Dzongu in Dilemma

A cow had lost its balance and fallen off the cable car. It had landed straight into the Teesta river…

This incident was relayed a minute before we boarded the same ropeway ride. Unlike images in postcards and movies, it wasn’t the bright red box hanging in the air. It was an ordinary wooden bench attached with some thick wires as the pulley forces worked physics to provide the movement. It didn’t look like the safest way to ascend the sky but I sat beside my cousins excited for our first cable car experience. Soon, the operator pulled an iron rod as if to provide a bolt for safety and the manually-run ropeway took off. Nervous faces stared at each other as we hung many feet above ground and hoped that our fate was not like that of the cow.

We held hands, clung to each other and for the most part left our eyes closed. It was the occasional peek at the sky and below that told us of the distance we had travelled. We had crossed the Relli Khola and the second stretch of the ride swung us above the Teesta river. We dared not look below and when it stopped in the middle of the river for some brief seconds, we were too scared to even breathe. Our hearts had stopped and we could only hear the raging river roar below us...

Regrettably, the 27^th mile ropeway off NH31A does not sway above the blue waters of Teesta anymore. The sacred scare has ceased to exist. The enraged splashes seem downcast. An external force is at work – a construction is taking place as the National Hydroelectric Power Corporation (NHPC) has built its fortress there. From the highway, we notice cleared forest, levelled land, gravel and dust, construction trucks and murky brown water below.

The fuming force of an unstoppable river seems subdued. Its characteristic white rage is absent. It has been restrained. It feels submissive. It is unlike Teesta!

In hopes of passing the Teesta legend, my father would often relate the romantic story of Teesta and Rangit, two popular rivers of Sikkim. They were two lovers who were to meet at Pesok and travel towards the plains. But the girl –Teesta had arrived before the boy -Rangit and this was a blow to his male ego. Rangit was ashamed of his delayed arrival and instead of travelling forward; he decided to return to his place of origin. The opposite flow must have caused turbulence as the waters rose and flooded the great land…

And as our vehicles would near the bridge, he would also tell of my grandmother’s peculiar habit to remove from her purse a bundle of her fallen hair. She would then spit at it and throw it in the Teesta alongside a coin for reasons of her own. Like her, many grandmothers practiced the same routine as the sight of Teesta bridge also comforted weary travellers who breathed sighs of relief –we are home!

This particular trip however, I don’t remember crossing the Teesta bridge. I had dozed off and it was only when the passenger beside me wanted to get off did I wake up. We had reached our destination and it only felt right that a very wet Gangtok welcomed us.

For the last many weeks, news reports of two Lepcha “hunger strikers” had only itched our beings. From what we read, Dzongu, the Lepcha reserve was under attack. Hydel projects were creeping into our sacred place as our people feared of losing the ancestral land. Dawa Lepcha and Tenzing Lepcha were two Dzongu natives spearheading the first ever Lepcha resistance movement. Lepchas or Rongs are believed to be the original inhabitants of Sikkim and Darjeeling hills who have since become a micro-minority in their own land. Their simple thinking and timid demeanour is blamed for the “vanishing” status they have received as a tribe. Dzongu is believed to be the “signature” of Lepchas all cross the world and blog updates regarding their struggle did not convince the curious mind. We had to see for ourselves. We had to visit Dzongu.

Known to be the protected area for the indigenous of the land, Dzongu is the “Lepcha land.” It is the Lepcha “reserve” similar to the “Red Indian reserve” in the United States. It is where “pure” Lepchas reside. It is where Lepchas are still at the “primitive – tribal” stage. It is the only place where outsiders (including non-Dzongu Lepchas) need a permit to enter the terrain. Although there are no written records about the first settlement there, Lepcha legends also boast of Dzongu to be the place of Lepcha origin. It is their holy land. “It is like the mecca for the Lepchas,” my friend had remarked. And for some strange reason, it felt like we were on a pilgrimage.

We were visiting “homeland.”

Upon arrival in Gangtok, we did not know where to go. But a visit to the Bhutia-Lepcha House in Tibet Road proved to be the right start. “Indefinite Hungerstrike” read a bold banner as relay hunger strikers laid on the sidewalk accompanied by posters, khadas and Buddhist prayer flags. Inside, the place was teeming with volunteers, activists and supporters of the same – Affected Citizens of Teesta (ACT) worked on answering queries, explaining their position, writing press releases and negotiating with the government. On the second floor, Buddhist monks could be heard clanging cymbals and chanting prayers. The place was busy but the real struggle felt evident only after we met Dawa and Tenzing at the Sir Thothub Namgyal Memorial (STNM) hospital. It was their 42^nd day of hunger strike and their frail health was a clear indicator of two lives at risk. Doctors feared worse. “Nobody is as big as somebody’s life,” said Dr. Namgyal as he highly advocated calling off the strike and championed to feed the duo through Ryle’s Tube. Possible organ failures and deteriorating health conditions was indeed a major concern. They looked weak for a conversation so we sat by their bedsides silenced by their burden for Dzongu. A flier above Dawa’s bed caught my eye, “We are not against development, we are not against progress. We just want our sacred, holy, ancestral land, Dzongu, where the souls of our ancestors rest to be left alone.”

We were en route Dzongu the next day.

