“What tribe do you come from”, our irrepressibly jolly guide Bhidut asked me. Wearing wraparound camo gear including full balaclava to keep out the wind, Bhidut punctuates each sentence with a hacking cough followed by a full-bodied hawk.
Our journey had begun four days ago with a flight from Mumbai to Ghawati. We’d crossed the deep flat tea plains that dominate Assam (prouncounced Asham) province in North East India. The laneless road resembled a Slalom course as we weaved around garish lorries, pet goats and sleeping dogs in the middle of road, drawn to the tarmac’s warmth. Out of the window are cows tethered like dogs and two elephants chained up inside a concrete house, their skin matching the walls.
Our route dissects broad plains, as flat as pancakes, with bleached-out rice paddies waiting for the rains, criss-crossed into squares of ownership and spotted with cattle and their calves. Tea worker’s houses sit beside the road, made vibrant by fluorescent bedding drying in the early sun. We pass a bright purple circus tent its fabric blowing in the wind and three dead dogs. This is the land of tea and the former Ahom Kingdom.
We stop to see Behora’s weekly cattle market rammed with calves and cows and men haggling over them. One little calf had collapsed to the floor in exhaustion, it’s owner pulling in vain on its rope. I am the only woman visible.
Our first safari is at Kazaringa National Park, famed for the one horned rhino. If I didn’t know better I’d swear we were in Africa. As well as the rhino the huge horizons and wide dry escarpment holds elephant, deer and so many birds (hornbills, egrets, eagles), a twitchers paradise.
After the safari we take a walk to a local village, Borbill, home to the missing tribe who live in high bamboo huts on stilts, weaving lunghi’s in the cool of their home’s under croft. The men all chew beetle nut, their teeth and gums died a gory red. The children are playing with cotton silk flowers on elongated sticks. “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s a car”, says a little boy.
We have one more stopover before arriving at our destination. Shivsagar, The former capital of the Ahom Kingdom where we have an extraordinary guided tour of the former King’s palace, punctuated everywhere with people asking if they may take a selfie with us I feel famous for five minutes delighting in this unwarranted attention.
Soon we arrive at Miao, a small town on the edge of Namdapha National park where our guide Bhidut lives. A devout Christian, Bhidut lives in a colourful compound with his wife and children next to a rather sad zoo. We report to the local police station where we show our special park visas, play a board game and avoiding spitting (there is a sign which says please don’t spit).
Finally, half an hour from Miao, the tarmac runs out and the park gates open.
Namdapha National Park is famed amongst twitchers from across the globe who flock here to see rare species of heron, soon to be extinct. Although we are not birders, my imagination was hooked when I was told about this rather magical birding safari in this lush jungle where Bhidut is our guide. “I’m very happy to do this work”, Bidhut says. “ I love birding and I get to meet new friends like you.” Bhidut had a series of sayings he repeated during our stay LIKE HEALTH IS WEALTH.
We arrived in Deban Forest Rest house and Bhidut showed us our en suite room, the best in the hotel, he said. To call it rustic would be kind! We had no running water and our room was cell like in size and state. Washing was in a cold bucket of water we had to fetch from an outside tap and the loo didn’t flush. I was seriously outside my comfort zone but we were only staying a couple of nights before we were go camping in the forest.
“Tea time” says Bhidut. We walk down to the river and step onto a skinny bamboo bridge. It was like something Tarzan would have rigged up. The mighty river ran just below my feet as I gingerly placed one nervous foot in front of the other. The bamboos are long and thin and give alarmingly with my weight. I hold on for dear life with my hands and skate across it with feet turned sideways so I straddle more than one bamboo.
On the other side we walk five minutes through waist high grasses (where I imagine Tigers hiding) and climb a rickety ladder to a very high look out. There Amar meets us with a thermos of Chai and Bhidut helps us to spot various birds below including Egrets and Kingfishers. The view is breath-taking – The river sweeps in mighty swathes for miles down the valley below, overlooked by layered mountain ranges all the way to China.
Access to the park was either across the bamboo bridge or through a military base camp, about two miles from the refuge. Young soldiers practised marching with wooden replica guns tucked into their shoulders. A black labrador sniffer dog patrolled the crossing. They checked our paper work and waived us through. We were going bird watching.
Our fellow guests were fully kitted out with huge camera lenses like guns covered in camouflage slips. Bjorn from Sweden had already spotted over 9000 of the estimated 11000 species of birds across the world and was in pursuit of an endangered heron species. We took a park ranger with us and he played a bird call from his mobile phone in the general direction of the jungle hoping to entice the real thing out of the trees.
Sadly for us the heavens opened and the rainspoured down. The bamboo bridge was swept away and our safari was curtailed to daily outings out of Deban Forest Guest House. Nonetheless we had three days of hiking in this stunning park populated with a mixture of peoples including from nearby Tibet and Nepal. One villager insisted on dressing me up in matching ceremonial outfit as her for the camera ! Another family invited us in for chai.
As for Bjorn from Sweden, on our last day here he was up before dawn to find his heron. He didn’t see it but he heard it which apparently counts as a tick in the competitive world of birding.
