Text by: Divya Candade
Photos by: Dhritiman Mukherjee
In the silence of the bamboo forest, I hear the gurgle of water long before I spot the river. I see tell-tale signs of limestone for a while — smooth calcite hidden under the lush vegetation. I turn a corner, and the forest changes dramatically. Imposing limestone cliffs surround me, and silvery waterfalls cascade into emerald pools. This is the entrance to Krem Chympe, an amphitheatre of Nature that is nothing short of magnificent. The vast entrance to this colossal cave is a sight to behold, framed with ferns and jade green vegetation, glistening as the light catches myriad beads of water dripping down into the pools of turquoise water below.
We are standing at the lower entrance of India’s sixth-longest cave, near Khaddum village in the East Jaintia Hills in Meghalaya. We had needed to off-road for almost three hours to reach our campsite across the river. A short hike later, we execute a steep descent to the mouth of the cave. We watch in awe as this mysterious river disappears into a subterranean womb.
Inside Krem Chympe, the river flows horizontally. Over the next few days, we will follow the aquamarine river as it disappears into the darkness of the cave and trace its course underground. To enter, we will need to swim or take a canoe or bamboo raft into the inky darkness. We are on an expedition to explore the cave systems of Meghalaya, a fragile and hidden landscape that holds untold treasures. I am with wildlife photographer Dhritiman Mukherjee and a team of filmmakers, and we have made our way to this stunning river cave, considered by some to be one of the most spectacular river caves in the world.
For millions of years, nature has been at work carving out ethereal cave habitats where water meets limestone and sandstone. Among these, river caves like Krem Chympe are particularly special. Termed a resurgent cave, the mouth of Krem Chympe is the point at which the river, which has gone underground elsewhere, resurfaces. The local Hmar/Mizo community refers to it as Sielkan — Pielkhlieng Pouk, the spot where underground water emerges.
It is also possible to rappel down from the limestone overhang to Krem Chympe’s stunning lower entrance (left). The river cave snakes further up to an upper entrance near the village of Sielkan. A 2016 Abode of the Clouds Expedition exploration by the Meghalaya Adventurers’ Association has mapped about 19 km of this cave. As we enter, the sound of gurgling water echoes through the long cave. Canoeing through the pitch-black water channel for over three kilometres (right), we suddenly stop in our tracks. In front of us is an enormous, deep lake with waterfalls tumbling over stunning calcite formations. As we look up, our headlamps illuminate the roof of the cave, arching high above us. We reach our first gour, or natural dam, inside Chympe. We will have to haul the canoe across the calcite formations to reach the other side of the dam and proceed further up the river.
Natural dams or gours form because of high concentrations of calcium carbonate in cave water, deposited as sediment along the edges of pools of water. Over time, this builds layers to form banks along the water’s edge (top and above). This is why they are also known as rimstone dams. There are over 50 such naturally formed dams along the main river passage in Chympe, each stunning in its own way, with some gours towering almost 12 metres high and forming pools as deep as 8 metres. In one gour that we explored further inside, we found this magnificent bridge between two pools formed over thousands of years (above).
The footprints of water across time are all around us. They are in the main passageway with flowing water, in the lotus-shaped formations at the edges of the pools, in little droplets far above on the roof, in the scallops on the walls and floor. Scallops, hollowed out by the action of water (seen on the walls and floor, bottom right of image), are visible all along the passage. These fascinating and recurring formations indicate the intensity and direction of water flow during the formation of the passage. Small scallops were probably formed by fast-flowing water, while large scallops suggest the flow was slow.
Experiencing the surreal beauty of Chympe up close and in person is both a privilege and a challenge. We realise that tracing the river’s course up the cave requires freehand rock climbing, negotiating tight squeezes, and often crawling on all fours. Crossing from one dam to the next involves climbing limestone overhangs where possible (top left). We also carry the canoe with us across gours to canoe further upriver (top right). Sometimes, the only way ahead was to swim through icy-cold lakes. Video: Biont
Throughout our exploration of Chympe, we spot bats exiting the caves at dusk to feed. On our third day, when we are about a kilometre inside the cave, we suddenly see a massive roosting colony of leaf-nosed bats (family Hipposideridae) lining the roof and walls of the cave as far as the eye can see (top). (Above) This colony of possibly intermediate or Schneider’s leaf-nosed bats and their guano provide nutrition for other creatures inside the cave.
Hidden life teems in the crystal-clear water below too. Our torch beams reveal a variety of aquatic life that thrives, possibly thanks to the bat guano. We saw fish, shrimps, tadpoles, and crabs. Sucker-mouthed fish of the genus Garra (right), and tadpoles, most likely Leptobrachium smithi (left), are abundant in Chympe’s waters. In some of the lakes, there are common Assamese shrimps (probably Macrobrachium hendersoni) along with unpigmented “glass” shrimps (probably Macrobrachium cavernicola) that have evolved to adapt to this lightless environment. But the flowing river and its mystical allure is only a portion of Chympe’s otherworldly charm.
Away from the main trunk of Chympe and its underground river, side passageways take the intrepid caver into an entirely different world of stalactites and stalagmites (right). These are termed relict passages, because the waterways are no longer active; many have run dry, revealing stunning, elaborate chambers and narrow channels (left).
Closer inspection of these crevices reveals that entire life cycles play out in this ancient milieu. A brilliantly-hued mayfly (top) hangs like a jewel on a rocky overhang. Also known as the day fly because the adult typically lives for only a day, the larva of this ephemeral beauty inhabits and matures in freshwater. It was astounding to see how life was adapting and taking place in absolute darkness. As I peer into the fissures of the limestone formations, my head torch lit up this daddy-longlegs (order Opiliones) laying eggs (above left). We also encounter what is commonly known as the false daddy-longlegs spider (family Psilodercidae ) (above right). Widespread in the Himalayan region and well-adapted to cave life, this family of spiders is relatively understudied, with much still to be learnt. Research on these fragile cave habitats and their enigmatic creatures is still in its early stages and often reveals new discoveries like the world’s largest cavefish in Krem Umladaw .
Magnificent and stunning above water, we wonder what other secrets Krem Chympe might hold for us underwater. To find out, Dhritiman and I dive into the icy cold river near the mouth of the cave on our way out. What we see is like nothing I have ever imagined. Under the emerald green is another riveting world.
Like a scene straight out of a fantasy film, slivers of sunlight stream from the cave’s entrance, illuminating ledges and pillars of a surreal landscape (left). A shrimp rests on a limestone formation underwater, lit up further by torchlight (right). The shifting slivers of daylight and changing shadows reveal fleeting cameos of this translucent otherworld. I marvel at Nature’s ancient and mysterious creations that challenge our imagination. I see a stark visual in my mind: this magnificent river cave running under an entire hill, juxtaposed with another looming reality close by — a massive conveyor belt of a cement factory dominating the landscape. Freezing from the cold water, I realise that this fragile habitat is precious and holds so much more in its folds. It is an irreplaceable habitat.
