M aneybhanjang is a tiny village in a nondescript corner of Darjeeling, a scratch within the folds of the lower Himalayas. But it is famous for two very different reasons. This village, which is more like a cluster of wooden shacks populated mostly by workers from the neighbouring tea estates, is the starting point for one of the most treacherous kutcha mountain roads of the world — a route which is on the bucket list of many driving enthusiasts. Remarkably, Maneybhanjang (pronounced maané-bun-yang) also has one of the highest concentrations of the Land Rover Series 1 still in use, seven decades after this iconic vehicle was introduced.

The two are connected simply because the Series 1 was considered to be the only vehicle that could take on the tough terrain and roads of Darjeeling. The British were the reason why the tea estates in Darjeeling came up during the early part of the 19th century; and though they may have initially influenced the decision initially to bring in the Land Rover Series 1, it was the local population that embraced the Landie as their most trustworthy companions. After the British left, the Series 1s stayed on, changed hands, got passed down the generations and has remarkably survived thanks to the engineering skills of local drivers.

The Land Rover was famously conceived after a sketch on a beach by the chief designer of the British Rover Company in 1947 during the aftermath of World War II. Most of the surviving Landies in Maneybhanjang are Series 1 and Series 2 which were produced between 1948 and 1961. All of them were produced and imported with petrol engines, but most, if not all, today sport diesel ones. A lot of them have seen other extensive repair work and hand-fabricated coach work done locally. Considering the rough terrain and the fact that most of them are run as taxis, it is remarkable that these vehicles are still plying the narrow, steep, rocky and nearly non-existent roads of the region. They are mostly used for ferrying locals and tourists to the very top of the neighbouring hills overlooking Himalayan peaks such as the Khangchendzonga, and their longevity is a testament to the self-taught engineering and maintenance skills of the drivers.

Many of the drivers and current owners of these Land Rovers such as Chander and Samantha — with whom I spoke at length — are of Nepali descent, and their fathers and grandfathers were driving the very Landies that they now depend on for livelihoods. Samantha, for example, fondly recalls the stories about how her grandfather used the Landie she now drives, to ship more than half a tonne of potatoes and tomatoes from the fields near Bagdogra, the plains below Darjeeling. Samantha’s family Land Rover has today been modified to accommodate passengers, and she drives it along the same routes.

Mind you, we are not talking about the average climb leading up a hill station, with the most difficult bits being the half-dozen hairpin bends along the way. Maneybhanjang, nestled in the middle of the big tea estates of Darjeeling, is already at about 1,700 metres above sea level, and the roads leading up to the tea gardens are not without their share of hillside challenges. But the narrow road leading up to Sandakphu is on a different scale.

Starting off from a nondescript corner of town, the route really looks like a one-lane driveway leading up to some colonial bungalow. Instead, it is a two-way climb which is often a series of un-barricaded switchbacks and steep hairpins that takes you up more than 2,000 metres within a driving distance of a mere 31 km. I was in Maneybhanjang at the invitation of Land Rover which was commemorating its 70th anniversary by giving a small bunch of motoring journalists an opportunity to drive both the old Landies and the Land Rovers of today. Climbing up towards Sandakphu, I was at the wheel of an LR Discovery with its all-wheel drive terrain response system giving me a sense of security. But within minutes I realised that size does not necessarily help in these conditions. The route is nearly a 40-degree incline in most places, and alternates between broken tarmac and uneven, rocky cobbled surfaces. Much to the displeasure of the local drivers (who believe it takes away the charm of the route), there are a few short stretches of concrete tarmac that have been recently laid by the Indian Border Security Force. But much of the route is so narrow and tight that I was being forced to stay on the very edge of the lane often with the outer tyres of the Discovery sticking half out and a precipice-like fall on the other side. After a series of steep hairpin turns, I looked out of the window and got a view of the road looking like a Christmas tree shaped ribbon. Patience and teamwork are key traits of the people who frequent this route with drivers taking turns to accommodate and direct the other across tight spots. Often, the drivers of the other Series 1s went in reverse towards the nearest hairpin, stuck to the mountainside or huddled into a corner to let me through; realising that they were dealing with a novice who is finding his feet.

On the way back, I hopped into Chander’s Landie Series 1 and discovered how difficult it was to negotiate the route. Raw, exposed to the elements and often a visceral experience thanks to the simple leaf-spring suspension transmitting every bit of the kutcha tarmac to my backside, the old trusty Landie still felt sure-footed and turned in with ease. But I also realised how hardy the people of the region, were, to be able to withstand multiple trips.

As I crested another peak and let the Landie down the slope past one more nearly blind turn, I caught a glimpse of the mountain range that the Kachendzonga is part of. The clouds filled the sky in the valleys below, and the clatter of the engine echoed off the mountain; an ode to Darjeeling and the Landie - a vehicle that has quite literally helped us cross continents for the last seven decades.

S Muralidhar

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