In the Eastern Himalayan cloud forests1 of Singalila National Park, spring is the season for rhododendrons and magnolias. In April 2021, I trekked to Sandakphu to witness them bloom. The trek ended in a forest village called Sepi, tucked away in a remote corner of West Bengal’s Darjeeling district. After my trek mates departed, I remained in Sepi to witness the rich wildlife- owls in the forest, sunbirds on the flowers, nuthatches amidst tall trees, and redstarts along the Sirikhola stream. During my brief time in Sepi, I also encountered myriad stories of wild boars and Himalayan black bears venturing into farmlands in the dead of night, and of birds and squirrels feasting on fruiting trees. I wondered if I could ever get closer to those stories.
Until then, I had only read about communities on the fringes of protected areas that live in close contact with wildlife. I had always yearned to hear first-hand accounts from communities that navigate these challenging situations everyday. So, I returned to Sepi in October 2021, hoping to speak with residents in and around the village. During my visit, I documented my experience in detail and the following piece is an excerpt from my daily journal.
On 19th September 2021, ominous news reached me. Ongchen Sherpa, a resident of the Sirikhola village, a stone's throw from Sepi, had been attacked and injured by a Himalayan black bear in broad daylight. This deeply unsettled me. Until then, I had only read about communities on the fringes of protected areas that live in close contact with wildlife. This was the first time I encountered such an incident outside the pages of a book. Even though I was far away in Kolkata, the news felt very personal. With numerous voices dissecting the incident from different angles, I wondered, “What was the truth?” I had always yearned to hear first-hand accounts from communities that navigate these challenging situations every day. So, I returned to Sepi in October 2021, hoping to speak with residents in and around the village. During my visit, I documented my experience in detail and the following piece is an excerpt from my daily journal.
October 13, 2021
At 8 p.m., we were waiting for food at the Chamling Restaurant in Dhotrey, a small hamlet in the Eastern Himalayan region of West Bengal. “We are at 8500 ft. A bowl of thukpa2 costs 500 rupees here”, Shingo daju3 feigned seriousness. The motherly host at Chamling softly rebuked daju and reassured me, “Don’t listen to him. It is only 50 rupees”. There is no lack of warmth in these chilly Eastern Himalayan heights.
We were headed to the forest village of Sepi, about 3 km from Rimbick (Darjeeling district, West Bengal) near the Indo-Nepal border. Lal Bahadur Rai, who goes by the name Shingo daju, regularly ferries passengers and connects retail stores at Rimbik with the bigger market in Siliguri. When we resumed our drive, it was half past eight, and 2 hours away from our destination. In the pitch darkness, reflectors demarcated the safe extents of the path. We finally arrived at the ‘Lipohochha Homestay’ in Sepi at half past ten. Anjala Rai and Amit Rai greeted me on the porch. Their homestay is a family-run establishment. Back in 2021, it was mainly managed by Anjala with Amit assisting her.
At dinner, we talked about hiking to the villages of Timburey and Gurdum over the next two days. Amit seemed hesitant.
“Is it about the bears?”, I asked.
“Oh, you already know about it?”, Amit seemed comfortable on learning that I was aware.
Within India, Protected Areas (PAs) are regions designated under the Wildlife (Protection) Act 1972, to conserve biodiversity and wildlife. They include national parks, wildlife sanctuaries, conservation and community reserves, each offering different protection levels. Since Sepi is situated on the very edge of the Singalila National Park, bears raiding maize fields are hardly a surprise. However, such incidents involving humans are rare occurrences.
On 19th September 2021, Ongchen Sherpa of Sirikhola village was severely injured in an unfortunate negative interaction with a Himalayan Black Bear near his pigsty. I learned about it from Anjala over the internet. She shared that in 2021, bears had regularly visited the agricultural fields during the maize harvest season. These interactions are not uncommon in the fringe villages of India’s Protected Areas. Within India, Protected Areas (PAs) are regions designated under the Wildlife (Protection) Act 1972, to conserve biodiversity and wildlife. They include national parks, wildlife sanctuaries, conservation and community reserves, each offering different protection levels. Since Sepi is situated on the very edge of the Singalila National Park, bears raiding maize fields are hardly a surprise. However, such incidents involving humans are rare occurrences. I had only read and heard about them, longing to learn directly from the communities living through those experiences. In Sepi, I suddenly found myself amidst all of it. Forested hills loomed beyond the homestay windows. They looked dark and daunting.
