Kanha-VII

Next morning we headed early for some place known as Sarhi. It was the third gateway, the other two being Kisli and Mukki, which led to the forest of Kanha and we were informed that it was a completely new, unexplored territory which had been opened only one month back. Few tourists even knew of its existence. The morning brought with it biting cold and none felt the snug security of sweaters enough to ward off the fierce freeze. It was literally chilly, jaw-rattlingly at that. Another jacket put on the already clumsy looking piles of woolen-wear that were us, we tip-toed out to the veranda outside our dormitory. It was still dark outside. We had to press the torches into action to navigate our way to the canteen to have our morning tea. That put in more vigor into us instantly ( this Central-Indian tea is markedly different from the variety we have here in Kolkata. Its actually all milk, and practically no-water stuff). We had our breakfast packed from the kitchen and as the other gypsies started to line-up at the gate, we jumped onto ours, waiting for the gate-lifting ceremony patiently. Every one looked raring to go. After all it was our last morning trip in the jungle. Every one wanted to make it a memorable one. As the gate opened gypsies started to move in and onto our car jumped in a familiar figure. He was the same person who had prescribed the efficacious 'jadi-booti' for Baeka the previous afternoon. And today he had come mentally prepared to handle 'the situation'. He insisted strongly that he sit alone, beside the driver, pre-empting any proximity to Baeka which could trigger another rapid-fire round of questions. Four of us were uncomfortably packed into the rear row of seats. But then, Raju guide (that was his name) looked determined this morning and we had to 'adjust'.

Easing into the meadows we could not believe our eyes. The familiarity of their faded green had vanished from them and a sea of mist had settled most condescendingly on top of the grass. It was as if we were inside a completely different forest in a completely different time. Raju was narrating to us how 27 villages, including his, had to be rehabilitated outside the forest margins to set up this Park. Lots of fertile tracts went waste and people suffered. Then, of course, the Govt. came to their aid and nowadays all was well with the villagers. In between sympathising for their plight we were discussing, in hushed tones, how the forest held back so many of its appearances just for the 'effect', so it seemed. And yet, it never failed to inspire awe with recurring novelty. Grand!

The roads familiar to us through the previous trips were now fast replacing some uncharted paths. The colours of the trees were different. The leaves a profusion of hues, some autumn red, some fresh green, at places deep-green left us fascinated. And yet, the marvel of the forest would not end. As we moved deeper into the forest and the Sun yawned in its first rays of light into the setting, everything seemed to have come to a stand-still just to witness this spectacle. Wherever we looked we saw an ocean of mist, far-stretched and imposing, rippling forward riding the waves of sunlight which had just recently invaded its slumber. And then what met our eyes made me think 'Heaven is here' and nowhere else could it be. Lodged on top of a small pool, we could not decide as to which side held a better view as both made us feel deprived, even for a second's delay in noticing them.

On our left, perched on a rock were two Adjutant Storks, spreading their wings to emulate flight and showing us in this process its complete wing-span. Black and beautiful. On the right the sight of a single long tree, dead and leafless, lodged against the backdrop of the faraway ranges covered in a cloud of mist and fog met our eyes. All along our way grandeur of the morning-forest had captivated us so much that we had been completely unaware of the killing-cold accompanying us. Running noses and frozen palms became the topic of discussion now and speculation was rife regarding the temperature. We had no way of knowing that. The chill was near complete. It breached every piece of clothing we had assiduously put on and pierced our very marrows. There was hardly any difference between Kanha and Kanchenjunga here, we felt.

The Sun was starting to reclaim its territory now, its rays pervading space and diffusing warmth. We saw a herd of cheetals stand up in alarm, their ears pointed in one single direction, feeling the air for danger. Kudai Dadar, as this place was called, had all the makings of a Topobon (meditation ground), where saints must have come in quest for salvation and truth. Moreover, I personally felt that this place could surely make saints out of ordinary men, even rogues. It had that quality of overwhelming purity in it. It had a sense of compelling divinity that was captivating and yet was so powerful that it could subjugate hearts and minds with a sensual persuasion, both subtle and alluring. We saw a tree resplendent with bright red fruits, hanging in bunches. Raju told us it was the Sinduri tree, used by tribal women as vermilion. The opulent crimson of the flowers was further magnified by the generosity of the sun shining on them.

