Arunachal Sojourn - Part 3

Arunachal Sojourn – Part 3
 

Day 7 – Saturday, 8 November
 
“Where the Sun First Touches India”
 
The alarm rang at 4:20 a.m., though I was already half-awake, stirred by an anticipation that comes rarely, the promise of witnessing Arunoday, the sunrise in the land where India wakes first.

 
Outside, the air was icy, the stars still scattered thick across the sky. Sharan had arranged two vehicles for those keen on the early adventure, and only a few of us gathered in the dim hotel lobby, mufflers pulled high, eyes still adjusting to the dark.
 
The drive through sleeping streets was quiet except for the crunch of tyres on frost. We reached the Buddha Park area just before 5 a.m., and the eastern horizon had begun its subtle transformation from inky black to purple, to amber, and finally to gold.

And then, without fanfare, the first rays appeared, streaks of molten light rising above the serrated hills. In that instant, the landscape came alive, rooftops glowed and the Buddha statue turned radiant.

 

It was humbling to think that we were standing where the very first sunlight of India makes its daily debut. The warmth on our faces, faint but unmistakable, felt symbolic, a reminder that every day is a new beginning, if only we rise early enough to greet it.

 

We returned to the hotel by six. Another coffee, a warm bath, and a hearty breakfast followed. By 9:30 a.m., the convoy of Innovas rolled out of Hotel Yangzom, waving goodbye to Tawang after a memorable three-night stay.
 
From here on, our journey would retrace the path we had come, though no return journey ever feels the same. We’d seen the peaks, felt the cold, shared the laughter; the mountains had already left their mark.

 
Sharan had decided that this time we’d bypass the high Sela Pass and instead take the newly opened Sela Tunnel, a feat of engineering that reduced travel time and gave us a new experience. Before entering, we stopped briefly at the entrance for photographs. The wind was biting, but the mood cheerful.

Emerging on the other side of the tunnel felt almost metaphorical, as though we had crossed from the rarefied air of the high Himalayas back to a gentler altitude. A tea break followed at the war memorial cafeteria, where steaming cups thawed cold fingers.

Lunch was at a small family-run eatery that served a simple, homely meal of rice, dal, and sautéed vegetables. There’s something about mountain food that tastes better, perhaps because it’s served with unpretentious warmth.
 
By 3:30 p.m., we reached Hotel Rigsel once again. This time, it felt almost like returning home. Sharan had arranged another bonfire for the evening - a thoughtful touch, knowing that tomorrow would start our slow descent from the highlands.

 As the flames flickered and laughter rose into the cool night, I noticed how much the group had changed. The hesitations of the first two days were gone. Now, stories overlapped, jokes travelled across tables, and the sense of togetherness was palpable.
 
Day 8 – Sunday, 9 November
 
“From Monasteries to the Mighty Brahmaputra”
 
It was a rare morning, no alarms, no hurry. I woke naturally to the faint hum of the mountains outside. After a relaxed breakfast, we began our drive to Tezpur.

The journey was divided into three gentle stretches: the drive from Dirang to Bomdila, a break for lunch, and then onward to Tezpur.
 
At Bomdila, we stopped at the serene Bomdila Monastery. The calm there was almost tangible, monks moved quietly between halls, some laughing over a game of carrom, others performing a small puja for a brand-new Toyota vehicle. The juxtaposition of ancient rituals and modern life was oddly charming.

 

Our lunch stop was at a state-run canteen near the Arunachal border,  a modest buffet of rice, dal, vegetables, and pickle, served without fuss but with care. After lunch, we resumed our drive, and within just five minutes we had crossed out of Arunachal and entered Assam once again.
 
The change was immediate, the winding mountain roads gave way to long, straight stretches, the air turned warmer, and the sky suddenly seemed broader and brighter. It felt as though the landscape itself was easing us out of the rugged heights and gently guiding us back toward the plains, a quiet reminder that every journey, no matter how thrilling, must eventually find its way home.
 
Somewhere along the way, Sharan mentioned casually, “We’ll take a short detour to the Brahmaputra.” That spontaneous decision turned into one of the most memorable moments of the trip.
 
At Ganesh Ghat, the mighty river stretched before us - vast, unhurried, timeless. An impulsive conversation with a boatman soon turned into a plan, and within minutes, our entire group was boarding a small wooden boat.
 