October 14, 2021
The darkness gave way to a bright morning. The forests were lush in post-monsoon glory. An orange-bellied Himalayan Squirrel scurried by the window. Amit introduced me to Budhan Rai, my companion for exploring Sepi, and outlined a tentative route for us on a hand-drawn map. From the homestay, an overgrown trail led us toward the higher reaches of Sepi. As we walked, Budhan pointed at the villages built into the mountainside on the opposite side of the Sirikhola River—clusters of colorful sheds, almost hanging from the slopes, and surrounded by clearings among forested patches.
The villages in the region are distributed along the two sides of the Sirikhola River valley. Mountains on the true left were dotted with settlements– Daragaon, Beechgaon, Kalyan, Mussheypaka, Sirikhola, Timburey, Gurdum, and onwards. Sepi is situated on the true right of the stream. There are two ways to reach these villages from Sepi– one can either walk to Gurdum along the left bank after crossing the Sirikhola bridge or take the forested right bank and cross over a narrow footbridge near Gurdum. The forest section along the right bank is uninhabited. Several meltwater streams crisscross this forest and act as the primary source of freshwater for Sepi. The forest floor is also rich with mulch4. Dry leaves and dead bark provide firewood to the entire region. From organic manure for farmlands to fodder for cattle, villagers heavily depend on the forest for daily sustenance.
As we continued along the spiraling trail towards Upper Sepi, terraced fields for cultivation soon came into view. In mid-October, the fields were golden with ripe maize. Tall stalks towered over us. Walking through these golden fields, we eventually reached a field where no standing stalks bore fruit. It was littered with peeled fiber. Budhan said, "This is how bears raid crops.The entire season’s harvest is lost. Many farmers have moved on to matar (peas), lasun (garlic), or rayo-ko-saag (mustard leaf greens) as bears don’t raid them".
In mid-October, the fields were golden with ripe maize. Tall stalks towered over us. Walking through these golden fields, we eventually reached a field where no standing stalks bore fruit. It was littered with peeled fiber. Budhan said, "This is how bears raid crops.The entire season’s harvest is lost. Many farmers have moved on to matar (peas), lasun (garlic), or rayo-ko-saag (mustard leaf greens) as bears don’t raid them"
The fields gradually gave way to small sheds. Budhan led me off the trail, down the slopes, into a wooden room and said, “This is Bikash Rai’s place”. While a barking dog announced our arrival, I noticed chhurpis5 drying on the wooden ceiling. After an introductory exchange, our conversation veered towards bears. Bikash did not seem too worried about their presence. He shared, “Yes, they visit my fields too at night. But they have been here forever. What’s the point of worrying?” He was more interested in showing me around his place. Laced with potted flowers, his house consists of rooms strewn about the mountain slope. Bikash’s store room was filled with potatoes, the main cash crop as Rimbick’s potatoes are renowned for their quality and unique flavour. Potatoes had fetched a price of Rs 2000 for 50kgs in the previous year. Other crops like maize, garlic, pumpkins, peas, etc. are mainly grown as food crops for local consumption. “Come and stay with us when you visit again”, Bikash extended a warm invitation as we hit the trails.
After an introductory exchange, our conversation veered towards bears. Bikash did not seem too worried about their presence. He shared, “Yes, they visit my fields too at night. But they have been here forever. What’s the point of worrying?”
Soon, we arrived at the Mankhim Temple premises. The temple is built around a rock on the mountainside. Inside, we see the carved figures of the Rai deities, Paruhang and Sumnima. The Rai/ Kirat community worships Paruhang-Sumnima as incarnations of Shiva-Parvati. Paruhang’s attire reflects his identity as a woodsman. Later in the evening over a cup of tea, Anjala Rai shared how the entire region had previously led a hunting-gathering lifestyle, "My grandfather was an ace hunter. Even my father had learned those skills. But then, the 1972 Wildlife Protection Act came and we gave up our hunting traditions. Now, we rely heavily on agriculture".
Later in the evening over a cup of tea, Anjala Rai shared how the entire region had previously led a hunting-gathering lifestyle, "My grandfather was an ace hunter. Even my father had learned those skills. But then, the 1972 Wildlife Protection Act came and we gave up our hunting traditions. Now, we rely heavily on agriculture".
