The pleasures of slow travel: train to Malbazar
One of the better marketing ploys in North Bengal in recent times has been the advent of the Vistadome coach. For Rs 900 you can travel from New Jalpaiguri to Alipurduar in a comfortable, air conditioned coach with rotatable padded seating and big glass windows. It is not very well known that you can do the same journey in the same train for Rs 85 in a second class compartment. The views are, to my mind, as good and you see a slice of life that you are completely deprived of in a tourist coach. I have always enjoyed travelling in second class compartments in slow local trains. For the past couple of years, the pandemic deprived me of the opportunity to travel thus, but now with the pandemic hopefully ebbing, I decided that the time was ripe to venture for a short trip from Siliguri to Malbazar using the Dooars route by train.
The Rail Yatri app informed me that there was a train that would leave the Siliguri Junction station at 6.10 AM towards Chalsa and beyond to Alipurduar, but when I reached the station (it is a short 15 minute walk from my residence) I found that the train did not exist, or had been cancelled during Covid times and never reinstated or maybe it was not available on Sundays. When I am travelling slowly, I do not bother myself with all this, but I noted that the next train that was available was the Bamanhat Express, probably thus named in order to be able to charge a slightly higher fare. However the fare was Rs 30 to Malbazar, so that I was not cribbing. I sometimes wonder if there is any country in the world that is so suitable for slow and extraordinarily cheap travel as ours. When they get around to rationalizing all routes and eliminating “loss making” trains, I, for one, will feel extremely short changed.
The train was an old style passenger, not noticeably clean, but not noticeably dirty also. There was no carpeting of peanut shells that is so common in South Bengal, and the train was empty. When I entered the station it was just 5.55 AM, so that I had plenty of time to examine all the compartment and chose a compartment that seemed to have the cleanest seats. I took my favourite window seat facing the engine and waited for 6.45AM.
The day was, fortunately clouded and cool; in fact, I was wondering whether I should have brought my windcheater along; the sort of weather for which North Bengal is famous. So waiting was easy and I sat there firmly resisting the temptation to take out my phone. I forgot to mention that while the outside of the station had the usual complement of plastic, cowpats and other sundry refuse, the station itself was spotlessly clean. The buildings had been freshly painted and there was an old retired toy train engine mounted outside. I discovered at the ticket counter that the train did not stop at Chalsa, which was where I had originally planned to disembark, so I took a ticket for the New Mal Junction, which cost me, as I have mentioned before, just Rs 30.
The train set off exactly on time and the initial half a kilometer or so was marked by the usual plastic waste, rickety houses and drains that looked very malodorous indeed, though fortunately, I was unable to smell them as I was masked. But very soon, the train entered the green environs of the tea gardens and on both sides, the soothing green of the well kept tea bushes came into view. I am not sure whether everybody feels this way, but I always have the feeling that the people on the other side of the compartment are getting a better view out of their windows. Today was no exception and it seemed to me that those sitting on the right side were getting to see more trees while the tea gardens on my side seemed to be devoid of shade trees.
The train soon came to Gulma station which is a very pretty place and marks the entry point of the rail line to the Mahanada Wildlife Sanctuary. I have written about Gulma earlier (see here) but this train does not stop here and as we rattled over the Mahanadi Bridge (the river is completely dry at present), the train entered the forest. The Mahananda Sanctuary is far more dense and wild looking than we see from the road to Sevoke and we crossed several kholas and rivulets , some dry, some with a trickle of water. One stream, the Nandi, had a fair amount of water and a bevy of egrets roosted near it.
The train slowed and we could see signs of human activity. A huge gash in the forest like a bleeding ulcer indicated that we had reached the construction site of the new train line to Rangpo. A tunnel enters into the hill at the Sevoke station and plenty of the forest has been sacrificed to build the accompanying appurtenances of railway that is to link Sikkim to the mainland. The construction has already claimed 10 lives and in the unstable mountains of the Kalimpong hills has created many landslides and together with the Teesta dams. It reminded me of Garhwal, where in the name of providing facilities to the Army and pilgrims, four lane roads are being pushed through the fragile landscape. I hope not to be around in the area when Mother Nature takes her inevitable revenge.
The train stops for a minute or so at Sevoke and then crosses the mighty Teesta. The waters flowing down are now muddy, no doubt because of the incessant rain in the higher reaches. There is some ragged forest here after which the train enters an unexpectedly long tunnel and emerges into a dense forest. A peacock sits on a high branch, undisturbed by the train which puffs past. The next stop is Bagrakot, a surprisingly large station where vendors now invade the compartments.