Having collected our permit papers in Mangan, the following day; we met with our ride to the oldest Lepcha village in Upper Dzongu. We were driving towards the land that only existed in legends, ethnographies and history books. From tiny springs by the roadside to rock-hugging waterfalls, butterflies fluttered around as the occasional orchid sightings excited us. We were left in awe but our myths had been shattered. Dzongu was not the forgotten land of “backward” Lepchas. We did not find Lepchas in “primitive” stage –they lived in well built houses and Mangan was just a jeep-ride away. They were as “civilized” as Lepchas in other parts of Sikkim. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. “Gangtok Lepchas make a poster of Dzongu Lepchas to be the backward people,” said our host as we shared this thought.

True enough, the Lepchas here seemed self-sufficient. We were told that nobody in that village went to bed hungry. They had schools and roads connecting them to the capital. Perhaps I am biased because I visited just one village in Upper Dzongu but the story of Dzongu Lepchas felt something out of fiction. It was not true.

Dzongu Lepchas were smart, intelligent citizens aware of their surroundings and concerned about their future. The mood of the village hovered around the upcoming hydel project in their precious land.

Investigated by NHPC as part of the 50,000 Megawatt Hydroelectric Initiative launched by the Government of India to harness hydropower resources, Panang Hydro-Electric project is set to operate from Dzongu, North Sikkim. The damsite is planned on the Tolong Chu, a tributary to the Teesta river and is intended to function as a run-of-river scheme capable of 280MW. With hopes of delivering Rs. 2 crore per annum for the state, the project was set to begin from September 2007. The construction time is scheduled for 4 -5 years where labourers “unlike culture” (non Lepcha, Bhutia, Nepalis) are to be brought in and the project is set to acquire a total of 54 hectares land in the area.

And this is where the apprehension lies.

Yesterday, Dzongu was the protective reserve for the Lepchas. It was the area safeguarded to preserve the culture of the indigenous inhabitants of Sikkim. Today, they are obliged to sell their hallowed land. “This project is inevitable,” said a senior government officer as he challenged, “What has Dzongu done to deserve this project?” People in Sikkim do not pay taxes but they have schools and roads built for them. In a way, welcoming this project would be a gesture of appreciation to the government who has done so much for the Dzongu natives.”

Permissibly, landowners have agreed to sell their “barren” land for monetary compensation. They are being paid Rs. 18 per square feet. “Dzongu needs to be developed. We need to be economically strong,” said a landowner who was initially against the project but has since changed his mind. Upon asking whether money was the pressing motivator for his change of heart, he said that he had tried to closely understand the benefits of the project and had decided to support the same. “Times have changed and we Lepchas need to be united for development,” he added as somebody whispered, “It will be a big mistake. There will be no need for model homes – our real homes are being destroyed.” Another person however mustered, “If you can’t win them, you join them.” But “they are receiving a lot of money,” remarked a voice who is convinced that innocent Lepchas are being lured to selling their ancestral land. With concerns about money management and the Lepchas, there are more sceptics than supporters on this issue. “They say that money will come, but our people have never been good with money. We don’t know what will happen,” said another concerned voice. History has shown that despite flourishing cardamom business in Dzongu, Lepchas have always been swindled by the middlemen. They have often been cheated, duped and been subjected to victims of alcohol abuse, and experienced Lepchas fear that the money received from selling their lands would not at all last in the long run. But the landowners sounded hopeful. “We have learnt from the past. We are more educated and aware today. We are not the victims anymore.”

However, locals shared other fears too. “We cannot speak openly against the project because we are government employees but this would also mean an influx of outsiders in our land,” said a school teacher unsure about the labourers who would perhaps be treble the population of Dzongu Lepchas. “Who knows? We might end up as the coolies,” she added. The fear of Lepchas marrying the outsiders resonated with what Mr. Lyangsong Tamsang said, “There will be a new clan –the NHPC clan in Dzongu.”

Likewise the arrival of outsiders also means an increment in the crime rate. The lifestyle of peace loving Lepchas is apt to be disrupted as Sonam Dupden Lepcha remarked, “As a Lepcha, I feel that we should put our heart and soul against the project.” The circle of dissent is silently loud, “Of course we don’t like the project idea. It would mean that the place will get dirty and this is a holy place,” shared another voice as she cautiously spoke her mind. “We get victimized if we speak against the project,” piped another voice as the “emotional blackmailing” felt evident and I recalled a previous interview where the Chief Minister said that “the agitation was anti-Sikkimise.”

In a way, the issue felt like America’s “war on terrorism.” You are either with “us” or with “them.” Similarly, you are either pro-Sikkimise or anti-Sikkimise. It then becomes what Arundhati Roy calls the “anti” syndrome as “a failure of imagination –an inability to see the world in terms other than those that the establishment has set out for you.” And Dzongu Lepchas are struggling to find the balance between dams and development. They have been polarized in becoming an anti-dam or a pro-dam supporter. Dzongu Lepchas have undeniably been divided. Two brothers under the same roof have split. While the older one welcomes the project, the younger one is totally against it.

Interestingly, there are some who remain unmoved. They seem neither afraid nor unafraid about the future. “We are fine the way we are. It is okay if the project comes and it is okay even if the project doesn’t come.”

As we left Dzongu the next day, bright morning sun and the sky hugging mountains were just a backdrop as my eyes glanced to a wall of some scribbled writings, “Land is our life…”

Published in The NEHU Journal (Shillong) 2008.