After crossing the Mankhim temple premises, we reached an open courtyard. A fresh harvest of maize was laid out for drying in the sun. The trail then snaked past numerous identical homes, with incredible displays of beautiful flowers and kitchen gardens growing iskus (squash) and occasional giant pumpkins. Climbing past them, the trail flattens into a football field near the hilltop. At the peripheries of this field, we spotted clumps of violet flowers jutting out from the mountain. Budhan gave them a gentle nudge, releasing a pollen cloud, as we descended into a shady pine forest.
Beyond the forests, a small uphill climb brought us to Nirmal Rai’s courtyard. Recently, a bear invaded his maize fields, followed by a wild boar, wiping out the entire season's harvest. But Nirmal found little incentive to pursue the Forest Department’s complex process for minimal compensation. Like most others, he moved on to sowing matar(peas) and rayo-ko-saag (mustard leaf greens). He seemed empathetic toward the animals that had ravaged his crops saying, “The bears need to eat just like we do”. Inviting us for a cup of tea, he added, "What’s gone is gone. I’ll start afresh".
Beyond the forests, a small uphill climb brought us to Nirmal Rai’s courtyard. Recently, a bear invaded his maize fields, followed by a wild boar, wiping out the entire season's harvest. But Nirmal found little incentive to pursue the Forest Department’s complex process for minimal compensation. Like most others, he moved on to sowing matar(peas) and rayo-ko-saag (mustard leaf greens). He seemed empathetic toward the animals that had ravaged his crops saying, “The bears need to eat just like we do”. Inviting us for a cup of tea, he added, "What’s gone is gone. I’ll start afresh".
From there, we walked downhill through dense foliage amidst constant birdsong. After some time, we reached an open courtyard. A large plate of dalle khursani, the famous round red Eastern Himalayan chillies, was laid out for sun-drying. This was Sumitra Rai’s place. Budhan took us there for her Waiwai6 noodles, which is famous across Sepi. Her Waiwai mixed with bits of dalle, chased away the laziness that was slowly creeping in.
After lunch, we hiked to the Sirikhola River down a steep, endless staircase cut into the mountainside. I tried not to think about climbing back up to Lipohochha later. We wanted to visit a nearby waterfall but found the usual trail overgrown, so we tried hopping across the stream. After a stone gave away, wetting us up to the waist, we finally decided to head back. Removing the sticky tragia seeds on my arms kept me occupied until we reached Lipohochha.
October 15, 2021
We planned to visit Gurdum and see as much of the region as possible. So, we decided to walk through the settlements on the inhabited side of Sirikhola, cross into the dense uninhabited forest at Gurdum, and return to Sepi through it. Budhan was ready at 9 am with his bag and a sickle. The sickle, he said, would be crucial on our way back through the uninhabited forest section.The walk began along a motorable tar road. After crossing the Sirikhola bridge, an iconic landmark in the region, Budhan pointed to a shed amidst the forested mountainside. He said, “This used to be Ongchen Sherpa’s place”. Ongchen was weeding the post-monsoon growth when a Himalayan Black Bear severely injured him.
Budhan said, “This used to be Ongchen Sherpa’s place”. Ongchen was weeding the post-monsoon growth when a Himalayan Black Bear severely injured him.
Past the shed, the trail climbed steeply into a wooded path leading to Timburey. We stopped here for a breather at Milan Tamang’s Swayambhu Lodge. A painting at the lodge depicts ‘Last Supper’ but with characters modified to inculcate Nepali facial features. I was fascinated by the painting which reminded me of how in 1753, on the high Andes of Peru, Marcos Zapata modified Da Vinci’s ‘Last Supper’ to include the dead cuy, a Quechua delicacy on the center plate. Milan told me that a group of students from Kolkata had painted his wall when they stayed at his place.As Milan offered us warm water, he shared his skepticism of our plan to take the Dark Forest route back to Sepi. Budhan took note of Milan’s caution. Ahead of Timburey, he inquired with everyone we met about any updates on the forest trail we planned to take on our return.
Photo: Upayan Chatterjee
The trail climbed steeply beyond Timburey and it took us almost an hour before we walked into Gurdum past golden fields of maize. Now, we could either retrace our route back to Sepi or take the densely forested Dark Forest. Budhan chose to take the forest route back to Sepi. A small wooden gate marked the boundary between Gurdum village and the forest. Villagers built the gates to keep wild boars out of farmlands and prevent domestic cattle from straying into the forest. “But these hardly ever stop the boars”, Budhan chuckled, as we entered the forest.