When the Sun looked in complete control of the morning, we went back to Center-point for tea and snacks. Many foreigners were spreading out their elaborate breakfast outdoors. It looked as if there was a banquet of sorts commencing in the jungle. And most unfortunately, we were the only spectators to it. Our guide found out from others that the mercury had dipped to touch 0-degrees in the morning. Again ignorance had saved us the panic that this little information could have caused, if known earlier during the trip. Now, we could appreciate why it had been so bone-chillingly cold in the open. That gave us the shivers afresh. After having some samosas and bread-pakoras the six of us went in to see the museum as Chetan looked out for some of his work-related information in the vicinity. Inside the museum, we saw a documentary on Kanha and another one which showed a forest guard who escaped an attack by two young tigers. Another showed how one of the ranger's skull was almost ripped open by a sloth-bear. Both had made narrow escapes and were still very much alive and serving the forest. After lazing around and having a second round of tea from our now famous 'common-fund' we decided it was time we headed for Sarhi, our original destination.

The road to Sarhi was pristine, appealing and almost unexplored as promised. The long grass on the road was ample proof of its untrodden status till now. It was a long journey, but without the climb or turns of the road to Bahmni Dadar. Instead, on both sides were forest-brooks lined with boulders and little mounds on which grew a thin variety of wild-bamboo. Some were dried white and were in stark contrast to the otherwise rich green scenery. After an hour or so we ascertained that we were at a considerable altitude as the foothills of Vindhyas were visible. The hills were covered with greenery and housed Neelgais, the biggest of the Indian antelopes, we were told. We finally got a glimpse of a big herd of Neelgais but, the tall grass hindered our view. The guide told us that as they were totally unaccustomed to human presence they were extremely shy and ran away from our gypsy. Finally out of the Sarhi-gate we could come down from the car. Then, we headed for Bichhiya, a small suburb where we would have our lunch in some local Dhaba. They were dime a dozen according to Raju. We rode through a village from where Raju hailed. He came back in a while from his home and next stop was a Dhaba. While the food was being ordered, one by one everyone of us made a routine call back home as others explored the adventure of sitting on a charpoy. The anda-curry was all red-hot inflammable but, with no other option at hand, the curry was 'managed' with some lemon garnishing. An hour or so and we were heading back into the forest for the evening-trip. Life was becoming hectic but this was our last tryst with the forest and we braced ourself with the hope of seeing a tiger. Rajenbhai, as efficient as he is, quickly took us through the villages to Sarhi . Only once did we stop at Raju's field from where he picked some pea-plants and thrust onto our laps. We were half-way making a 'neat job' out of it when Avik started complaining that the shrub had started causing 'serious irritation' on his arms and legs. Quickly they were disposed off. I, Harry and Baeka, the ever curious ones in the group utilised this delay to explore further and asked for some water at Raju's place which was at a stone's throw. As hospitable as one could be, he made us sit inside his hut and rushed inside to bring some water. It was a nicely made up place. Neat and homely. He brought us water which was as cool as the ones we drink out of the water-cooler in our college. Soon we were inside the forest and anticipation was running high inside us.

On our return-trip we first came face to face with a gigantic bison. It stared at us for a while and then moved away nonchalantly. At one place we waited for while, Raju all ears to the monkeys calling at a distance. A gypsy came from the front and reported alarm calls. We moved forward and Raju inferred that we were very close to the tiger. It must be looking to cross the road to go to the water-hole on the other side, he said. For the next 20 minutes we were ricocheting back and forth in search of the elusive tiger. Then, suddenly, Raju called out, "Tiger, tiger!...... yehi pe thhaa..... uss taraf chala gaya....gaari pichhe lo..". Alu and Dudu approved of this claim as they too had seen a young one coming out of the thickets to cross the road. Startled by the sound of our gypsy approaching, it had gone right back to the safety of its familiar surroundings, thus, robbing us of a 'priceless sighting'.

Though we missed the tiger, we saw a rare sight sometime later, a Barasingha, true to its name i.e The Indian Swamp Deer, was chomping on aquatic weeds in knee-deep water. We also saw a herd of bison crossing the road. They are an imposing emblem of strength and and just their sight can set one's pulse racing. But, to our good fortune we found all of them in good humor and they went about chomping on their quota of grass without any fuss. Finally as the sun was setting behind the Vindhyas, we spotted a wild-cat walking by the road. Baeka informed us that it was quite a rare sight. The tour till date had been great and undoubtedly something to cherish for the rest of our lives. The forest, in its multifarious colours and forms had presented itself before our eyes and fashioned the canvas of our minds with relentless vigor and subliminal finesse at every step. It had inspired and intimidated us, enthralled and enamored us. Though now the time had come to bid the forest a somber goodbye and look back at its chained gate with little regret and complete contentment we were all looking for an 'encore' in the near future.


Next Stop - Jabalpur.

