The anticipation was palpable as we gathered at Bandel Junction. It was a typical October afternoon, the sun just beginning its descent, casting a warm glow over everything. We were about to embark on a journey that none of us had imagined would materialize just a few weeks ago. The platform buzzed with the usual cacophony of vendors calling out, "Chai, chai, garam chai!" ("Tea, hot tea!") and the rustling of passengers preparing to board.
Our bags were packed, stuffed with essentials for the unknown - a couple of sturdy jackets, a pair of hiking shoes, and enough snacks to last the long hours ahead. The sound of the train's whistle in the distance sent a ripple of excitement through us. We had chosen the Mithila Express (13021), which was scheduled to depart from Bandel Junction at 4:58 PM. As the time neared, I checked my watch, feeling the slightest flutter of nerves, but mostly excitement. Dada, of course, was calm and collected, already seated on a bench with a steaming cup of chai in hand.
"Besh bhalo lagchhe na?" Dada grinned, taking a slow sip of tea. ("Feels great, doesn't it?")
I nodded, trying to match his relaxed vibe, but inside, I was buzzing with energy. This wasn't just any trip - it was our first to Nepal, and the thought of crossing international borders, especially on a train, added a layer of intrigue and mystery to the whole experience. But later was realized with a big surprise and adventure !
The Mithila Express finally rolled into the station, and the rhythmic sound of metal on tracks filled the air. It was an old train, weathered by time, but it had character. We found our seats in the sleeper class - a familiar setting for Indian travellers. The cool blue berths, the foldable middle bunk, and the wide windows framed in rusted iron bars all added to the rustic charm.
As we settled into our seats, the train jerked to life. The first few moments of movement always felt like a rush - the sudden forward motion, the slow pull away from the platform, and then the gradual speeding up as the scenery began to blur. The hum of the engine, coupled with the cool evening breeze through the open window, made for a perfect start.
The Long Ride Through the Night
As evening melted into night, the hum of the train wheels created a steady rhythm, almost like a lullaby. Outside, the scenery changed from bustling towns to wide-open fields, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The air inside the compartment smelled faintly of chai and fresh samosas sold by the vendors who roamed the aisles. Partha Da, seated across from us, began telling stories of his previous adventures. He was the type of man who could hold court with tales of mountain treks, river crossings, and close shaves with wildlife - all punctuated by his infectious laughter.
"Suno, ekbar Rajasthan e ami ebhabei train e chhilam…" he began, recounting a particularly harrowing journey where he had been stranded on a train in the middle of the desert for hours. ("Listen, once in Rajasthan, I was on a train just like this…")
As the night grew deeper, and the clamour of passengers subsided, I decided to explore the train a bit. The narrow, dimly lit corridor swayed gently as I walked, and I peeked into the other compartments, where people had already begun to settle in for the night. Some were sprawled out on their bunks, while others huddled together, sharing late-night meals of puri, aloo, and achar (fried bread, potato curry, and pickle). The familiar sounds of conversation in Bengali, Hindi, and Maithili echoed down the carriage.
Back at our berth, Dada and Sonu had already stretched out on their bunks, their faces peaceful in the dim light. I climbed onto my bunk, pulled a thin blanket over myself, and let the rhythmic clacking of the train wheels lull me to sleep.
The Dawn at Raxaul
I awoke the next morning to a faint golden light streaming through the window. The train was slowing down, and I realized we were nearing our destination - Raxaul. I sat up and glanced outside. The landscape had changed. The horizon was dotted with palm trees, and the air felt different - crisper, lighter. There was a palpable sense of crossing into new territory, though we hadn't officially entered Nepal yet.
The train finally pulled into Raxaul Junction around 8:00 AM. The station was bustling, but in a different way than Indian stations. The air was filled with the chatter of Nepali mixed with Hindi and Maithili. People moved about with purpose, many of them heading towards the border, which wasn't far from here. The station itself had a certain rustic charm - old brick buildings with faded signage and the scent of morning tea brewing at the small stalls scattered around.
We disembarked with our bags slung over our shoulders, trying to absorb the surroundings. Immediately, we were approached by local Tangi drivers - horse-drawn carts that were still a common mode of transportation here. The horses stood patiently, their bells jingling with every slight movement. Dada negotiated with one of the drivers, and before we knew it, we were loaded onto a cart, bumping along the dirt roads towards the bus stand.
"Ye to ekk alag hi experience hai dada," Sonu remarked, gripping the sides of the cart as it rattled over the uneven road. ("This is such a different experience, dada")
Dada laughed. "Ei toh shudhu shuru, aage dekho aur maaza aayega." ("This is just the beginning. Wait till you see what's next.")
The ride on the Tangi was slow but enchanting. The clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the dirt, the creaking of the wooden cart, and the early morning mist that hung low over the fields made it feel like we had stepped back in time. Raxaul was a small town, with narrow streets lined with shops selling everything from fresh vegetables to colorful bangles. The people were warm, their faces smiling as they greeted each other in the local dialect.
Sauraha Bound
Once at the bus stand, we found a small electric mini-bus that would take us to Sauraha Chowk - the gateway to Chitwan National Park. The mini-bus was crammed with locals, all chatting away in Nepali and Bhojpuri. There was a certain vibrancy in the air, a feeling that we were inching closer to something extraordinary. The bus bumped along the narrow road, passing small villages, dense forests, and fields where farmers worked under the morning sun.
After about an hour, we reached Sauraha Chowk, where we were greeted by the sight of Tapan Da's friend - our guide for the rest of the trip. He had arrived in an impressive 4x4, the kind of vehicle that seemed ready for any adventure the terrain might throw at us. His name was Ramesh, a tall man with a rugged face, tanned by years of exposure to the sun, and a welcoming smile that immediately put us at ease.
"Namaste and Welcome to Nepal! Chalo, sob ready. Chitwan ke hotel mein check-in karna hia." ("Namaste and Welcome to Nepal! Let's go, everything's ready. We'll check in at the hotel in Chitwan.") Ramesh's voice was deep and commanding, but his demeanor was friendly. He helped load our bags into the back of the car, and we set off for Chitwan.
The drive was breathtaking. The landscape opened up to reveal rolling hills, lush greenery, and glimpses of the distant Himalayan foothills. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of earth and greenery. The road itself was a mix of asphalt and gravel, with the occasional stream cutting through the path, forcing the 4x4 to splash through.
We reached Chitwan by midday, where we checked into a cozy hotel nestled in the middle of nature. The rooms were simple but comfortable, with large windows that looked out onto the forest. You could hear the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze swept through.
I dropped my bag on the bed and took a deep breath. This was it. We had arrived. But as I stood by the window, looking out into the wilderness, I couldn't help but wonder - what awaited us in the heart of Chitwan?