One of the pleasures and sometimes the pain of travel in second class unreserved compartments are the vendors. I like them very much. The calls of “ Lal cha, lemon cha” by a ragged looking man carrying a big can of tea and a much smarter colleague who is selling “Chana Badam: garam garam “ makes me sit up. Later boiled eggs, singara and jhal muri come by. Susmita and Ninni would definitely have purchased the muri, but this call leaves me cold. I manfully resist the temptation of the singara as well.
Odlabari, a tiny station, in inverse proportion to the busy market town that it is, and Dam Dim pass by. There are tea gardens and forest and occasionally a field now ploughed and ready for planting. But the rivers are ubiquitous. We cross innumerable bridges, small, large, medium sized. The rivers pass by all rushing down from the hills to join the Teesta and to be carried down to Bangladesh en route to the sea. I love the names: Leesh, Geesh, Chel and so many more. There is little water in most of them, and it is difficult to believe that in the monsoons some of these become raging torrents that can even wash away the bridges that we are now crossing.
Birds are in profusion. Egrets are seen, now in breeding plumage, and the occasional cormorant drying its wings atop a naked branch. Suddenly a grey hornbill wings by, followed by its mate and the open billed stork accompanies the egret in the paddy fields that have been ploughed, but not yet planted. A couple of red naped ibises browse in a green meadow. The smaller birds are difficult to identify in this moving train, but I can definitely identify an Indian roller, several white throated kingfishers and the common black drongo. A pied bushchat sits atop a bush and several other birds whizz by, far too quickly for me to identify. At 7.55, just over an hour of travel, and I am in New Mal Station.
I have seen this station from afar so often from the highway, but this is the first time I am alighting here from a train. The train is on high ground so that the tea gardens that sweep away to the North and seem to merge with the mountains. A cormorant flies overhead carrying a twig in its beak. The station is also spotlessly clean, well maintained and has most of the amenities: a waiting room, a refreshment room, which sells nothing, but has several pretty looking tables laid out. A model of a bio toilet adorns Platform No 1, but the toilets in the platform are firmly locked. I quickly walk to the front of the train to photograph the engine and then I discover that the train driver or is the proper designation a pilot, is a smart young lady maybe in her middle thirties. I am old enough to feel thrilled at the thought that women are now invading all these fields that we thought were entirely male preserves. Way to go, young lady!
I sit on the platform munching a packet of biscuits that I have purchased from the solitary kiosk on the platform and contemplate what to do. My initial plan was to walk down to Malbazar and take the bus back, but I soon realize that several passengers are arriving in the platform. I ask one gentleman who informs me that the Intercity to Siliguri is due soon. I decide to take this train back and buy a ticket quickly. The ticket clerk looks very doubtfully at one of the ten rupee notes that I have offered him and I offer to replace it with a ten rupee coin that I have. He looks relieved; no doubt he was expecting an argument with me.
I sit on the platform waiting for the train. It is pleasant, the sky is clouded and an enjoyable breeze blows across the station. Large numbers of egrets forage in the green expanse below the station and the mountains can be seen albeit covered by gauze like clouds. There are a number of families waiting to go to Siliguri, it seems, all dressed in their Sunday best for a trip to the town, or perhaps to visit relatives. I hear a small boy begging his mother to buy him something from the kiosk; his mother firmly refuses. I am reminded of us trying out our luck with our parents when we stopped at some bazaar during our road trips in our schooldays.
The train is announced several times before it actually appears. A similar one to the one I had taken; compartments again at least half empty. I settle down in a window seat. Opposite me is a smart young lady who alternates taking selfies with conversations about a business that she presumably runs in Siliguri. I look out, pretending I am not interested in her conversation, but I love overhearing what people are saying in public transport. You get to hear what people are thinking about, what their concerns are and I recommend this method to all reporters trying to get the “pulse” of the people before elections.
The train stops for aeons in Dam Dim. In an adjacent platform is the Tourist special with the pricey Vistadome. The passengers look discontented; perhaps they are realizing that the Vistadome is not all that it is cracked up to be. Anyway, after a wait of around 15 minutes or so, the Padatik express roars past, and then we are free to leave but the Vistadome still awaits the green light.
The train passes the now familiar landscape, more egrets, another peacock, and the mesmerizing greenery of the Dooars. On one field, the red silk cotton tree has now strewn its crop; the cotton drifts and covers the field with a snowy carpet. Another grey hornbill flies past at Gumla and then we are at Siliguri junction about 25 minutes late. I set off at a brisk walk and enter our flat at around 11.45. My trip is over and a very satisfying one it has been too.
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