We are standing at the edge of the road peering down at the Nohkalikai Falls in Meghalaya. Touted as the tallest plunge falls in India, they cascade down from a lush green landscape to form a cyan-coloured pool at the bottom of the valley. The white of the falls, the verdant green of the surrounding mountains, an azure sky and the aqua of the pool: the scene is picture perfect and sublime.

Till I turn away from the postcard scene and face a sight that is a blood-curdling red and anything but sublime. On a stall set across the road is one of the deadliest chillies in the world, aptly named Bhut Jolokia (Ghost Pepper). These Northeastern chillies are so potent in their chilliness that eating them without adequate preparation is enough for anyone to give up their ghost!

In 2007 The Ghost Pepper was certified as the hottest Chili Pepper in the world in The Guinness Book of World Records and measured 400 times more potent than Tabasco sauce. Since then chilly has come down in the world and lost its spot to other ‘hotter’ cousins, with the current title being held by the Carolina Reaper. Even so, the Bhut is still volatile enough to cause damage if one were to read reports such as that about the 47-year-old man who thought it would be a ‘jokia’ to chew down some Bhut, and ended up with a burned hole in his food pipe. In fact, all across the Northeast, farmers use the pungency of Bhut Jolokia as an official scarecrow: to keep herds of wild elephants away from agricultural land.

As we cross over to Meghalaya’s neighbour, Assam, I try to leave aside the memories of the murderous Bhuts and look forward to eating the cuisine of this gentle state where the mighty Brahmaputra dissects an undulating landscape and magical mists shroud green fields in a gentle embrace.

My first experience of eating a full Assamese Meal comes in the quaintly named restaurant, Bhatbaan or literally, Rice dish, located at a resort near the famous Kaziranga National Park. As we wait eagerly for our meal after a long and tiresome road journey, the maitre d’ of the restaurant patiently explains the whole concept of Assamese cooking. No, there are no Bhuts hovering around the food. No, there is no chilli powder used in cooking, even though the locals eat a lot of raw chillies. Yes, some of the items are cooked with absolutely no oil. And yes, spices are kept to a minimum. He smiles and corrects us gently as we prod him with questions about the impending meal.

When the meal comes, it is a revelation in more ways than one. Everything that the maitre d’ had told us is kosher. As we bite into the various ingredients displayed so elegantly on our plate, we realize that the aroma, flavour and taste of the meal is coming from the cooking process, where the use of bamboo shoots, leaves and herbs and slow cooking over charcoal or wood fire is leading to the subtly different taste from normal cooking.

The most important part of an Assamese meal is Khar: the dish is unique to Assam and is the first item to be served on a thaal. Khar is an alkali liquid substance processed from the trunk and roots of an indigenous banana tree. To this is added raw papaya and pulses, after which all the ingredients are sieved through water and banana ashes to give a distinctive flavour. To start the meal, we are asked to put the khar on a small mound of rice, followed by a smidgeon of mustard oil and ground ginger. The resulting combination is delicious and a palate tickler.

Then begins the main meal. The whole meal may a tongue-twister of names but the tongue isn’t complaining. The Assamese thaal consists of rice, khar, Jalukia kosu thor ( a thick curry made from tender taro leaves ), posola (tender banana tree trunk delicacy), koldil bhaji (banana flower fritters) , salad, stir fry vegetables, desserts, along with the very popular and quaintly named masor tenga (sour curry) and pitika (mashed potatoes cooked in mustard oil, onion, coriander and salt). The twist comes in the nature of ingredients used for preparing the dishes. Local ingredients such as kosu paat (taro leaf), fiddlehead fern (dhekia), Banana flower ( koldil) and tora paat (wild cardammon leaf) are the heroes of Assamese cooking.

The thali is flanked by a little plate on which sit three little leaf bowls holding different types of chutneys: Outenga chutney, made from elephant apple , a black chick pea chutney and a mustard and green chilli chutney. My favourite is the outenga chutney, whose flavors range from sweet to tangy. And nowhere on the plate do I see the Bhut!

The largest component of any Assamese meal is pork, fish or chicken. I have opted for chicken and fish on the menu and have a chinwag with the maitr d’ on the three types of fish preparations which include cooking the fish wrapped in a banana leaf or in a bamboo sleeve or in spicy black pepper gravy. I opt for the second option. So here I am looking at my Sungat Diya Aari Maas which is river catfish cooked in a bamboo sleeve over a charcoal fire. The chicken dish is called Bahor Sungat Dia Bah Gaj Aru Kukura and is country chicken and bamboo shoots slow-cooked over charcoal and served with rice and pickle.

For the next 15 minutes, my group of 20 women wanderers perform a near-impossible task: a dead silence at the table as they happily tuck into the delectable spread. The only sounds occasionally punctuating the silence are burps and contented little sighs.

Just when we all are sitting back, thinking we cannot eat a morsel more, comes the dessert. This is the famous Assamese dessert, Gooror Payas. This dish is often compared to North Indian rabdi, and is made from rice, milk, jaggery, cashew, bay leaves, and dates. The addition of dates in this dish gives it a distinct flavour. No one wants to share; everyone wants to finish their own bowl and like Oliver Twist, ask for more!

As I wander out from Bhatbaan after that prodigious meal, I look around benignly. Bhuts or no bhuts, this has been a close encounter of the happy kind!