The Permit Raj
Mukut Mithi must be one of our most youthful and dynamic chief ministers. He plays basketball daily in the maidan with students of Itanagar, dances till 2 am, goes jogging at five in the morning religiously and sings so joyfully that you can't resist humming with him. Last year he brought Farooq Abdullah to the Brahmaputra festival, a colourful celebration dedicated to the great river. Farooq spent four days and wowed people with his simplicity. He also sang bhajans in praise of Shyam, made instant poetry full of love and romance and, in the end, added patriotism to it too. This year Syed Shahnawaz Hussain, our youngest minister—just 32—was the chief guest, a bit shy and conscious of his position. The festival took off at Tezu, not too far from the China border on the banks of Lohit, a principal tributary of the Brahmaputra. Thousands of Arunachalis came to attend in their colourful dresses. Mukut Mithi had left no stone unturned to make it a memorable event. But there were very few tourists. "Nobody seems to be interested in visiting this most beautiful place on earth, especially Delhiwallahs," he lamented. "Perhaps their idea of India hasn't crossed Assam yet."
I fully agree. Arunachal has some of the most heavenly places in India, untouched by mainland tourists yet. But the obstacles are too many. Bad connectivity and lack of infrastructure are the obvious ones. Besides, an Indian has to procure an inner-line permit to enter the state, a British legacy—they wanted to segregate this area from the mainland—that we have inherited.
All the CM's Men
Question: How can Mithi roam around carefree like a college dropout? Answer: He has 59 members in a 60-member assembly. Want to recommend him for the Guinness Book of Records?
(The author is editor, Panchajanya.)
A Pagan Sacrifice
Unlike in the other northeastern states, Hindi is a sort of lingua franca in Arunachal. But the Christian missionaries, who were not welcome till a few years ago (Arunachal is the only state in the Northeast to have a ban on conversions), are encouraging English and are even using the Roman script for the local dialects. Their over-zealous proselytisation is also causing friction in an otherwise peace-loving region and, suddenly, local indigenous faiths have started building their Dony Polo (sun and the moon) temples, Rang Phra (local god) prayer halls and
idu mishimi gangans (tribal temple) to reinforce their religious identities.
Remains of our ancient past can still be encountered in this extreme northeastern state. Besides the Bhishmak Nagar ruins of Rukmini fame, Parashuram Kund is another place of interest in the state. The kund was destroyed in an earthquake some years ago, but the spring is still intact and is a pilgrimage centre for thousands of tribals and non-tribals from other states. We were scheduled to start back on January 30, but as luck would have it, flights got cancelled due to bad weather. To make good of my prolonged stay, I hired a taxi to visit the kund, against everybody’s advice. (The road passes through Dibrugarh tea gardens, an ulfa hotbed.)
We reached Wakro at 7.30 pm and halted there for the night. The journey to Wakro was a chilling experience. I had never seen such darkness. Nothing was visible. The cloudy skies had become one with the jungle by six in the evening. As our jeep wound its way through the thick forest, Mars seemed to be the destination, till we reached the inner-line permit checkpost. Twelve hours later I saw an indescribable morning at the kund, in the beautiful backdrop of mountains and a serene Lohit flowing by.
Who's Your Chairman?
Walong is some 220 km from Tezu by road and a chopper takes you there in 40 minutes. The weather, as they say, started ‘packing up’ while we were midway and the pilot requested Mithi to finish sightseeing in less than 45 minutes so that we return safely. This is the place the Chinese army had managed to reach in ’62. They had showed the locals two portraits—Pandit Nehru’s and Chairman Mao’s—and asked who they thought was more similar to them. Nobody knows the reply, though.
Walong was like a dream. Shrouded in clouds. One is reminded of Kalidas’ Meghdootam here. The Lohit flowed in its emerald-green splendour. The mountains were enveloped by the evening’s silky silhouette. Mithi is game for the lensmen, allowing many of us to click his photographs on Lohit’s banks. The girls, who had come from the nearby villages, giggled endlessly seeing the chief minister pose. There is an army camp and suddenly I spot Col Sanjiv, a friend from the Sindhu Darshan days. It was unthinkable to see him at a place like Walong. How long does it take to reach Tezu, I asked a lady from Walong. She replied impassively, "Approximately 12 hours and Rs 120." Unimaginable or ‘incredible’, whichever way you like to look at it.
The Colour of National Silt
Shahnawaz was visibly tense on the day he reached Tezu. It was January 28 and the cabinet reshuffle was in the offing. Only when a mysterious call assured him of his position did the smile come back to his face. He got ready to pose with folk dancers the next morning. Shahnawaz had a gala time mixing with common folk. He also had a very ‘secular’ photograph taken: with a panditji, a Buddhist lama, a maulvi and a Christian priest. It was secularism ‘incarnated’ on Lohit banks!
The Brahmaputra, together with the Sindhu (Indus), has been a symbol of national unity. Both the rivers have their origins in the Kailash Manasarovar region (western Tibet). While the Sindhu goes northward, the Brahmaputra takes an eastern path. Both are ‘male’ rivers in the Vedas for their sheer vastness and ferocious flow. The Arunachal government sends a cultural troupe and a vessel of Brahmaputra water to be poured into the Sindhu every year during Sindhu Darshan in Leh, a symbol of national unity. Farooq too had brought Sindhu waters for the Brahmaputra.
Fashion shows based on the local sartorial traditions, thanks to the young Arunachali niftians, are a rage in this border state. It rained heavily during one such show, but the chief minister stayed glued to his seat till last, along with hundreds of locals shivering under their umbrellas. It was amazing to find impeccable melodious voices and rhythmic dancers in tiny Tezu.