Tranquillity in the Darjeeling Himalayas - Bara Mangwa - Part 2

An idyllic hill nest - Stay at Bara Mangwa

Have you ever seen a kingfisher’s nesting burrow on a sloping river bank? The main cottage of the Bara Mangwa farmhouse sometimes gave us that feeling. Of course, it was not much different than most other pretty houses in the hills, but the wide open view, the mountain ranges that surrounded it, the river below, a forest in the backyard, and a group of friendly people who made us part of their family added character to the place. Sometimes right things in the right place at the right time play their magic.

The main cottage of Bara Mangwa Farmhouse

Many a times we stood on the wide balcony of the cottage and looked far away to our left—towards North. On that side the folds of the great Himalayas were clearly visible. The wave of hills rose all the way up to the 4300 meter high mountain pass of Nathu La, 150 kilometers away and hidden in those foggy days. On a clear day, one can see this snow covered gateway to Tibet, we were told.  

The Northern Hills - Nathu La pass far ahead, now hidden

To our right just beyond the southern hills lay the great Gangetic plains. That was roughly the direction where we had come from. On the day we arrived, nature was just lifting a veil of rain clouds from these hills. It was a wonderful sight to behold—a fitting welcome for the city folks like us.

The Sourthern hills

The hills of Kalimpong were directly in front towards East across the river Teesta. We could clearly see the settlements of small towns and hamlets dotted here and there on the forest covered slopes with thin ribbons of winding roads connecting them. Two waterfalls, almost dry in those March days trickled down—their thin streams dancing along the steep slopes towards the river below.

Waterfalls on the opposite hills

The green waters of river Teesta flowed idly between the hills of Kalimpong and the hills this side—a wan calm river Teesta—far from its roaring raging monsoon glory. An hour’s walk down a foot track from the cottage would have taken us to its rocky banks. Climbing up the steep path of course would have been not that easy.

Calm wan flows the Teesta

Behind and below us were the slopes of the Bara Mangwa hills where we nestled. Its lower slopes dominated by terrace farms and the higher reaches by forest cover.  Down there somewhere was the small town of Teesta Bazar. The estate of the farmhouse also boasted of orange orchards. During winter one could walk down and enjoy the sight of the trees laden with juicy citrus. 

Terrace farming at the lower slopes

We had stayed in Bara Mangwa for two and a half days. In most mornings the brightening sky of dawn would wake us up much earlier than the time sun came into view—while we were in the shadows of the hill in front. Bird songs of all kinds filled the chill morning air. Smokes from kitchen rose from distant houses as hill folks woke up to another Himalayan day. On some days the orange sun would peep out from behind the Kalimpong hills just for a few minutes to cast a warm glow on the sleepy village before hurrying under the cover of the clouds again.

Quick glimpse of the rising sun before it went under the clouds

A stroll around the farmhouse along the hilly path was a real treat. The trees around were not too dense. We could see the river below playing a game of hide and seek among the bush and bends. The gentle ups and downs of the narrow trail gave a hint of adventure. But at the same time it was not too difficult to negotiate for somebody with less experience of walking in the hills. Especially the kids loved the challenges that the trails had to offer.  Whenever we had time in our hands during our stay there, we would go out for a short field trip and return back with a rich experience. 

One of the trails

On the southern trail there were some interesting rock faces. A few of these are used by a local expert to give lessons in rock climbing. There was one particular rock shelter which, in our mind, could have been easily favored by any leopard as its den. Leopards do roam around in this part of the land. Inquisitively we asked the farmhouse staff about these big cats—to get an hint if any were around, you know, just in case. We were told that some were spotted in the outer reaches of the farm, but none had been seen near the farmhouse. There had been no known incidents of any encounter between humans and leopards that proved to be unfortunate for either of the two. That way the place was quite safe—we were assured. We came to know that the only wild fauna that really bothered the local people were the porcupines, jackals and deer. They sometimes come up from the forest and rummage the organic gardens that the farmers grow with so much care.

With that assurance we continued to enjoy our excursion all around. While alone in the woods however, we always used to keep our senses alert for anything odd through some deeply buried survival instinct perhaps. Cautiously we explored the rock faces and soon started giving names to the natural landmarks. It was easier to refer to them later that way. The notable amongst them was the one which we unanimously called the “father and son” rock.

"Father and Son" rock

Everywhere, the forest was changing colors welcoming the summer and the rains beyond. In some parts of the forest, long shoots of bamboo had proclaimed their domination. Luxurious undergrowth of ferns gracefully decorated the floor below.

Diversity of forest flora

For the lovers of all things small and beautiful the forest offered plenty to admire. Butterflies and moths would float in the cool mountain wind on their delicate wings. Tiny bees danced around gleefully and drank nectar from bright wild flowers.

Bee on its flower

For a young mantis though, getting food was a little less easy, as we found out. No bigger than a penny, but standing tall with the pride of the proudest Samurai warrior, this small insect was keeping a sharp eye on every little ant and bug that passed by it. Occasionally it would sway gracefully from side to side. And then suddenly with a swift swish its long arms, it would try to grab one of its preys. Much to the disappointment of the mantis and also us, but of course to the great relief of the fortunate ants, he could not succeed even once. We finally wished our young and hungry mantis luck and moved along. It was late noon, and for us lunch was ready at the farmhouse. So many things we take for granted, we pondered. It must be a really hard life to hunt for uncertain food with hunger in one’s belly. 

