hasta, the helper, had stolen the cucumbers from a field nearby, and apparently, some village people had seen him do that.

We returned back to work, and after a few minutes, we got called in through the walkie-talkie by Tika sir, our team leader. “Hello!! Team!! Over??”

I responded and then, he informed that about thirty people from the village barged into the work site and forced them to halt work. We were surprised by the news because just a few hours earlier, the locals were very welcoming and it seemed then that they didn’t have any problem with the survey. This is the literal translation of what our team leader said when asked why: “They say that people from our team stole some cucumbers from their field and ate them. I assured them that we had nothing to do with it. But they insist that we did. Some say they even saw a few of us munching down on them near the tree at zero point.”

Apparently, the whole village were agitated because a team of outsiders came barging in on their field and stole their cucumbers. The team leader was backing up the whole team because he was certain that nobody from the team could have ever done that. My friend and I looked at each other. I found the situation funny and scary at the same time. We decided to keep shut until the situation calmed down. We resumed with our work because Tika sir said he would handle the situation by himself. A few minutes later, we heard him on the Walkie-talkie again, and this time, he seeped panicky. “The locals say they found outer layers of cucumber dumped near the tree I was talking about earlier. Looks like somebody really did eat them. I’m having a hard time dealing with the folks out here. I’m trying my best to control the situation. Over!” We could even hear angry shouts and curses from locals over the talkie.

Agitated locals

I talked to my friend and we thought about going there to say we had eaten them, and then pay for them. We were scared out of our wits, and were unsure if it would be the right thing to do. We chickened out and decided to wait for Tika sir. Miraculously, Tika sir really did work his magic and calmed the people down. By the time we finished our work and returned to the village, Tika sir was sipping tea with the villagers, laughing and talking and having a good time. Later, we found out that he had decided to employ a few locals from the village as compensation for damaging part of their cultivated land in the survey (and eating a few cucumbers while we were at it). In the end, nobody had an idea that it was us who had eaten them, and Hasta who had stolen them FOR us. Hasta learned a lesson of not stealing anybody’s cucumber (especially when working as a representative of an organization).

The view from a Kodo bari atop Luma

So, all this over two cucumbers? I don’t know about my friend, but I had a moment of enlightenment then and there. Salad would always be taken for granted by me in Kathmandu. Cucumber was just another item that would be half eaten and thrown away in restaurants. I was born and raised in Kathmandu, and I was never in my life exposed to hardship, and this was a completely different experience. The phrase “Fighting for food” had a very literal sense here. I had seen poverty first hand, but never really realized it. This was my moment of realization, and in some way, I believe this experience has made me closer to the people there. Come to think of it now, I am kind of glad that Hasta stole those cucumbers because it taught me two valuable lessons: Things we take for granted might mean the world to others, and never to mess with people from Luma. 

A glimpse of Jumla and Mugu

Gucchi lake - Jumla mugu border

I got called in for work in Mugu which would last for roughly a month. I was very excited with the opportunity because Humla had led me to wander about other districts of Karnali, and now I was going to see them. I was on board with the team immediately and we started our journey towards Mugu.

The airport at Mugu, Talcha, was not operating at that time due to upgrading works that were being done there, so we had two options: Fly to Jumla and walk for 2 days or fly to Jumla and ride for 8 hours in a rugged and narrow earthen road to reach Gamgadhi (the headquarters of Mugu). The second option was the riskier of the two, because there was no telling when it would rain, and even a few hours of rain would make the road impassable for four wheeled vehicles. We decided to take the risk and ride to Mugu. The common denominator was that we had to go through Jumla first, and because I got to see Jumla too, I was thankful that Talcha airport was closed at that time.

Our team consisted of Geologists, senior surveyors, specialists, senior engineers and graduate engineers (me being in the last lot). There were thirteen of us, and it was kind of like a chartered flight to Jumla, which made the flight fun. The airplane was, however, the same twin otter aircraft that I rode for the first time during my first flight to Simikot, and this time, because you had friends on board too, I had a feeling of riding a local bus with my friends.

We reached Jumla in about forty minutes and as soon as I got out of the plane, I could see flat lands all around. I had no idea that Jumla was a valley (an enormous one at that). I was expecting a hilly landscape, similar to the ones I experienced in Humla, but no. It felt like I was in a suburban part of Kathmandu with more vigor and less settlement. Jumla was incredible.

