Kanha- III

The adda session slowly drowning in intermittent cries of hunger, we decided it was time for dinner. The door of the dormitory was being locked when something of a spectacle struck us down cold.

Darkness!
Believe me, if you haven't been to a forest before, take it from me, "There are few things as supremely intimidating as a walk inside a forest in the night". It was literally 'pitch black' outside. The six of us were left looking askance at each other. Alu had suddenly become oblivious of any sensation known hitherto to mankind as 'hunger'. Dudu looked visibly shaken. With a resolve that ravenous men have when danger separates them from their food we moved forward in a battle formation that would make a retreat look more honorable. Small torches made their best attempt at lighting up the road for us but, what they really did was magnify the sheer completeness of the darkness. And that at all didn't serve the purpose!
We inched to the canteen where promptly the tables were set. The good food ( albeit completely vegetarian) assuaged to some extent the rigors of our recent 'adventure' and at the same time galvanizing strength and courage for a rerun on our way back to the hostel. Post-dinner I called out everybody to look up at the sky which was littered with countless constellations we knew no name of. The clarity of the sky coupled with the sheer presence of the dark forest, waiting almost in an endless anticipation made me feel dizzy by its sheer import. The stars were so real yet so distant. One feels too very lonely at times like these. The endless extent of Creation belittles you and you feel insignificant and small. Yet, there is an empowering satisfaction, a sense of absolute liberation in accepting that smallness, that insignificance. I don't know if it's normal or not but, at times like this I feel like dying. It makes me feel it would be the most wonderful moment to leave this world, when I am at complete peace with everything around me.


Digressions! Digressions!

So, after our rendezvous with the stars was left incomplete, we headed for the hostel with measured steps. We would be making an early start tomorrow. "Have to get up at 5. Get ready by 5:45. Gypsy arrives at 6"- made a mental note. The morning trip would be to a place called 'Bahmni Dadar' ( entirely Baekaa's idea considering he was the pro amongst us).
The chill was setting into the air and I suspected it was something around 5 or 6 degree Celsius. Thank God we had no way of being certain of the temperature!! That was one way of keeping warm. Ignorance.




to be continued.........................................

Kanha Trip. Part- II

Our driver, Sachin Nagpure, looked a confident soul, sure of his bearings as a driver who has taken many to their destination. So, initially we dared not to ask him if he at all knew the directions to Khatiya, our gateway to Kanha. With the pleasant breeze easing onto our faces from the half-open windows of the car few of us thought it better to take a nap. I and Harry, the two emblems of untiring vigilance, gazed out through the window, enjoying every bit of the shifting scenery. On our way we stepped out to a ‘Peer Baba ka Dargah’ where our driver duplexing as a make-shift guide ( on the grounds that he was a local) told us stories about a underground fountain which always ran warm water and about the the roar of a tiger which announced the onset of the daily evening prayers. Then, as the car moved on, we realised that our Knight Nagpure was really at a loss when it came to directions. We insisted that he stopped every other fellow, on foot or bicycle, and inquire about the ‘right road’ ahead. As if recurring delays in stopping and asking for directions from people on the way was not enough Mr. Nagpure did us an immensely avoidable favor by giving us ‘a roller-coaster experience’. Perhaps tired of negotiating the easy monotony that highways in our country seldom offer to the adventurous exponents of his tribe he decided to give us a rough time by making a detour into one of the villages. What ensued does not evoke images from Denver’s ‘Country Roads’ but of the Al-Qaida trained Reshamiya, who seemed to have mesmerized our Nagpure from a very tender age, going by ‘the complete collection of ear-splittables’ which he kept playing on the tape with manic gay. Nose-diving into brooks, splashing water on all and sundry, chasing herds of cattle off the muddy roads he did the needful to shake Dudu and Avik from their blissful slumber. Now everyone was ‘all eyes’ to the novelty of being part of an unplanned motor-rally. Kicking up dust when there should have been none and frightening the daylights out of unsuspecting kids our path merged with the very highway we left to have all the unwanted action. Don’t know how much everyone enjoyed this, going by the amount of chaste Bengali accolades doing the rounds. The man at the wheel, perhaps in an act of justice to his famous namesake, remained unperturbed.

I, for one, was having fun.

