Standing with our Jawans at Bum La

Tawang diary 4

Standing with our Jawans at Bum La

Bum La 15,200 feet

Due to uncertain weather, which causes treacherously slippery roads and poor visibility, red or green signals are issued daily for visiting Bum La, the border pass about 37 km from Tawang. Remember, I had told you that it had been pouring? The rain lashed through the night, so we were keeping our fingers crossed. Luckily, the next morning, sun shone through the clouds in the sky, and with the green signal, our trip was on.

After an early breakfast, we piled into the SUV and with our eyes permanently gazing at the green of Tawang quickly changing to a landscape of not only rugged snow-covered mountains but snow all around, driving on the zig-zag roads coiling upwards, we sat expectant, curbing our excitement.

Bum La was what we had come this far for. Bum La pass, which had seen a savage battle during the 1962 war, is one of the agreed meeting points for security personnel of China and India.

It is open to Indian nationals only and permits (Deputy Commissioner, Tawang, issues them) are needed (in addition to ILP for Tawang). They are stamped on the way by the army for further movement to the border point. No foreign tourists are allowed in this ultra-sensitive border area. It closes to visitors at 1.30 p.m. when the weather goes foggy, it mostly starts to rain and the road gets dangerous.

There was heavy deployment of army along the route but the soldiers seemed to be going about their business as if everything was normal and it was very pleasant weather and most favourable working conditions outside. The vehicles going ahead of us sometimes encroached on the snow-covered roadside causing crunching sounds, making us implore our driver to go slower.

The ground was hidden under piles of snow which had started melting in narrow trickling strings of water, turning a dull brown because of the mud.

There is no statutory requirement for changing to winter tyres in India, but the point where permits were being stamped, the drivers were instructed by armymen to tie chains to the tyres to avoid skidding on melting snow. I noticed that compared to other hill areas, there were fewer motorcycle riders seen enroute. 

All vehicles are stopped at a gate at the final army post. There is a canteen selling hot beverages, snacks and warm clothes. From there, we walked up the mere 200 metres to the McMahon line in batches, supervised and escorted by military personnel.

There was a fence. Stunned, feeling like I was all alone, physically caught in a fantasy film, I watched across as if I had reached the end of the earth.

The endless world in front of me was grey from behind my sunglasses. Standing only about 80 meters across the fence were two apparitions in white. Soon a third one joined them. The only indication that they were living beings was their movements: one was continuously clicking pictures of the crowded Indian side with a camera, the second was writing on a scroll like sheet and the third was peering at the Indian crowd through binoculars in his hands. Their feet fixed into the deep mattress of snow, they stood still, faces unseen behind their masks and snow glasses. There was not a fourth soul as far as eyes could see and the only appropriate word to describe the silence on their side is sannata (Hindi for dead silence).

It was surreal, to say the least. My vocabulary fails to describe the impact of the scene on my mind and the shiver it sent up my spine as I stared. The vision of the three white Lego-like robots standing as if entrenched in snow, is going to live with me forever.

In contrast, there was a lone Indian soldier with his binoculars, standing a few feet above ground behind a rock at the fence, watching the Chinese territory.

I wish there was a way I could get pictures but photography is prohibited there. We were there for barely five minutes when we were instructed to leave so that the next batch could come.

We were told the Chinese guards leave the post at 3.00 p.m. and monitor the activity this side through surveillance cameras.

We were at Bum La for a total of about 30 minutes. The temperature around 11.a.m. in mid-May was 0 degree Celsius. The snow was blinding under the sun and one could not take the sunglasses off. The armymen were lending sunglasses to those who did not have any.

Within those few minutes, all thoughts in my mind had changed.  

If only I could drop down on my knees in that pile of snow, hide my head in my hands and scream! The futility of this tension and animosity over land which is going to be there even after all of us are not there!

My sunglasses hid my tears and the cold was the perfect excuse for my face now gone red with raw emotions. I marvelled at the steel hearts of our brave soldiers who protect us risking their own lives, from any enemy who has no personal relation or grudge against them, you or me. I could only say a silent thank you to all those countrymen/women who hide/overcome their own doubts, fear and uncertainty of future to let their sons and daughters join the army, and then nurse their wounds all alone when they lose them to barbaric human ambitions.

I might never utter thank you for your service to a serviceman like they do in the US, but my prayers for their well-being would always be with them.

Going through a cathartic moment, it was Mani’s remark that broke my chain of thoughts. “The difference between democracy and dictatorship could not be more obvious than at Bum La,” he said, adding, “See, China allows no visitors in this border area. And in our democratic country, here we were hundreds of Indians, visiting this place every year. The raw beauty of nature is just the bonus.”

That almost brought me back to reality. The world across the fence was  naked, stark white, devoid of any living presence for as far as I could see, except the three guards.

And this side of the fence? There were tens of vehicles, scores of armymen, and we, about a hundred-odd people engulfed in layers of clothing, talking, shouting, constantly asking the armymen about something or the other, posing for endless photos, making a beeline for the toilets or inside the canteen-gobbling down maggi, momos, glasses of tea, littering carelessly, browsing undecided at the woollen shop, as if Bum La border was just another site to be visited, another selfie point to brag about! So much for democracy!

Perhaps this feeling of having completed a pilgrimage was only mine. Locking this private treasure in my heart, I also wondered what are the authorities the Chinese guards submit these photos and info to, going to do with pictures of random curious Indians consisting mostly of insignificant people like me!   

Our pilgrimage over, we walked back to the car, and started our descent back to Tawang.

Another kind of sentry! No coat, no warm covering!
Bum La is his address as he stays on guard along with the army men!

                                   Photo: Gyanesh Tiwari

                                                                                              -Anupama S Mani