A small wooden gate marked the boundary between Gurdum village and the forest. Villagers build these gates to keep wild boars out of farmlands and prevent domestic cattle from straying into the forest. “But these hardly ever stop the boars”, Budhan chuckled, as we entered the forest.
Past the gate, there was a small bridge spanning over the Sirikhola River. Budhan picked a dry leaf from the heap on the ground. He placed it gently on a pre-existing heap of leaves, carefully balanced on a pillar of the stone bridge. “This is how we ask the forest for permission before stepping into it”, Budhan said. A leaf falling off represents the forest refusing consent. Our leaf stayed.
Budhan picked a dry leaf from the heap on the ground. He placed it gently on a pre-existing heap of leaves, carefully balanced on a pillar of the stone bridge. “This is how we ask the forest for permission before stepping into it”, Budhan said. A leaf falling off represents the forest refusing consent. Our leaf stayed.
The next few hours consisted of walking up and down along narrow trails under a dense canopy of old oaks. The soothing sounds of flowing streams were a constant companion. It was noon, the brightest time of a very sunny day. Yet, it felt like dusk within the forest. Only at a few select patches, sunlight penetrated this canopy; beautiful red flowers bloomed at these spots. There was no conversation, except for Budhan’s occasional warnings at places with only leaf heaps and no solid support under them. None of us realised how much time had passed until we suddenly stepped under an open sky. We had arrived at the upper reaches of Sepi.
The dense uninhabited forest stretching from Gurdum to Sepi/ Photo: Upayan Chatterjee
At the upper reaches of Sepi, it is much easier to access firewood from the forest than to carry LPG cylinders up the ‘Sepi Highway’. I had thought that making LPG/alternatives officially accessible was a sufficient solution to reduce the rural dependence on firewood. Not for the first time, I was reminded that there was a lot to learn beyond books.
It was well past lunchtime and we were hungry. So, we took the trail that winded towards Sumitra’s place. We found her amidst a mound of iskus (squash), being readied as fillings for momo. It was Dashain (Dussehra), a day of great ceremonial importance in Nepali culture. Sumitra Rai was busy preparing food for her guests, who were expected to arrive in the evening. Her daughter Deepika, prepared some steaming Maggi for us, singing while she worked. Post lunch, Budhan suggested that we take a detour via parts of the village that I had yet to see.
At Hemant Rai’s place, we were greeted by the same scene of iskus momo preparation. It was a festive day and he refused to let us leave without a meal. When Budhan explained that we had just had lunch, he brought us a platter of fruits. From there, Budhan took us off the main trail onto a narrow path winding through maize fields, it was incredibly steep and broken in places. “We call this the Sepi Highway”. Budhan grinned and added, “This is the route by which everything be it rations or cylinders is carried to Upper Sepi”. At the upper reaches of Sepi, it is much easier to access firewood from the forest than to carry LPG cylinders up the ‘Sepi Highway’. I had thought that making LPG/alternatives officially accessible was a sufficient solution to reduce the rural dependence on firewood. Not for the first time, I was reminded that there was a lot to learn beyond books.
Budhan and I stopped at every household to talk about bears. But the festive mood of Dashain had set in. For the residents of Sepi, having the bears around is never a hindrance. It is normal. They brushed off any serious conversation about bears and offered platters of fruits, sweets, and sel-roti 7instead.
This steep trail brought us to Middle Sepi. Budhan and I stopped at every household to talk about bears. But the festive mood of Dashain had set in. For the residents of Sepi, having the bears around is never a hindrance. It is normal. They brushed off any serious conversation about bears and offered platters of fruits, sweets, and sel-roti instead. By the time we reached Lipohochha Homestay, Budhan and I were filled to our brims and had to refuse the special evening snacks Anjala had readied for Dashain.
October 16, 2021
Just as I started getting anxious, I remembered all I had experienced over the last two days– the scale of challenges and hardships faced regularly by Sepi’s residents, all borne without a single complaint. I was also reminded of the peace I had the privilege to witness.
