Kanha-IX

The better part of the morning was lost to lazing off by my friends as I took to the television and it was well past 10 that there arose suddenly a sense of urgency which till a few moments back looked a far cry from the sloth like pace of proceedings. Within 45 minutes all seemed in readiness for us to undertake the 'Bheraghat Expedition' which was understandably expected to be the highlight of our stay in Jabalpur. A few minutes walk from the hotel and, armed with our cameras, caps and water-bottles like full-blown tourists, we were at the auto-stop, Baeka and myself in the midst of a heated bargain with the auto-drivers as to what should be the just amount they should set us back by for a two-way ride. A suitable deal sealed we hired two auto-rickshaws, one in tow the other. A good long ride past the slimming semblances of all that's urban and there sprang stretches of greenery, interspersed with arid patches and dotted with rocks and stones, a feature of this part of the country we had long become accustomed to. Not before long we had reached our destination and scouting for a food-joint so that the stomach could have enough to chew upon and leave the mind to appreciate the beauty of the marble rocks at leisure. As is the custom with tourist spots a dhaba was not far-off and having had our fill we were now poised to treat our eyes to the beauty of the legendary marbles ( sans Kareena Kapoor dancing to raat ka nasha abhie......). But Kareena or no Kareena our long wait and longer negotiations with the naao-wallaahs were amply rewarded by the imposing grandeur of the scenery that met our eyes once we were into our boat-trip. The colour of the water was a deep slimy green which reminded me of certain lines from Coleridge's 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner'. We were told that the lake was some 300 feet deep at the center and as if to bear instant testimony to such an intimidating detail we saw little energetic whirlpools spiraling into the deep recesses of the river-bed just in front of us. Taking our minds off this frightful spectacle were the six boat-men who started an animated commentary on the history of Bheraghat and the legends of the Marble Rocks.
Right from the spots where numerous hindi films were shot and places where the rocks had been fashioned into familiar shapes by the corrosive hands of Nature their narration covered all in witty couplets delivered with a deliberate lisp to attract attention away from our attendant perils. We were in the middle of the great lake, straining our necks while trying to grab onto our seats, clicking away merrily at our cameras to capture every quarter of the pristine pink marbles which were both rare and grand when the boat-men announced most unceremoniously that they could go no farther from there for what we were paying them. A little nudging told us that they would charge around 200 rupees extra to give the whole guided tour and once hooked to the beauty of the place and with no plans of visiting Jabalpur in the coming decade we decided to take the plunge. What ensued didn't let us down and we felt happy to part with those 200 rupees. Only that the two men who accompanied us throughout the tour proved to be as uncouth as they come and didn't even bother to offer their part. They said they had seen it all before and made it look like we were wasting their precious time, dragging them mid-sea into dangerous territory against their will.

The stairs to the Ghat had locals vending marble souvenirs which myself and Harry took the pains in bargaining for. I say 'pains' because thats when we came to know of the fury that the sun unleashes in these regions. Our backs were literally toast when our transaction was over and I had this feeling that it was perhaps the revenge of the chicken on whose flesh we had so ravenously dined last night and now it was their turn to make walking kebabs out of us. Even Stevens and, weren't we feeling it mightily.

After a short drinks-break at the nearest shop we were walking uphill towards our final destination for the day, Dhuwadhar Falls- our last frontier on this tour. We reached it in all possible states of disrepair, panting and hands hanging loose by our sides when the rumbling sound of the great waterfall injected us with fresh vigor and enthusiasm. Taking a flight of sinuous stairs to the point of nearest approach to the falls our senses stood a lot relaxed and refreshed. The mad cascade of white gushing water kept tumbling out of nowhere, gathering a monstrous momentum before hurtling down the steep gorge only to be calmed into the serenity of the underlying lake. We stood there transfixed for half an hour, soaking our souls in the generous sprinkle of cool water that flew in our directions, blind from the explosive impact on the hard unyielding bedrock beneath us. Though the sun seemed in no mood to relent from pouring fire onto these fuming rocks it was quite late and we hurried up the stairs, panting again, to hire two autos to Bheraghat. Our rented autos were waiting for us there and we took the same route to our hotel, thinking every moment that we might never again have the opportunity of coming to this place. The Marble Rocks on a full moon night made for a heavenly experience, but alas, we were to miss that spectacle this time around. " Better Luck next time", we told ourselves and retired to our rooms at the hotel.



