The deep, bone-aching tiredness from our first day's trek was a force to be reckoned with. Every muscle in our legs screamed in protest, and our shoulders were raw from the weight of our packs. Sleep was our only salvation, but first, we had a ritual to perform.
In the dim light of our Khemchong Para lodging, we became each other's physiotherapists. A tube of Boligel became the most valuable item in our possession. Foysal, despite his own exhaustion, worked his magic on my sore legs, then on Rimon's and Liton's. In return, we did the same for him, a silent agreement of shared suffering and solidarity. We even passed around Paracetamol, a preemptive strike against the fever that often follows such extreme physical exertion. Finally, we surrendered to sleep, our bodies pleading for mercy.
😨 The Midnight Chorus: A Sound That Froze Our Blood
At 3:30 AM, a sound ripped me from my slumber. It was a continuous, mournful crying, a chorus of grief that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the dark, dense forest surrounding the village. My heart hammered against my ribs. In a place with only 7-8 houses, isolated from the world, this eerie wailing was utterly terrifying. It didn't sound like one person, but many-a haunting symphony of sorrow that made the night feel ancient and unknown.
I lay there, paralyzed by a mix of fear and fascination, until the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky. Courage returned with the light. I nudged Rimon, and together we decided to investigate. I grabbed my GoPro, our only shield against the unknown.
Our room was built on stilts, high off the ground for safety. The wooden stairs we had used to climb up were portable and had been pulled into the room overnight—a standard security practice we now understood all too well. We carefully placed them down and stepped into the cool morning air.
We hadn't walked ten steps when we saw him—our guide, Shawpon Dada, standing quietly, observing the waking village.
"Dada, how did you sleep?" I asked, my voice still heavy with sleep and unease. "Not well," I admitted. "What is that crying sound? It was so frightening."
Dada’s face was somber. "A young man from the hills passed away. A severe throat infection," he explained softly. The mystery was solved, but a profound sadness took its place. The vibrant community we had entered was in mourning.
☕ A Morning of Discovery and a Cultural Lockdown
Dada, ever the gracious host, offered us tea. We politely asked for a moment to freshen up first, and with that, Rimon and I began to explore Khemchong Para in the morning light.
What we saw took our breath away. The village was a hidden paradise, cradled by impossibly dense jungle. We spoke with a few tribal villagers, who greeted us with curious smiles. "Did you have any trouble coming?" they asked. I told them it was difficult but beautiful. When I asked about their lives and where we were headed next, they simply smiled and pointed towards the endless green hills.
After brushing our teeth with water from a mountain stream, we enjoyed a warm, life-giving cup of tea with biscuits. We were packing our bags for the next destination—the fabled Rungrang Hills and Menyang para when an unexpected problem arose.
The villagers gently but firmly informed us we could not leave.
Their reason stopped us cold: it was the time of the Mara Jawa (Death) festival. A strict rule dictated that anyone present in the village during this period must stay for four days. Our hearts sank. Our entire itinerary, every booked guide and planned stop, was about to shatter. Panic set in.
🤝 The Negotiation: Respect Over Rules
Thankfully, our guide, Shawpon Dada, was a seasoned diplomat. He and I sat down with the village head. We listened respectfully to their custom. We explained that we were outsiders, unaware of this sacred rule, and that our journey was tightly scheduled. We expressed our deepest respect for their traditions and our sorrow for their loss.
Seeing our genuine ignorance and our respectful approach, the village head relented. He granted us special permission to continue our journey. The relief was immense. It was a powerful lesson in traveling with humility and respect for local cultures.
Before we left, I explored the small village shop-a testament to human resilience. Every single item, from biscuits to soap, had been carried on someone's back for miles. The prices were slightly higher, but honestly, not nearly enough considering the effort involved.
We took a few last moments to capture the beauty of the village. And then I saw it, hanging on the wall of our own lodging: the skull and antlers of a deer, a silent reminder of the deep connection between this community and the forest that sustains them.
🎙️ The Honest Departure: "Will You Come Again?"
Before setting off, Shawpon Dada, in a stroke of kindness, took the bags of our four most exhausted members to carry himself. "Today's journey is not difficult," he announced with a reassuring smile. "We will reach para in just two hours of walking."
As a blogger, I couldn't resist a final check-in. I turned my camera on the team. "So, how did you like this journey so far?"
The answers came back: "Amazing!" "Incredible views!" "Very good!"
Then I asked the second question: "And... will you come again?"
The majority response was immediate and unanimous: "Never!"
We all burst out laughing. It was the most honest travel review possible. It was tough, it was painful, but it was also an experience they would never, ever forget.
With that mix of exhaustion, accomplishment, and humor, we shouldered our (slightly lighter) packs and stepped back onto the trail, the mysteries of Rungrang Summit waiting for us.
The adventure continues in the next post... The "easy" two-hour walk promises more than we bargained for!
📸 Photo Suggestions for This Post:
The Boligel tube surrounded by tired trekking shoes.
A misty, early-morning shot of the Khemchong Para houses on stilts.
A respectful, distant photo of the mourning villagers (without intruding).
The portable wooden stairs leading down from the house.
A close-up of the items in the village shop, highlighting the prices.
The deer antlers on the wall of the house.
A candid video still of the team laughing at the "Never!" response.