There was no way to reach Siliguri directly from Sepi as Shingo daju’s service was suspended for Dashain. So, I hopped onto a Darjeeling-bound vehicle. At Darjeeling, there seemed to be a mad rush of tourists, with local taxis overflowing with passengers. This was something that I wasn’t prepared for. Just as I started getting anxious, I remembered all I had experienced over the last two days– the scale of challenges and hardships faced regularly by Sepi’s residents, all borne without a single complaint. I was also reminded of the peace I had the privilege to witness. Suddenly, I wasn’t worried anymore. I knew I would find a way.
Conclusion
My time in Sepi is one of the most impactful experiences of my life. The takeaways are immense from deep insights into Nepali culture to first-hand knowledge about the various dynamics of life in the Eastern Himalayan region. There is a shift in how I perceive our connections with the natural world. I learned that communities living in close contact with wildlife view nature through a different lens.
My time in Sepi is one of the most impactful experiences of my life. From deep insights into Nepali culture to first-hand knowledge about the various dynamics of life in the Eastern Himalayan region, the takeaways are immense. There is a shift in how I perceive our connections with the natural world. I learned that communities living in close contact with wildlife view nature through a different lens. For residents of forest villages like Sepi, man and nature are never two disparate entities. Co-existence with the myriad natural elements is the natural way of life. The villagers guard their crops at night from bears and wild boars. But animals aren’t looked upon as outsiders. Their presence is normal, expected, and ingrained in cultural traditions. I also learned how restricting access to forests can fuel the man-versus-nature narratives. When the habitual forays to the forest to source timber, firewood, or fodder are curbed, the natural acceptance of the forests’ perils diminishes. Gradually, the “If we aren’t allowed in forests, then animals of the forest aren’t welcome in our vicinity” attitude takes over.
For residents of forest villages like Sepi, man and nature are never two disparate entities. Co-existence with the myriad natural elements is the natural way of life. The villagers guard their crops at night from bears and wild boars. But animals aren’t looked upon as outsiders. Their presence is normal, expected, and ingrained in cultural traditions.
There are no clear answers on where to draw the line between conserving forests and making space for India's deep indigenous connection with nature. But I realised that we were swiftly drifting away from the stories and oral traditions that form the basis of such connections. My experience in Sepi made me want to learn more. It was the start of a life-changing journey that eventually took me deep into the forests of 'Pakke Tiger Reserve' in Arunachal Pradesh and into the lives of the Nyishi tribal community who reside along the forest’s eastern boundary.
Additional Readings
- Zubair, ‘How Local Hero Anjala Quit Her Urban Lifestyle To Empower Her Village Community’, Indiahikes, 2018.
- Chatterjee, ‘The Nyishi, The Forest and Life’, Sanctuary Asia, Vol. 44 No. 6, June 2024.
- Chatterjee, ‘A Walk Across India’s Tiger Country In Search Of India’s National Butterfly’, Roundglass Sustain, 2024.
- Chatterjee, ‘Forgotten Lessons From The Forests Of Pakke’, Nature In Focus, 2024.
- Cloud forests: A tropical or subtropical forest constantly or seasonally covered by low-level clouds (Wikipedia) ↩︎
- Thukpa: A popular noodle soup in Darjeeling with roots in Tibetan cuisine ↩︎
- Daju: Elder brother in Nepali language ↩︎
- Mulch: A protective layer composed of decaying leaves, bark or compost (Wikipedia) ↩︎
- Chhurpis: traditional hard or soft cheese consumed in Nepal, Bhutan, Darjeeling, and parts of Northeastern India ↩︎
- Waiwai: A beloved Nepal noodle famous across the Eastern Himalayas ↩︎
- Sel-roti: Traditional Nepali sweet ring-shaped fried dough made of rice flour ↩︎
Upayan Chatterjee worked in the Electronics Engineering industry for 3 years. Recently, he transitioned into a Trek Documentation role at Indiahikes. To pursue his interest in observing the close connections between India's forests and fringe-dwelling communities, he is also working on documenting oral traditions of the Nyishi community around Pakke Tiger Reserve under the Keystone Foundation's Shrikant Joshi Shola Fellowship.
My forays in and around Sepi would never have been possible without:
1) Anjala Rai and Amit Rai from the Lippohochha Homestay Team
2) Budhan Rai, who guided me through the region and shared incredible insights
3) Bikash Rai, Nirmal Rai, Hemant Rai, Sumitra Rai, the residents of Sepi, Timburey, Gurdum, and adjoining villages; who opened their doors and hearts to teach me about the realities of living in close contact with the Eastern Himalayan Wilderness