Our train was due at 10:45 in the night and it was only 8:30 and we had already had our dinner, another sumptuous feast at the Saheb's and, myself, Avik, Alu and Harry were busy treating ourselves to a host of mouth-watering sweetmeats at the nearest sweet-shop at Russel Chowk. Another frantic packing session was underway inside our rooms and before 10 we were all set to hit the road to the station. Arriving early at the station, Dudu started becoming characteristically edgy when it struck him that it was 10:30 and yet the platform to Shaktipunj Express was not announced. It was nearly 10:45 and Dudu was at his tether's end fathoming what possible catastrophe had withheld our train to home. According to him, there had never been such a situation in his ten to fifteen illustrious train journeys. Surely, this was a situation which demanded prompt action. And Alu and me decided to give him some of it. Alu, the natural actor that he is, took the opportunity to showcase the more subtler side of his antics when he rushed to the adjoining platform and running back towards us in all earnestness announced that Shaktipunj was lodged at the other platform, that we had been duped by the Railways and that we were to miss the train if we didn't rush. Calamity, it is said, paralyzes some and urges the rest to action. Dudu opting to be the latter for this singular excception lost no time in lifting his luggage and was about to make a mad rush for the other platform when we all fell down laughing at the joke which had been so well executed.

Our train came in at 11:10 and left Jabalpur at 11:35. With of course 'all eggs in one basket'.



If any of us had thought that our party with the Unforeseen was over when the train started to move from Jabalpur he must have committed one of the more horrible errors of judgment. In fact our ride on Shaktipunj was an eye-opener of sorts. A lesson in the great framework of the behemoth called the Indian Railways. Ours was supposed to be a 30 hour long journey to Howrah. We didn't bother ourselves with stacking an unnecessary amount of food in our bags, assuming that there would be umpteen stoppages and stations on our way where we would be spoilt for choice. But what our journey actually proved out to be was a cruel and practical exhibition of a bengali saying, " Sei guurey baali".
Rather , " sei baalitey guur" would have been a more apt title to our escapade, I thought.


The train stopped at every possible opportunity, sometimes at places where there were no visible human settlements, leave alone railway platforms. At times it looked that jogging along with the train would have saved us some money for it would have taken us the same amount of time, at the same time doing a world of good to our collective girth. As if speed was our only worry there arose the little sobs from within our tummies, crying gently for food, sobs which would in some hours turn into terrible grumbles and manic restlessness. In all of the 30 stoppages that we had met from the morning there was not even a chanawallah within our sight. Come afternoon and the biscuit packets were all emptied and the packets of potato-chips lay crumpled. Even our reserves of drinking water were about to run out. It was almost sundown when we finally arrived at a station queerly named Barkakana, which was quite near to the Jharkhand border, and to our utter relief it had some food stalls on it. Three of us quickly made to the stall where anda-bread were being devoured by the masses with as much relish as mutton Rogan Josh at the Maurya Sheraton. I had passed on 5 plates for the others and was about to dig into mine when I saw a harried looking Alu coming up with bottles of water filled from the station tap. Hygiene for once was taking the back seat to basic urges in the most fastidious amongst us.
I was about to order my second plate of anda-bread when it became apparent to us that there was no rush at all. The engine of the train was being replaced and we could have our own sweet time nibbling at what all was there to be nibbled at. Tea was next on our agenda and before long the train started moving. The six of us again nestling safely inside the compartment, this time a little full, bore little smiles of satisfaction for the fact that we were now onto the last leg of a 8-day tour which many hadn't approved of initially. Dinner plates were bought from insisting vendors and suspiciously eaten during the night. By Jove! No one wanted an 'emergency' visit to the toilet that had seen many a troubled tryst with Relief of 70 odd fellow passengers for the last 20 odd hours. I think it was 12:30 when I passed off and it seemed as if I had just started to drift into discovering deeper dungeons of Sleep when bright halogens started shining on me through the half-open windows. It was 4:20 am and we were 5 minutes from Howrah, we were told. Shaktipunj had arrived 2 hours too early to our chagrin.


What ensued after the train stopped at Howrah must go down in our memoirs as the most frantic of packing one has ever witnessed. Shawls were being rolled into ruck-sacks, pairs of chappal tied into promiscuous pairings, air-pillows being extinguished with knock-out punches and shoe-laces getting into impossible knots in the hurry. We managed to get down on the platform before the RPF would drag us out and now, all were looking for taxis to take them home. A thoroughly memorable and rewarding trip had come to an end and as is the case with all beautiful things we weren't even complaining that it did.