At Khatiya, a gate was ceremoniously opened announcing our arrival into the ‘wild wild land of Kanha’. We learnt that the 3 kilometer stretch from Khatiya-gate to Kanha was to be availed only by a vehicle. Walking was strictly prohibited. After all there was no fencing and we were now inside the premises of the jungle. So, a little unpleasant rendezvous with a wild-boar or a sloth-bear was always on the cards. Promptly all signals went off everyone’s mobile phones as if heralding our complete isolation from civilization for a few days. As we unpacked in our dormitory and settled in to take possession of our beds there arose the essential need for ‘food’ in our tummies. The State tourism canteen was only a couple of minutes away from the hostel and the spread of a sumptuous veg-meal warmed the cockles of our heart. After a collective display of ‘the great meal disappearing act’ to the audience of a stunned kitchen-help we made way to our hostel, just in time for a lazy unwinding before an ‘evening trip’ into the jungle.

Now, this was the REAL thing.

An open Gypsy-ride into the jungle. Things were getting pleasantly adventurous for us now. It was 3 in the afternoon and all was in readiness at the jungle-entrance (which is just a barricade to keep off cars at odd hours. otherwise we were practically living inside the jungle.) About a quarter of the total number of gypsies, itching to get in first as soon as the gate was lifted had foreigners in them. As soon as the gate was opened, a guide hopped into our back-seat. He was a burly-fellow with an intimidating moustache and small but sharp eyes. Rajen Yadav ( Rajen Bhai as we came to call him with time ), our gypsy driver, looked very enthusiastic to show us the forest and its honorable residents from day-1. He was more buoyed by the fact that except for Baekaa (our planner and chief-motivator for the tour) we were all first-timers in this jungle. Only Alu had been to Bandhavgarh and Periyar. Rajenbhai and our guide would ask us to keep quiet when they would hear even a faint wisp of unfamiliarity in the air. One needs to be watchful and alert inside the jungle, they said. So true. As the day moved, we came to know of the difference between the usual calls and alarm-calls that langurs and cheetals give out on seeing the King of the Jungle moving, the Tiger. This helped the guides to locate and spot a tiger. After all the Tiger was undoubtedly the main attraction of the forests and people thronged the forest in the ‘peak season’ in hope of seeing them. And that the guides, gypsy drivers and the entire forest mechanism strived to make ‘successful sightings’ to please the tourists were more than evident from our first trip inside Kanha. The Tiger was their living in a way.

Driving into the forest a vast expanse of grassland welcomed us. It looked right out of the ‘African-Safari’ documentaries that all of us have grown up on on the Discovery channel. The backdrop of the imperious Vindhyas provided a marvel of a backdrop to the setting. We looked set for a ‘happening evening’.

We were introduced to 'Dindola' - the rock which 'rocked', literally. It was this huge boulder precariously poised on top of a ridge which according to our guide swayed viciously during storms but never fell. Then came the 'Indian Ghost tree'. One look at it and you knew why it was named so. It had a unearthy white texture, all shiny, and our guide told us that their barks glowed during the night. Coupled to their at times feminine arches they surely made for a spine-chilling sight during nights from a distance, one could imagine.

( This cheetal was a wide eyed spectator to our arrival in Kanha. It was grazing just in front of our dormitory and posed handsomely for the cameras.)

As herds of cheetal (The Indian Spotted Deer) looked at us in wonderment, we moved onto a thicket, inside which we saw two huge sambars. They looked like two infant horses from within the foliage. Later we saw many peacocks crossing roads and few pea-hens too. More than the occasional sight of animals we were more in rapt approval of Nature’s artistry. Rows and rows of sal trees stood in full splendor, interspersed at places with stretches of bamboo and shrubs. A few alarm calls and passages of personal anticipation later we came over a narrow road where three other gypsies were seemingly engaged in a vigilant wait. On approaching softly we came to know that there was indeed a tiger in the thickets. All of us moved our heads to the right in unison and lo and behold! There was the Tiger. Loitering in all its regal indifference, he (our guide told us it was a big male) was seen spray-marking his territory. It moved a little to his right and I (perched on top of my seat) was able to see its full stretch. It was really a BIG one. But sadly, the position of my digicam wielding friends inside the gypsy was not suited to clear photography and within a few seconds the tiger had disappeared into the dense bushes.

Our day was made.

First trip into the forest and already a good tiger-sighting!

But, all couldn't get a glance of the animal. Avik, too tired to stay alert after our long and tedious road-journey was taking a power-nap of sorts and understandably missed the tiger. Though he later reasoned the all-eclipsing stature of Alu hindering his view to be the chief dampener, it was quite disappointing to have missed a sighting.