Jumla valey

A suspension bridge on the outskirts of Jumla Bazar

Jumla Bazar and Airport (photo: Chetan Neupane)

There were houses as good as Kathmandu, there were hotels, restaurants, football grounds and dense markets where you could get anything and at reasonable prices. Jumla was no wonder the hub of Karnali region. It was blessed with a wonderful topography and fertile soil. The only reason, it seemed, that development had not come sooner was because the beastly mountains of Kalikot stood between it and the rest of the world. It has already been about 6 years since Jumla got connected to the Strategic Road Network, and it looked like it was going through a developmental boost.

We stayed the night in Jumla and started our journey towards Mugu at 8:00 am the next day. We would have to ride from Jumla bazaar area to Nagma, a settlement in Kalikot. From there, we would have to cross boarders back again to Jumla until we reached Gucchi lek, which would be the boarder of Jumla and Mugu. The ride from Jumla to Nagma was comparatively very pleasant, with wonderful sights within the wide valleys of Jumla. It was not until after we reached Nagma where the real journey began. It was my first experience of the Karnali highway and almost immediately, I realized why the highway had claimed the lives of hundreds of people.

The road went right through enormous cliffs and were situated as high as two hundred meters above the Jumla Karnali River. The earthen road was very narrow, and it was certainly a significant problem if two vehicles were to pass each other by. Streams and rivers at every possible gorge made the road even more challenging because it made certain sections of the road dangerously slippery, and sure enough, there weren’t any railing and guard rails.

A section of the dangerous Juma-Mugu Road Corridor

We bounced our way into Sinja valley, a place worth mentioning because, apparently, this place was considered the capital of the Khasa Kingdom from 11^th to 14^th century and this was where the Devanagiri script originated. I also found out that Sinja valley (a place I had not heard of before) was a World Heritage site.  

Sinja Valley

The barren hills surrounding Sinja Valley

After a few hours of horrendous travelling, we reached Guchhi lek. If there is a heaven, I wondered, it would probably look something like this. There were flat lands as far as I could see and lots of cattle spread throughout. The road was also graveled, and the ride was smooth. I looked to my left, and I actually saw a black shining horse running along with us in the open field. It felt like I was in some kind of mystical movie, and that the only thing that was missing was the background music. The treacherous and agonizing trip was all made worthwhile by this small place (and I deem this place as the best one I’ve come across in Karnali).

Gucchi Lek

Gucchi Lek

Gucchi Lek

It was around 6:00 pm that we reached Gamgadhi, the headquarters of Mugu, and honestly, I have to say I was a tad disappointed. Gamgadhi was a city that was situated in the ridge of a mountain and settlements were very narrow. It was like a long stretch of a narrow street from Asan bazar and that was it. I was blown away when I saw Simikot of Humla for the first time and I had expected something similar from Gamgadhi, but as it turned out, it was just a normal hilly settlement. But during my stay there and as I worked, I got to see lots of breathtaking views in the vicinity of Gamgadhi.

An amazing view as seen from a plateau near Gamgadhi

I had a pleasant experience during my stay at Gamgadhi as I was already accustomed to the culture, language and people around there. I felt like I was home away from home and fifteen days passed us by in the blink of an eye. The only regret I had was that I could not visit Rara Lake. I was told that it was only a three hour walk from Gamgadhi but work was so busy that we didn’t have time for anything else.

Although Rara lake still remains to be crossed off from my bucket list, I am still grateful that I got to see Jumla, Mugu and a very small part of Kalikot (places I never thought I would visit my entire life).  

An adventure walk from Simikot to Darma (Day 2 and 3)

The confusion, the question, the purpose and the destination

A snap before the three day walk

 When I woke up in Lali the following morning, I felt like I could not continue any further. I could count every muscle in my legs to the number of separate and different pains accompanying them. My body ached too, owing to the mattress-less bed, I presumed. Naresh dai was, as I had explained earlier, old, and because of that, was having difficulty walking with all of my luggage glued to his back. I admit that it was apathetic and cruel of me to feel a sense of relief that I was not alone in this difficult endeavor.

We continued with our journey slowly, with an undefeated enthusiasm, however little in comparison to the day before. The pain in the muscles lessened after each step. It was almost like my feet were demanding affliction. We made it to Suniyakhada in one hour, the place we originally intended to stay the day before. I asked my companion if we would reach the day’s destination or not. He replied by saying “Khai sir, hidai sasto bhaya cha”, meaning he wasn’t sure because our pace was not as fast as he hoped (it was for the first time in my life that the word “sasto” which means "Cheap" in Nepali bore a negative meaning).

