I was filled apprehension in leaving Wakching. This was purely down to the amount of rain we had witnessed in my week long stay. With just one sunny day, the quantity of water was concerning and the reports of landslides on the other road south of the town did little to ease my worries. However Ayong’s parents seemed hardly concerned.


Our sumo, one of a convoy of up to eight, was the last to arrive . Why they all have to leave at 6.00am in the morning and not depart at different times is beyond my understanding. Probably has something to do with the drivers wanting to finish work early. Any how we were bundled into the back seats and took off following the other Sumo taxis. It was not long before the heavens opened again and it started pelting.


The three of us arrived in Mon at around nine o’clock. Mon had in my previous visits resembled a big dust bowl, but this time it was a mud bowl. The streets were awash with mud and it now had a sort of border or wild west feel to it. We jumped off at the sumo corner and went straight to the “Super Travels” counter. It was here exactly one week earlier that the man had refused to sell me an advance ticket to Sivasagar in Assam. This had annoyed me and sure enough, he had now sold out of these tickets. He did however sell us tickets on a 9.30 shared taxi to Simaluguri. A poor alternative, but what can you do. Simaluguri is the Naga/Assamese border town and it offered us the possibility of a convoluted journey with two changes to Sivasagar and then a bus to Jorhat.


We took this option and waited in the vehicle. Sunita had decided to come with us to Jorhat where she would catch a bus to Shillong. Langa and I would stay with Suresh as planned and resume our journey the following morning by train . Langa would get off at Dimapur and I at Guwahati. Needless to say this shared taxi did also not go as planned as it dawned on us at 9.50 that “Super Travels” had lied again. He had sold us tickets for a 10.30 trip, and lied saying it was leaving at 9.30am. He qualified this lie by saying that one passenger was running late. It was only when we demanded our money back that we found out the truth. In the end we left at 10.00, only to find out that the idiot driver had not filled up the vehicle with petrol and we ran out some one hour from Simaluguri. We lost another good sixty minutes waiting as the idiot walked to the local village to find some petrol. As we waited in the road I was grateful that it was not raining and at least I could (even there) feel the heat from Assam starting to warm my frozen body.


Eventually at Simaluguri we caught a Tuk Tuk to the Assamese side of the border where we caught a local bus to Sivasagar . Now we were starting a race against time to get to Jorhat and it was our further misfortune to have caught one of the slowest buses in the state. This vehicle had a top speed of 25 kms per hour and stopped where ever possible. By the time we arrived at the Sivasagar bus terminal, the last bus to Jorhat had already departed. Another taxi was needed and this time (with no sign of a foreigner) Langa and Sunita got a good price on a comfortable vehicle to Jorhat. Around R15 per KM which is fare enough (standard rate is R11-3 per Km) unless of course you are in Longleng, Nagaland where the local cartel charge an astonishing R129 per Km - which is criminal.


We arrived in Jorhat at the Nando Guesthouse as the sun was setting. Suresh was pleased to see me and only too glad to organise a trip to photograph the tea pickers the next morning. We quickly grabbed a tuk tuk into Jorhat and bought a ticket for Sunita to Guwahati and then Shillong. We followed that up with a meal which was reasonable and then left her (at her suggestion) at the bus terminal to catch the night bus.


It was pure luxury enjoying Nando’s Guesthouse and the hot shower. The next morning Suresh kindly took me back to the tea plantation we had visited in the winter. Now in the spring everything was underway, the picking and the production . I photographed the women in the plantation, many who were on good form with a good sense of humour and one of the managers came with the three of us and explained the procedure. After that we walked around the same factory I had seen idle in February. This time it was all working and very interesting that was too.


In the end, it was sad saying goodbye to Suresh. I had so enjoyed his guesthouse and company over the last few months. I am convinced I will stay here again one day. The Jorhat-Guwahati chair train left at 14.10 and Langa and I enjoyed first class. Again we were delayed chugging through the hot agricultural fields of Assam. Eventually we entered Nagaland and the small metropolitan area around Dimapur. It was here (and true to form) the skies blackened and we entered a huge rain storm as we pulled into the station. I quickly said goodbye and thanks to Langa for all his help and waited to meet Nungty to say goodbye to her . But the rainstorm was too violent and she could not make it so I was back on the train. At 10.00pm we rolled into Guwahati, my final stop in the North East.


