My First Long Journey to See Car
A
green citrus fruit camouflaged with its green leaves ripen into golden balls;
some wrinkled and round, some fair and oval while others full of scars. Below,
the earth crust of the field was broken into dust particles by animals feeding
on dying weeds after harvest. The cattle would be released onto field and local
festival would begin. There would be a lull in storm of farming activities.
People
in my village would look for means to get cash for paying taxes to the
government which was huge by their monetary ownership though it was minimal by
urban standard. The village almost functioned independently except for salt.
People would strive to make money by only means available, the golden fruit. A
day before journey, the best fruit would be collected, counted and packed into
bamboo baskets based on carrying strength of human or horse.
The
strongest man could carry ten Pon(one pon=80 pieces) which meant around 800
pieces of orange while average man could carry seven pons. An average horse
could carry twelve pons of orange. When I was around ten years of age, I was
asked by Atse, the husband of my mother’s younger sister to tag along. He
weaved a basket fit for my size and small t-shaped stick was picked up from
nearby forest to support basket to take occasional rest without having to keep
on the ground.
I
counted the oranges I could carry. I was convinced that I could carry three
pons but when I picked up the basket, I found it quite impossible. So I settled
for two which came to 160 pieces of orange. On top of that we had to carry
padkos and pans to prepare food on the way and some blanket to cover during the
night.
With
the weight of our basket, one had to take rest almost every ten steps with the
help of T-sticks which would support basket as we stood still. If you had
horse, it would too do same after every few steps of trot. On the first day, we
reached only another village as we started late after propitiating local deity
before stepping out of our community boundary.
There
was no water around. Even few households of that community had to fetch water
from far below taking almost a half day. Since, we didn’t own horses; there was
no worry of not finding fodder at night. So, we camped under a huge parasol of mango
tree that hardly bears fruit. So, me, akhu, and another man contented ourselves
eating packed lunch left over. For water, we drank locally brewed ara we
brought in jerry can from home. As we sleep, I asked whether we were near to buyer’s
camp. My aku told me that the distance would be five to six times more than
what we had just covered that day. I felt like crying. We had to crossed the
dangerous path passed through steep cliff, we had crossed the jungle where
tiger growled somewhere, we had to cross the vast expanse of land that slid
under our feet and we had to cross the threatening river gushing. We had to ascend
up the hills and descend down the hills covering each snaky path step and step.
Yet I was told, we didn’t cover any distance. My back was aching almost
rendering me immobile. I silently sobbed on pillow of grasses and leaves before
falling asleep.
I
slept like a rotten log. I neither heard the howl of village mongrels nor the
honking of deer on other side of the slope. When they woke me up before dawn to
continue our journey down to Drangme Chu, I felt like a horse being dragged
into water against its will. As I crossed one of the longest suspension bridges
over Drangme Chhu, the biggest river in the kingdom of Bhutan, I got cold feet.
The snaky movement made me afraid of throwing me over into the river. The sight
of sleepy river below made me sick. My feet
seemed to be immobilized. However, on the other side of river huge iron chain
dangling on giant tree welcomed us. We bowed to it reverently as I was told it
was chain made by Great Thangtong Gyelpo.
After
half an hour, we came across another river called Demri, a tributary of Great
Drangme Chu. The bridge had developed cracks as two gewogs failed to come to
mutual agreement to share construction labour. Kengkhar gewog, seconded by
Jurme under Mongar District felt that Shumar Gewog under Pema Gatshel should
share the responsibility while Shumar geowg contested that since they didn’t
use the bridge and kengkharpa used it for trade, they should be left
alone. After crossing the Damri, we
halted for lunch.
There
were many rough ovens erected of three stones of same size in triangular
manner. When travelers left, they didn’t dismantle since many travelers
frequently lunched and dined here. While elders prepared lunch, I went to eat a
grape-like fruits available from nearby trees. I don’t even remember their
names. There were lemon tree growing in wild with golden fruits.
After
lunch of Kharang and raddish curry, elders discussed which way to follow. One
way was to follow marong chu path, towards source of tributary river of Damri
in the vale and next was to follow, crest of highest pass upward Udiri. After
discussions, elder decided to follow river path as there was no water on other
path as they were sure we wouldn’t reach our destination, Domkhar above Nangkor
in Pemagatshel.
Clutched
on elders’ hand, one had to cross that same groaning river 23 times before
climbing up towards Nangkor just before said river bifurcated again into two
tributaries. We halted at the base of the hill by the evening. It was ideal
halt as we needed to have sufficient rest before we start arduous uphill
journey. From there I could hear strange noise as if other part of the cliff
was crumbling. I was told it was walking noise of truck Gari. That night, the
childish longing to see that giant moving beast gave me hope that I could walk
another day to see it.
Comments
Post a Comment