The river’s surface glowed golden in the setting sun. The boat glided slowly, and Supriyo began humming old Kishore Kumar melodies, his voice soft but sure. Everyone joined in, softly at first, then louder, until the music floated over the water.

As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, its reflection lingered on the ripples, as if reluctant to leave. It was a magical 45 minutes, no itinerary, no agenda, just a shared sense of being alive.

Back on land, we drove to our hotel in Tezpur. Babul, our ever-smiling driver, reminded us of the nearby Mahabhairab Temple. It felt almost providential, Sunday evening, and my weekly Rudram chanting due. Geetha and I visited the ancient shrine, where the air smelled faintly of camphor and devotion.
 
Later that night, after some light shopping, we gathered for dinner, and fittingly, it ended on a sweet note: kheer and ice cream.
 
It felt like the journey was gently easing us back toward normalcy, even as the heart wanted to linger longer.
 
Day 9 – Monday, 10 November
 
“The Road Home”
 
There’s always something reflective about the last day of travel. You begin to pack not just clothes, but memories.
 
After breakfast, we began our final drive back to Guwahati. The Suris, our co-travellers in the car and companions through many conversations, were parting ways, they were headed to Kaziranga. We hugged them goodbye, promising to stay in touch.

Sharan outlined the plan for the day, three segments of travel, with two breaks and lunch en route. The first stop came after an hour and a half,  tea, coffee, and the usual laughter. Lunch was at a pleasant restaurant called NI4, where we lingered over rice and curries, reluctant to acknowledge the journey’s approaching end.

Post-lunch, we stopped at a tea estate,  endless rows of green stretching into the distance. Bakul, our lead driver donned the role of tea estate guide & explained how plucking was done and how leaves were sent elsewhere for processing. We walked through the manicured paths, clicking pictures and breathing in the faint fragrance of fresh leaves.

As we resumed our journey, news came that the main highway was once again packed with fans of Zubeen Garg. Smiling at the déjà vu, our drivers wisely took an alternate route through quiet Assamese villages. The detour turned out to be a blessing, lush fields, bamboo groves, and glimpses of rural life that the main road never shows.
 
At one point, we travelled along a fascinating stretch where one side of the road belonged to Meghalaya and the other to Assam, two states divided by a mere divider, yet seamlessly connected. Our driver Babul chuckled, “Refuelling is cheaper on the Meghalaya side,” and indeed, our vehicles stopped there.
 
We reached Hotel Ratnamouli in Guwahati by 3 p.m. Before dispersing, Sharan gathered everyone in the lobby for a short thanksgiving circle. Each voyager expressed gratitude to the drivers, to Sharan, and to each other.

In the evening, a final briefing brought closure, memories revisited, promises of photo-sharing made, and laughter echoing one last time. Geetha & myself took a quiet post-dinner stroll and stumbled upon a small Kali Mata temple, where the gentle glow of lamps felt like a blessing, a fitting benediction for our ten-day journey.
 
The next morning, groups would leave at different hours, some as early as 6 a.m. The tour that had started with cautious introductions was ending in heartfelt goodbyes.
 
“Where Journeys End, Friendships Begin”
 
Every journey leaves behind a residue, not just of photographs or souvenirs, but of moments that stay quietly in the corners of memory.

As our flight took off from Guwahati the next morning, I looked down at the sprawling Brahmaputra, its silver ribbon gleaming under the early sun, and thought of all that these ten days had given us.
 
We had travelled several hundred kilometers, from plains to peaks, snowy mountains, misty roads, through tunnels and over rivers, but what mattered most was not the distance, it was the connect. The shared coffee on cold mornings. The laughter at tea breaks. The care Sharan showed, reminding us to hydrate, timing the stops just right, handling every small issue with a maturity far beyond his years.
 
It struck me how symbolic it was that Arunachal Pradesh, the land that first greets the sunrise, had been our destination. For every traveler there comes a moment of inner sunrise, when you feel something quietly shift within you. For me it was somewhere between the stillness of Bumla Pass and the laughter on the Brahmaputra that I felt a deep sense of gratitude, for the land and its people, for the Indian Army and the countless jawans who have given their lives guarding these silent frontiers, and for the enduring privilege of exploring this vast and beautiful land they so devotedly safeguard.
 
As we collected our bags at Mumbai airport, the routine of daily life loomed again,  but something within had changed, imperceptibly yet surely.
 
For journeys like these remind you that you don’t travel to escape life, you travel so that life doesn’t escape you.

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