Raj Baruah, Mr Sakar and Hari were all smiles when I checked in at Baruah Bhavan. The fact that I was leaving the North East of India was now quickly dawning on me and I was feeling surprising melancholic. It was as if my trip was now ending despite the two weeks left with my father and then the planned two weeks in Thailand. Nevertheless it was great to be back at Baruah Bhavan.


I also luckily received a call from Nino who had been at a project in Manus with Buno and was going to be in Guwahati that night so I took the opportunity of introducing her to Raj and Hari and she and Buno ended up staying overnight before continuing her trip back to Kohima.


I also had promised my self that I would visit the Kamakhya temple as well as complete some chores in Guwahati. When Raj heard that was what I was intending to do he kindly offered to come with me. Soon Nino and Buno were also invited and we piled into Raj’s car. The Kamakhya Temple is one of the most important Hindu sites in the North East of India. It is actually one of the 51 Shakti Pithas and actually one of the oldest. These temples of the Shakti Pithas are actually temples consecrated to the goddess Shakti or Sati. She is the female principle of Hinduism and the main deity of the Shakta sect. This Kamakhya Temple is one of the 51 temples that are scattered in the Indian sub continent, each placed at a point where parts of the goddess fell after her self immolation.


The temple on this site was constructed around the 8th century but has been renovated several times between then and the 17th century. Amongst the ornate sculptures, the temple houses four chambers, which are the Garbhagriha, Calanta, Pancharatna and the Nritya-Mandapa. The centre piece is though the Garbhagriha, which is small, dark and reached by narrow steep stone steps. Inside this part of the temple which is like a cave, there is a sheet of stone that slopes downwards from both sides meeting in a yoni-like (vagina-like) depression some 10 inches deep. This hollow is constantly filled with water from an underground spring. It is the vulva-shaped depression that is worshiped as the goddess Kamakhya herself.


The drive up to Kamakhya is spectacular at the best of times as the view over Guwhahti and the city’s hills are so impressive. The huge Brahmaputra snakes its way past the hill on which the temple is located. As you get closer to the temple its importance becomes apparent as a small village has sprung up to deal with all the pilgrims. Shops line the route to the temple and cars and pilgrims fight for space.


Raj had organised his “guide” to accompany us into the Garbhagriha. We had to wait until he arrived, queuing for access next to many other pilgrims. Inside we were lead to the front of the queue of the pilgrims (we were in the express queue - others outside were queueing in the regular queue which can take six hours) by the guide. I followed Raj down into the cave and to the spring source. It became stifling hot with bodies of pilgrims squashed against each other. “Don’t give anyone any money!” yelled Raj. This was one of the best tips as the closer we got to the spring the more people emerged out of the darkness demanding money. I touched the spring at the bottom of the cave, where the fresh water was covered in bank notes and then was ushered out of the Garbhagriha by Raj’s guide. It was quite an experience and I was glad i could fit this visit in, on my last day in the North East. Back in the blinding sunlight we found Nino and Buno and retreated back to Baruah Bevan.


That afternoon I bid farewell to Nino and Buno before turning my attention to my packing. That evening I had a great conversation with Raj before heading off to bed. The next morning, I was up early and met my taxi for the journey to Guwahati Airport and my flight to Jaipur to meet my father.


All of a sudden it seemed that my North Eastern adventure was ending after an absorbing five and a half months. I cannot adequately describe why I am so hooked on this forgotten area of India, but already I am looking forward to returning. At times this area is frustrating and difficult, but then you can be taken aback by its remoteness, uniqueness and the people. It really is unmatched compared with the many places I have visited and an experience I can whole heartedly recommend to those independent travellers with a sense of adventure, a good level of patience and inquisitiveness. At a time when much of the four corners of the world are visited by independent travellers, its remarkable to say that this part of India is still untouched and relatively undiscovered.