The feral Lifestyle: A day in the Karnali Jungles

Walking towards my destination from my night station at Mugu Jungle (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

I would wake up at 6:30 in the morning, most of which would be from a tent in a grassy area nearby a hotel. Even if there were huts and houses nearby, I preferred tents because they were in fact very comfortable (and were without bed bugs of course). We had a mattress, an inflatable pillow and a very thick sleeping bag to get us by the night warmly, and anyways, running around in the jungle all day would make me very tired so at the end of the day, wherever it may be, I would fall asleep in a heartbeat.

Preference would always be given to tents, because they were more comfortable.

The first job for the day would be to scout for locations to defecate. I don’t know about other colleagues and seniors, but this was one of the most awful things I had to go through. There were times when I had to cling on to nearby shrubs in very uncomfortable slopes to get about my business because plain land in that area was near impossible to find, and even if you did find one, there would be settlements nearby so plain areas were out of the question.

After every other daily routine, we would sit for breakfast at around 8:30 am. Breakfast would be the usual simi ko daal and bhat. On a good day (which would be rare), you had vegetables like spinach and cabbage, nothing besides. But I would munch down every single bit of grain I could find because hunger was a real problem as we wouldn’t have anything substantial to eat for the whole day.

We would leave for work at 8:30 am. We would stumble around bushes and trees and thorns all day, trying to find the best location for the road to pass through. Skids off fallen pine leaves, stings from thorny nettles and stumbles down slopes were a part of the job, and we got used to it with time. Every night after work, we used to showcase newly formed scars of the day with pride, considering it a gift from Mother Nature. There were times when frustration would get the better of us and we had to be stronger mentally than physically. Internet was a fairytale and phone connections were also very limited, which forced us to live our lives in the physical confines of the place, without the slightest thoughts about my home, family and friends.

Dangerous slopes where skids and injuries were imminent!! (Picture by: Tika Maden)

Lunch break would be around 2:00 pm. Our arduous toil for hours would stir our hunger which would turn us into beasts, and the chiura-bhujiya we had with us would be eaten savagely within minutes. We would continue work until almost 6:00 pm and return back to our little huts. We still would have lots of work to do before we could have some time for ourselves. First, we had to compile data, save it in our laptops, come up with a map and check for discrepancies. Then we needed to start the generator and charge every electrical equipment we had with us (and we had a bucket load, like walkie-talkies, cameras, laptops, mobile phones and survey equipment). By this time when all this would be completed, it would already have been about 8:00 pm and I would be drenched in sweat and exhausted to my bone. But to me, this would be the best time of the night. There were four young engineers like myself in our team, and it was nighttime when we used to discuss about our events of the day. We would always split up into different groups during work and each of us would be in a separate parts of the wilderness, and in the evening we would converge to one place and discuss what kind of new things and experiences we encountered that day. It was also this time when we would all tell each other how every hardship we were going through is all worth it and how we would do it again without a moment’s hesitation if given the chance. That would be our point of mutual encouragement and self-rejuvenation, which helped us drag on for yet another day. We would have dinner at around 8:30 to 9:00 pm, nothing different from what we had in the morning, and go back to our tents to re-charge ourselves for the same routine the next day (of course there would be different experiences on different days but whatever the event might be, they would not spare us from hard work).

The Phone-Stone: The only place around the area where we would get a telephone reception

I obviously dug in deep to my days in the Mugu jungle as I write this little script in my comparatively posh little room under a blanket sipping hot coffee. The flashbacks I have generates just enough adrenaline to make me shiver. But the thought of going back to Hmla and Mugu into those conditions do not frighten me anymore, as it once did long ago. I would welcome the opportunity again, and develop myself as I have in the past.

“We get these lives for free. I didn't do anything to get this life, and no matter what the hardships are, it is free and, in a way, it's an extraordinary bargain”, said one Junot Diaz, and it took me almost 24 years of my life and the mighty mountains of west Nepal to realize how spot on he was with his statement.

See also: Up to the peak, The Chankheli Mountain (An article by Vivek Singh)

Maka, a survey helper smiles for the camera (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

Khamba dai and Sarjan join in to pose for the camera (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

Avisek Shrestha (Graduate Engineer) and I have a little chat in Chankheli Pass, Elevation: 3800 m (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

The Survey Team (Picture by: Vivek Singh)

Work Undergoing at Chankheli Pass (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

An amazing view from Chankheli Peak, Elevation: 4300 m (Photo by: Vivek Singh)

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).