As we moved on, the pain in my muscles and my knees oscillated like a sine-wave – it would come and go in regular successions, the only difference being its magnitude, which increased with each new succession. We limped our way to “Lepche”, where we decided to have lunch. Now I had one or two strange incidences relating to the language of the west, and one of them happened here. I was having my regular daal bhaat, with about a quarter of the food remaining in my plate, when the owner came to me and said, “Bhaat choda” (The conventional Nepali meaning of the word would mean stop eating your rice). I was puzzled, as to why he wanted me to leave my meal unfinished. I looked at Naresh dai and found him munching away merrily. I didn’t know what to do, so I thought about getting up, seeking the reaction that would follow. Just as I was about to, Naresh dai with his stuffy voice said to the owner, “Bhaat choda”. Hearing this, the owner obediently went to the kitchen and put some rice in Naresh dai’s plate. Then, he looked at me and asked, “Bhat choda?”

I smiled and said no.

We left Lepche after an hour long rest, and I was delighted when Naresh dai informed me that the trail was very comfortable then on. And it was. We walked slowly without hurry, and Naresh dai shared with me things about Humla and about his life. We were about an hour away from Sarkeghat, our destination for the day when we decided to take a break.

A dangerous section of the trail

I would be lying if i said my feet didn't tremble when i walked through this place

Our breaks would always be short and without conversation. I was staring into the abyss when he asked me suddenly in his Nepali-Khasa hybrid language why I had undertaken a job in Humla where I had to toil so hard, that too, unnecessarily. This was the first time he asked me something personal, and I looked at him and saw an earnest curiosity in his face. I didn’t know what to say to him because I wasn’t completely convinced myself why I was there. I confessed that I wasn’t pretty much sure myself too, and told him that part of me wanted to see real adversity and experience it firsthand. I knew that it was not the real reason. Six months later and I still can’t fathom any reason, except that whatever the reason was, I had made a good choice.

We reached Sarkeghat at 5:30 pm. Sarkeghat was beautiful, in that it had good hotels with clean sheets, good food, electricity and TVs as well. Another interesting thing about the place was that the people there actually spoke an accent-less Nepali. We had walked for 11 hours and I was tired to my bone, drenched in sweat and smelly.  There were plenty of staff from other organizations in the hotel I was staying. I wanted to have a chat and hear their experiences too but I was too tired to indulge in any conversation. So I had dinner and went straight to bed.

The third and the final day of my walk had been pretty normal in comparison to the other days. I reached my destination Darma at around 4 pm. I finally reached my workplace, and it took me only a taxi ride, two flights and a 25 hour walk to get there from my house. I said my goodbyes to Naresh dai admitting that I had not expected such a pleasant companionship from a porter. He corrected me by saying that he was a mason, not a porter, grinned and left.

Darma Village- The work station

It has already been five months since my first travel through that wretched trail, and I had the unfortunate opportunities to walk through it many times. But I believe that my first work-walk will always be memorable because it had a tinge of thrill, curiosity, hesitancy and pain in it that I will never forget. I remember Naresh dai’s question about my reason, and well, I want to believe that there isn’t one. I went to Humla just for the sake of being there. But I think it’s the eventuality of the action that carries the essence of justification and in my case, it is undoubtedly justified.

An adventure walk from Simikot to Darma (Day 1)

The beginning, the porter, the stone and the nervousness

The Mystic Karnali as seen from Kharpu village, Humla

I was lost for words in Simikot. I had never been so close to the mountains my entire life. It was a new experience to me, and I was talking it all in. I took some pictures, enjoyed the view for a while, and eventually collected my bags and headed towards the airport exit. The office guard was waiting for me by the door. He helped me with my bags and we headed towards my hotel. On my way, I could see heaps of snow laying around houses and roads. I think that snow is something very special for us people living in Kathmandu because we never really get to see them. So, yeah, I was pretty much excited to see so much of it. Part of me wanted to throw my bags and jump right into it, but I controlled my instincts.

We reached our hotel and I had a chat with the guard, Mr. Nara Bir Thapa for a while. Currently, there were no office staff in Simikot, and that I had to leave the very next day and make my way towards Darma, my work station.

In case you don’t know, Humla is one of the two districts that is not connected to the Nepali Road Network (the other one is Dolpa). It has few lengths of earthen roads around the Chinese boarder, but none around its headquarters and VDCs. So, the primary (and only) means of transportation is by foot. And to reach Darma, you had to walk for three days.

