A homestay journey into Jaflong’s Khasi Punjee
Beyond Jaflong’s famous stone beds lies a quieter world. A homestay in Khasi Punjee offers an intimate glimpse into a matrilineal society where nature, culture and community remain deeply intertwined
Jaflong, in the Sylhet region of Bangladesh, is a land shaped by stone beds, flowing streams and endless green hills. Yet beyond its postcard beauty lies a quieter, deeper story — one that belongs to an ancient indigenous community living in harmony with the hills: the Khasi people.
For centuries, the Khasi have lived in the hilly terrain of Jaflong, holding on to a way of life rooted in forests, hills and betel leaves. Their lives revolve around nature, but modern challenges shape their present — limited access to education, distant healthcare facilities, and ongoing uncertainty over land rights.
Still, with quiet resilience, they continue to protect their culture, language and traditions.
An invitation to stay
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An unexpected invitation opened the door to this hidden world.
A senior communication officer at the International Labour Organization (ILO) Bangladesh mentioned that homestay facilities had been introduced in the Khasi Punjee of Jaflong as part of a community-based tourism initiative.
"Do visit if you wish," she said.
The offer was irresistible. Having experienced homestays across Africa, Morocco, Nepal, India, and, most recently, with a nomadic family in Mongolia in July 2025, I realised I had never had such an experience in my own country. That was about to change.
Journey into the hills
From Sylhet Airport, a two-hour drive brought me to Ballar Ghat, on the banks of the emerald Piyain River. Waiting there were Priyanka and Mimi from Khasi Punjee — warm smiles, gentle voices. Priyanka would be my guide.
A small boat carried us across a narrow channel of the river. We walked on as daylight softened into dusk. Hills rose on all sides, and nestled at their feet lay the Khasi Punjee. Priyanka pointed towards distant hills and homes — India, just across an invisible line. It felt astonishingly close.
Crossing a small mound, we passed through Londoni Bazaar — a name that feels perfectly at home in Sylhet. Soon after, a sign appeared: Welcome to Khasi Punjee.
With that, the noise of the outside world faded. Trees, bamboo-and-wood houses, a church, a playground, and betel leaves spread neatly across courtyards — this was the Khasi village. Some places speak not through sound, but through silence.
Life at Lymba Homestay
There are four Khasi Punjees scattered across this hilly landscape. My stay was arranged at Nakhshiar Khasi Punjee, at Lymba Homestay. Mr Lymba and his daughter, Szirom, welcomed me warmly. The two-storey structure blends modern comfort with traditional Khasi architectural style — an open ground floor, with living spaces above.
Across the four Punjee, there are nine homestays in total. The villages are immaculately clean. It feels like stepping into a parallel world, thoughtfully preserved.
Dinner that evening was at Ramla Restaurant, a community-run eatery operated by a Khasi family. Parents, children, and daughters-in-law — everyone played a role. Food here comes not only with flavour, but with stories.
Nakhshiar Punjee has two homestays — Lymba Homestay and Szirom Homestay — both managed by the village headman, Mr Welcome Lamba, and his family.
Exploring Khasi Punjee and beyond
After breakfast at Jiram Homestay, Priyanka and I set out to explore. The experience blends village life with nearby attractions: Jainta Rajbari, the water-lily-filled wetlands of Dibir Haor, Jaflong Zero Point, and the famous white stone beds. From Shapla Bil, through Lal Pahar, and into the "kingdom of stones", the afternoon slipped by unnoticed.
The next day was dedicated to the heart of Khasi livelihood — the betel gardens, known locally as Brikon. Betel vines grow by wrapping themselves around areca nut, jackfruit, or other trees. Certain customs are strictly observed: entry in an impure state is forbidden; women do not enter after dusk; men collect the leaves, and women prepare them for market.
Across the four punjees, there are nine homestays in total. The villages are immaculately clean — bamboo baskets tied to trees for waste, wooden direction signs at every turn. It feels like stepping into a parallel world, thoughtfully preserved.
A matrilineal society
One of the most remarkable aspects of Khasi society is its matrilineal system. Lineage is traced through women, and children inherit their mother's surname — a striking contrast to most societies in Bangladesh. In Nakhshiar Punjee, historic homes such as Anjali House, once belonging to local landlords, still stand as markers of the past.
Priyanka gifted me a traditional Khasi garment called Chusd, worn daily by Khasi women at home. Festive attire, she explained, is far more elaborate.
The Khasi speak their own language — Khasi — and while most are now Christians, indigenous beliefs and folk traditions continue to shape daily life. Festivals, songs, and dances keep their cultural memory alive.
Tourism with purpose
The Khasi Punjee experience is not just about travel — it is about sustainability. Rich in natural beauty and cultural heritage, these villages hold immense potential for community-based tourism. The ILO has been playing a key role in developing this model by training local residents in guiding, homestay management, handicrafts, and small-scale entrepreneurship.
On the final day of my stay, representatives from the ILO, the Canadian Embassy in Bangladesh, the Ministry of Education, and the Bangladesh Tourism Board visited the Punjee. Conversations centred on collective efforts to ensure that tourism benefits reach the community directly—preserving culture, protecting the environment, and creating income opportunities for women and young people.
On my last day, Priyanka walked me back to the Piyain River. Soon, the familiar Jaflong–Sylhet highway returned — crowds, noise, movement. Yet it felt as though I had left behind another Jaflong, hidden deep within the hills — where nature is not scenery, but a way of life.
Some journeys end when the road ends. Others stay quietly within.
Even now, I remember the peaceful mornings of the Khasi village — and the simple, genuine smiles of its people.
