Chisang – A Serene Himalayan Hamlet
Escape to Chisang—a serene Himalayan hamlet on the Bhutan border, where birdsong, misty mornings, and cardamom slopes soothe the urban soul.
Before you get swallowed up by the crowd, best to make a dash for it. But where to? Somewhere devoid of people, where nature has laid itself bare in all its splendour. If you wish to swap the cacophony of car horns and chatter for the soothing calls of birds, then Chisang is your sanctuary.
At 10:15 PM, the Darjeeling Mail chugged out of Sealdah Station, and by morning, I found myself drenched at New Jalpaiguri Station. It was bucketing down. The homestay in Chisang had sent a car, so, wet through, I climbed in, and off we went.
Through Sevoke, over Coronation Bridge, past the mesmerising Teesta, Chalsa, and Khunia More, we took the road to Jhalong and finally arrived in Chisang. A four-and-a-half-hour journey. Our stay was at Wild Wood Resort, where hospitality is second to none. Turning up here without prior accommodation arrangements would be a fool’s errand. This tiny village in Kalimpong district, bordering Bhutan, has no flashy shops or markets—just nature at its most generous. A handful of houses dot the landscape, each with vibrant flowers in the front yard. The slopes are adorned with cardamom plantations and an expanse of green, while birdsong fills the air from dawn till dusk.
The resort’s balcony was a gem. Sipping a hot cup of tea there while gazing at the distant silhouette of Bhutan’s mountains was sheer bliss. As dusk fell, the hills shimmered like a Diwali celebration. The homestay’s hostess pointed towards the illuminated valley and said, “That’s Tendu Valley – in Bhutan.”
The next morning, the sun’s rays peeked through the misty veil, casting golden hues over the bed. Wrapped in a blanket, I stepped onto the balcony. Silence reigned, save for an orchestra of birds whose names I did not know but whose melodies were entrancing. Nature had turned up at my doorstep with a basketful of joy. A wisp of cloud floated in through the window and seemed to whisper, “Your heart is still twenty-six. Don’t laze about—go explore.”
And so, today’s itinerary was set: Todey Haat, Dawai Khola, Seemana Khola, and Tangta Monastery. Our ride? A vintage four-wheel-drive Willys Jeep. Todey Haat is a local market that operates only on Saturdays and Sundays. It was bustling, but the people respected silence. They chatted, haggled, and laughed, but in hushed tones—none of the ear-splitting clamour of Gariahat, Dharmatala, or Hatibagan. Chisang remains largely unknown to city folk, sparing it from the intrusion of (un)civilised urban chaos.
Next stop: Dawai Khola. ‘Khola’ means river, and locals believe its waters possess healing properties. Whether true or not, I wouldn’t know, but the river’s beauty certainly captivated me.
Then came Tangta Monastery—a small, tranquil retreat with hardly a soul in sight. Our driver, a devout Buddhist, explained that monks get ordained here before retreating into the jungle for four to five years of meditation. The serene statue of Lord Buddha exuded peace.
Seemana Khola was our final stop. A slender waterfall cascaded through the ravine. During monsoons, it must turn ferocious, perhaps even bringing flash floods in its wake. The stream, dotted with rocks of all sizes, reminded me of Murti River. About twenty feet wide, it flowed towards the forested hills of Bhutan. With a hop and a skip across the water, one could set foot in another country. The river, a natural border, silently bore witness to its role in separating two lands.
By early evening, we were back at our lodgings. Holding a steaming cup of tea, I gazed wistfully at the Bhutanese mountains. The peaks overlapped like a fish’s scales, forming an endless, undulating horizon. Birds flitted home, their songs floating on the breeze. Darkness crept in, the air grew chillier, and soon, tiny lights dotted the Bhutanese hamlets below. Overhead, a thousand stars twinkled. Unbidden, tears welled up—tears of joy, or sorrow? I couldn’t tell.
Tomorrow, we leave Chisang and and will go to another point ‘Panaboo’. As a line from an old Bengali film song surfaced in my mind:
“Jabar Balay kichui na pai, pran bhore sudhu chai
Shopno dia shajai toke, kanna dia dhui
Hajar tarar alloy bhora, chokher tara tui
Shopno dia shajai toke, kanna dia dhui ”
Lying in bed that night, I wished I had one more day in Tendu Valley’s embrace. Back home, my balcony overlooks a jungle of concrete and steel; here, theirs opens onto a paradise of deodars, pines, and cardamom groves.
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