Nara kept on emphasizing the fact that the trail was very dangerous, and that it may well take me even four days to reach my destination. He told me that there was no hurry and advised me to walk with no rush. Nara arranged a porter for me; an old foreman who went by the name Naresh Bahadur Shahi.

It felt like everything was moving so fast. Two hours ago, I was in the flat lands of Nepalgunj, and the next thing I know, I was planning to walk for a trail situated in the Himalayan region of the most underdeveloped district of the country. I was enthusiastic, but anxious. Everything was so new to me. A new place, new people, new experiences, and apparently, a new language too, that too in the span of two hours. I knew nobody, except Nara Bir and Naresh dai. The realization that I had to walk for three days in an unknown land with a complete stranger had not blended in well with me, but that was the only option. I had to do it.

Fast forward to the next day, and me and my companion’s journey towards Darma started off. Naresh dai had introduced himself to me the previous day. When I called him dai, he insisted to be called only by his name, but I would not have it. I called him dai anyway. He had told me that the road was steep, narrow and full of dangers, but asked me not to worry because he was there. He looked very old and looked as though he was full of wisdom. His tone, although very different from the ones I was used to, was reassuring and calm. He didn’t talk much, but I managed to get him to tell some things about himself during our walk to Darma. He had worked for thirteen years in India and managed to pay for his younger son’s primary education. He didn’t know how to read or write, but he had enough wisdom to make sure his son did. He also told me that he tried for more than ten years to get his family out of Humla, to Surkhet, for a better life and better opportunities, but he couldn’t. Now, he had given up. When I asked if he was going back to India, he said he was too old for that now, and that he planned to spend the rest of his life in Humla with his family. I thought Naresh dai was one of the many examples of people who wanted to make something of their life but whose aspirations and expectations were crushed and overpowered by the inaccessibility and adversity offered by the mighty Humla.

All the more reasons to make it accessible by roads.

The wise, calm and failthful Naresh Bahadur Shahi

Anyways, we started our walk at around 11 a.m. We made our way through Syamne village, then Kharpu and Yangchu. I realized that the picturesque headquarter of Humla was a deception of its true nature, because immediately after I headed away from Simikot, I could see poverty, hardship and misfortune all around me. I had always known about Karnali zone and its poverty, but not to what extent. Seeing everything first hand, I slowly began to understand the reality of the place and the state of people who were forced to live in it.

Then we made it to Bokche-Gauda. At this point, I could hardly understand what people were talking about. The Khasa-accent of the people there was getting thicker and thicker as we moved away from the headquarters. The amazing thing is that they thought I understood it too. So, I used to smile and nod every time they talked to me. I could figure out some words sometimes and work with it to give a sensible reply.

It had already been five hours of walk, and the trail was very comfortable until Bokche. After having lunch, Naresh dai, with his most somber voice yet, told me that the trail was very dangerous three hours from now.  It was already 4 o’clock. So we had to move fast.

The walk from Simikot to Bokche was child’s play as compared to the trial after Bokche. It was ridiculously narrow. There were no vegetation to cling on to while we walked. And it would be a direct 100m unobstructed free fall into the seething Karnali River if our feet sidetracked even inches from its original route. But we walked slowly and steadily. We passed the most difficult sections of the road and were making our way through Lali Village when all of a sudden, a stone whizzed passed in between me and my porter from above and fell down into the river. It scared the life out of me and my feet began to tremble.  I looked up, and saw as many as 25 cattle grazing directly above us. My feet was really shaky at the moment and I wanted to sit down, but Naresh dai told me it was dangerous so we quickly made our way through that section and into a relatively safer place. It was at that time that I realized that I was really in a dangerous place. The stone missed us by inches, and even though it was small, if it did hit us, we would surely lose our balance and (probably) fall off. It was about 6:30 pm when we reached Lali, and we still had an hour walk ahead of us to reach our destination for the day. But I was pretty stunned to continue after what happened, so we decided to stay in Lali itself.

Narrow paths along the Simikot-Darma trial

It was an old, isolated home and a couple with three kids were the inhabitants. We were given two beds that smelled like feet and had no mattresses. The place was very dirty, with fleas all around. But I was too tired to pay notice to that. We had our dinner (local “Raato Chamal” and “Simi ko daal”) and I had a chat with the owner of the house.