Considering that we wouldn’t be able to contact our homes for a while we took the gypsy to Khatiya (where the towers held sway) to inform our respective headquarters in Kolkata of our well-being (even after a ‘close-shave’ with a tiger just for the effect). After downing a couple of glasses of chai we were driven back to our hostel. On our way back.....surprise surprise.... we saw a big male bison grazing from only two-hands’ distance. Baekaa was all excited. Myself, dudu and Harry were involved. Alu and Avik were having a heated debate whether its’ scientific name would be more apt if it were Bisonus mojaaitis ( mojaa is bengali for socks, considering Avik regarded the white coat on the sheen of the bison to be the only marked difference from the average goruu (cow) in the Chetla khataal he was so fond of visiting from a young age.) or Bisonus Chetlaitis. I suggested Bisonus Arthritis (more apt if you consider the white sock to be actually a preventive knee-cap), much to the chagrin of the obsessed animal-lover-punctilious-in-specifics Baekaa.

It was time for our first sunset in the jungle and as the meticulous man in Baeka surfaced to negotiate the charges for the gypsy, the other 5 of us went in to engage ourselves in a good adda session, highlighting the highs of the day.

It had been a fascinating first evening in the wild.

To be continued ......................................................

A Memorable Retreat - Kanha - I

9^th of February, 2-p.m, Howrah Station and all was in readiness for the much awaited ‘flight-off’. 6 out of a group of 8 ‘very close friends’ had decided after months of tedious planning, programming, budgeting and re-budgeting that ‘enough was enough’! And it was time we gave in to the will of the ‘more adventurous person’ inside us.

Destination – Kanha National Park, Madhya Pradesh.

Geetanjali Express was doing its reputation no harm by slicing through the night at great speed and before we even realized it was dinner-time. Having to make up with an inconvenient arrangement of 2 berths in S-8 and rest 4 in S-11 coach we took turns having our dinner in S-11. A profusion of home-made food emerged from our bags but only a few tiffin-boxes were emptied. The ‘morbid fear’ of train-toilets prompted such a judicious but otherwise unheard-of decision. ‘To avoid gorging on whatever goes by the name of FOOD’ ??? Unbelievable!

The light-sleeper that I am I find train journeys unfailing in robbing me off my share of six-seven hours of sleep. So, I decided instead to burn the midnight bulbs (coinage anyone?) along with Dudu, who though a ‘sleep aficionado’ of sorts had already started worrying about a timely touch-down at Gondia. (It’s pertinent to add here that we were to get off at Gondia in Maharashtra, a station where the train stops for only 2 minutes at 5:30 in the morning.) Gazing out into the dark hollow of the night, only to be interrupted once by a spectacle of hundreds of bulbs on what looked like a power-plant, I was enjoying the chilly air leaking into the compartment through my almost-shut glass-window. Dudu was visibly a bundle of nerves, anxious if 2 minutes could ever be enough time to let 6 humans and 16 luggage-items to offload. Leaving him to worry for the rest of the night I stole a few winks. Stations kept appearing and disappearing in front of us. Amongst few which Geetanjali regarded worthy of stopping at to take note of were Raigarh, Raipur, Bilaspur and penultimately (for us i.e) Rajnandgaon. The train was 30 odd minutes late and finally at 6:10 we got off at Gondia. The ‘Super 6’ was safely gracing the platform, commenting on the chill in the air and the puny size of the platform and the availability of hot piping tea somewhere nearby when Bedo was seen approaching us (hair slicked back in true mafia style). My childhood friend, Bedo, was asked to meet up with us, if possible, considering we were arriving at an unearthy hour by hostel-standards. He studies Engineering at Gondia and had taken the pain of riding his bike with that freezing morning-breeze boring into him so that he could intercept us on our way to Kanha. While I rode pillion to take a guided tour of his college and hostel premises and in the process keeping my morning correspondence with nature uninterrupted, the rest 5 sipped at cups of ‘re-energizing Central-Indian tea’. Bedo’s hostel was like a picturesque resort with a manicured football field which still bore the empty disappointment of having missed the august presence of the Honorable Prime Minister the previous day. Mr P.M was scheduled to visit their college on their Foundation Day, but due to the sad demise of Baba Amte the entire thing got canceled. 40 thousand brand new plastic chairs, a colossal steel canopy, and fresh coats of paint bore the testimony of a wasteful wait.

We (myself and Bedo) were now hurrying to go back to the station where a red Tata-Sumo would be waiting for me along with the other 5. Then we would be leaving for Kanha by road. A 165 kilometer long journey. All by the road.

To be continued.............................

Not meant to mean a thing.

Siblings of my tortured soul

Dancing to their grave.

Dragging feet on Existence

Life and Death fondle Pretense

The butcher comes out brave.

Every stare dipped in drug

Tethered to some sorrow.

Tranquil tremors mock at me

Apprehensions peep to see

Will there be ‘tomorrow’ ?

Sinking voices clutter thought

Mindless masks in place.

Lust-drunk fingers feel for her

Stealing across barbed wire

She blushes half-undressed.