Micro-world of praying mantis

The dining area of the farmhouse was very nice. It was a few steps above the living area, attached to the kitchen on one side and semi-covered on the other three. From there we had enjoyed the wonderful warm home cooked meals from the farmhouse while marvelling at the sight of, say, a light rain drenching a colorful forest with the hint of a rainbow in front.

These forests were also blessed with excellent bird life. We would almost always hear flutter of wings in the bush as we walked passed them. During one of our walks, we had sat once under a shade for some rest while savoring the view of the river below. After some time, a white cheeked bulbul glided by and perched on a branch nearby. 

White-cheeked Bulbul

As we looked around, we realized that other birds too had accepted our presence as a part of the landscape and had started going about their business as if we were not there. Not far away, a great barbet sat atop a tree displaying its splendid colorful back and broad yellow bill. A movement in a bush below attracted our attention. The shy green-billed malkoha, with its red eye-band, waited there just long enough to reward us with a good snap on my camera. I had remembered to keep my camera ready. In the morning I missed taking a shot of a crimson throated sunbird just outside my window and had learned from my mistake.

Green-billed Malkoha

Things like a woven basket lying beside the path would remind us of civilization. Hung on their back and supported by a thick belt running across their forehead or shoulder, the locals use these baskets to carry all kinds of load in these hilly tracks, from firewood to young kids at times. This iconic mode of carrying displays both handiwork and strength. While returning back, one farmhouse staff had effortlessly carried our two suitcases and a backpack in one of these baskets along the winding tracks to our vehicle.

The basket

Scattered on the hill slopes we would sometimes come cross small huts and cottages, brightly painted. In front of them, colorful Buddhist prayer flags with sacred writings fluttered in the pure breeze. It is believed that wind spreads the message of peace, compassion, strength and wisdom to everybody around when a prayer flag flutters. The flags’ blue, white, red, green, and yellow colors represent space, air, fire, water and earth in that order.

Cottage with Buddhist prayer flags

One more attraction for especially the kids was the various farm animals that shared these hill slopes with their masters. There was a cock with his harem of hens and their chicks. Then there were a few goats who loved to be petted, except for billy, the ram with big horns and a much bigger attitude. 

The ram with an attitude

But special mention needs to be go to two of the cows who looked like sisters and rested under a shed all day and night. Every time we passed them they mooed so loudly to warn their master, that it put even the guard dog to shame. We tried to avoid them as much as we could, more out of embarrassment than anything else. One night however, we had to return back on the same trail after dark and with the inadequate beam from our flash lights we were a bit lost. Just when we were debating which way to proceed—the familiar deep mooing of the two sisters broke the silence of the night. The cows had obviously sensed our presence from far. What an assurance it was in that darkness. With the same sincere thankfulness of the crews of a ship saved by a trusted beacon, we silently thanked our bovine friends as we passed their shed and onto the right path. Goodness can be so relative and contextual.

The two cows that stood watch

The nights were of equal enjoyment at Bara Mangwa. The shining dots of lights from the settlements hidden in the dark forest of the Kalimpong hills in front matched the stars twinkling through the light cloud cover in the heavens above. The thin streaks of headlights from the traffic on the winding roads at the distant slope made us aware of human civilization. They would brighten for a moment at the turns facing us and then disappear behind the bush and forest. We would sit on the balcony for hours and enjoy the view.

Kalimpong hills - at night

On our last night at Bara Mangwa, we noticed small orange flames in the woods far away. A few in the Kalimpong hills, a few more in the hills on our side of the slope, near where the river was. As the night progressed, so did the fires. Cries of jungle fowls could be heard from those directions. It was as if they were abandoning their nests in despair unable to bear the raging flames. The fire in the forest could be a planned one or also otherwise, explained our host. Sometimes controlled fires are lit in the forest apparently to clear the undergrowth and ensure a better growth of plants. But sometimes there were accidental fires too—mainly man-made. These fires can stay dormant in small pockets of shrubbery, burning slowly for days and then suddenly erupting into a serious blaze when the weather turns dry or windy. None was sure what kind of fire it was that night. Those were far away from us to be of any possible harm to us, but as we looked through our field glasses, with the shrill cries of the pea fowls in the darkness all around, the blaze looked eerie and awe inspiring. Tall trees stood silhouetted against a glowing orange backdrop and swayed in the scorching updraft created by the raging flames.  

Fire in the forest

To our hosts this appeared to be not an unusual event and none of them paid any special attention. They were busy preparing a camp fire for us. 

 

Around the camp fire

The night was cold. The small circle of warmth around the campfire kept us comfortable as we sipped hot coffee. A few kilometers away a similar fire was destroying the homes of the birds who became our friends this morning. We prayed to god to keep their young ones safe.

Panorama of Bara Mangwa Farmhouse