He seemed like an entrepreneur who was born in the wrong place. He had so many ideas for farming and putting up apple orchids and opening up a hotel for when roads made its way along his front yard. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his vision was only a reverie that could never come true in his lifetime. I had a feeling that somewhere in his heart, he knew that too, but he still dared to dream of vehicles passing through his house and making life a bit less tough.

Some of my relatives told me that my stay in Humla will change me as a person and how I perceive life. They were right. It took me only a day to see the atrocious lifestyle of the people there and I realized that Nepal was not only Kathmandu, or Pokhara or Biratnagar. Nepal was also Yangchu, or Kharpu, or Laali, where people had to work the living soul out of themselves for simple bread and butter.

I went upstairs, not sure if I would fall asleep in a mattress-less bed, but turns out I was so tired that I fell asleep the minute I laid down.

Tomorrow was a long day, and I needed my invigoration, for the trail tomorrow was going to be long and full of stories.   

A shaky fly to the mountains of Humla

The seat-belt, the aircraft, the mountains and Simikot

Mid-March 2015. It was the first time I was going to ride a twin-otter aircraft. I heard people say scary things about how the aircraft is shaky, and about how it is old and not safe, and about crashes and what nots. But work is work, and I had to go.

It was 5 45 in the morning. Flights from Nepalgunj to Simikot would operate only in the mornings, because right after 9:00 am, heavy winds would not permit an ideal environment for a twin otter to fly. I went to the counter in the airport, and it was nothing like an airport counter. There was a crowd of people, fighting for tickets. Apparently, due to weather conditions, flights to Simikot would be very rare. And by the time a plane was going to take off, there would be an army of passengers fighting their way to fly. I started having doubts about my ticket so I pushed through the crowd to see whether my name was in the list or not. Thankfully it was. A few minutes and I boarded the plane.

The moment I got in, I knew this was very different from a normal flight from Kathmandu to Nepalgunj. I felt like I entered a dirty local bus. But that didn’t worry me because I was already accustomed to riding the filthiest of local buses in the course of my student life. I took a seat and fastened my seatbelt (i was surprised that there actually was a seatbelt) and I tried to relax. Surprisingly, before the airhostess could even finish informing us about the safety instructions, the pilot started the engine. The airhostess stopped the briefing midway and rushed back to her seat. I was wondering if this was normal but it seemed everybody was fine with it. A few minutes later, we were in the air.

We made our way through the plains of terai, and through the hills of Surkhet and Dailekh. Before you know it, we were flying through a completely different terrain in comparison to where we started off. My nervousness and unsettling feeling disappeared at once after I got to see the mountains of Karnali zone. And believe me, these were different from the mountains I was accustomed to. They were almost vertical, and mostly barren. I could not see civilization for as long as I could see, obviously, I thought, because settlement in such places would be impossible. Down below, I could see the raging tributaries of the Karnali River flowing fiercely at steep gradients, and looking as though they would devour anything that lied in their path. I started having an idea why Humla was deprived of roads (and thus development) for all these years.

Anyways, we were flying further north, and the presence of snow was increasing by the second. After a few minutes, all I could see was white. Maybe it was the wind, or the clouds, but the turbulence in the aircraft stared increasing. But turbulence was not a concern anymore. I got totally engulfed in the beauty the place had to offer. It looked as though I could just reach out and scoop off the top of snow clad mountain with my hands.   

         

 I took my camera out and started taking pictures. A minute later, I got to see a plateau, with a heavy settlement. The airport was a small strip of black-topped runway and a building. Before I could take a snap of Simikot, the aircraft suddenly made a sharp turn towards the right and started its descend. Thankfully, the landing was a smooth one and after a few moments the aircraft halted in the runway. The doors opened and as soon as I got out, I could feel the fresh cool breeze that jump started my enthusiasm to stay in Humla for 3 months. 

Apparently, Simikot was a plateau surrounded by mountains from all sides. And in March, these mountains were covered with snow. I felt I was in a different world after I got out of the flight. Simikot was like an isolated place on its own, hidden from civilization, and far away from the world I was so used to living in.

The view from Simikot Airport, just after I landed.

And I don’t mind the cliché at the end of a travel journal when I say that Simikot is a place to visit at least once in your life. A heavenly place such as Simikot is worth the death defying (okay, overly exaggerated) travel and the hassles for the ticket one has to undergo.

If you are seriously considering going to Simikot, good luck. And carry a down jacket with you (even in summer).