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

Kanha - VI

It was decided that we skip the morning tour. Avik was having a bout of terrible indigestion and acidity, and the rest of us were feeling 'simply too tired'. Taking out one hectic morning trip out of the itinerary would do a world of good to rejuvenate our minds and replenish our vigor which was not lost at all but starting to sag a bit. After all we haven't had a good long sleep from the time we stepped off the train. The night brought in sleep which was made more sweeter by the knowledge that the morning held no rigors. People could just be in bed till they felt hunger rumbling inside them and that's exactly what they did. It was well past 11 when everyone finally seemed to have taken leave of their respective sleep-hang-overs. The morning was spent soaking in the sight and light of the forest, in the green sofa on the big veranda outside the dormitory. One by one a variety of snacks and cream-biscuits made their way to the cane-table. And as swiftly as they came in, they vanished. Lazing around the adjoining areas, looking out for birds and deers, myself, Baeka and Dudu ventured out onto the road for more. A five-minutes walk down it and there we found a place which looked custom-made for hosting a filmi 'dancing around trees' routine. Yet, it had a order of serenity to it. I egged Baeka into the woods for a closer look-in. The shade of the imposing sals lent a sense of eerie solemnity to the surroundings. Everything was so quiet, so still. The silence was punctuated at unequal intervals by the melodious calls of an Indian roller, a variety of bird found in these parts Baeka would tell me. Then the thought of having our baths and lunch occurred and promptly our secret tryst with the forest interrupted. We made for our hostel and from a distance saw cheetals crossing the road to reach a water-hole. A Jackal was also visible from a distance on our way back. Suddenly, we were reminded that we weren't allowed to roam about in the forest on foot by a passing motorcyclist who waved his hand at us with visible consternation. He was pointing to us the way to our lodge.


Inside the hostel, not yet satisfied with his nocturnal exploits from exploring the magic of using a western toilet the Indian way Avik was betting that he could finish his bath within 8 minutes. The last person to put up his money on a proposition which had even the slightest hint of 'loss', Dudu was the epitome of confidence at such a proposal propping up. He was all for the bet. And like in most cases which concern cash or convenience he won. Avik had taken just over 16 minutes to have his kaak-snaan ( crow-dip) of a shower and he still looked drenched. Towelling would account for another 10 minutes at the least. The rest of us being 'average guys' took our average times under the shower and headed for the canteen. It was lunch-time again. That much awaited hour when we would again take pleasure in startling our audience and bamboozling our hosts, the M.P tourism people who had the courage of thinking of the idea of 'having your fill' and implement it. We were teaching them an unpleasant lesson. Bowls made a bee-line for our table and were left marauded in no time. Rice, chapati, sabji, rajmaa, raytaa. Nothing was spared. Nothing was left. Not even the inconspicuous salad. Strolling back to the hostel in all our rotund glory we stopped to 'smell the roses' a little. A little hour of purposeless wandering refreshing the mind, helping us unwind.

At our door-step was waiting a boy of our age. He was to share the dormitory with us for the coming two days. Getting a little conversation underway we learnt that his name was Chetan and he was a final year student of Architecture and had come here for doing some research on the Forest Dept. structures. Gradually as the eager hindi-speakers amongst us ( that would be myself, Baeka and Harry) made headway in befriending Chetan, clearing a bed off our luggage for him and inquiring about his academic course the reluctant Hindi-bhashis in Avik and Dudu made slow yet steady progress. It was so arranged that Chetan would accompany us on our evening-trip.

Work could wait for the next morning. We could already feel the positive vibes.

The evening trip was not too different from the previous evening trips owing to the fact that the gypsies were not allowed to travel far within the forest during the evening. Returning in time was a security issue in the jungle after sunset. The hazards of traveling inside the forest in total darkness was an avoidable anathema to us, considering the images ( or the lack of them) from our first night in the forest still fresh in our memories. The tiger-trail was quickly latched onto by the well co-ordinated guides and soon we were silent in anticipation of a tiger sighting. After waiting for quite some time with no reward we headed forward. I spotted a white vulture, perched atop a tree, looking contemplative with its gray feathers making for a royal gown. Surprisingly, our guide told us it was indeed called the 'King Vultute' and that it was extremely rare in these parts, battling extinction. Making a detour we came back to a spot where we could see a couple of gypsies eagerly awaiting the advent of a tiger. Suddenly, Avik and Dudu shouted out "sher, sher" in unison, the excitement in their voices rendered genuine by their volumes. Then as reason dawned, Avik whispered a husky, " Haa, haa..... wahaan pe sher thaa. Sher thaa. Chala gaya uss taraf." Dudu lent his voice of support to this assertion. Our guide and Baeka looked skeptical of the veracity of such a claim. Now, our car followed with another in tow in 'that' direction. Avik's blue-eyed 'English' beauty was on another car behind us, perhaps wary of her previous experience one would imagine. The tiger, as said by D & A combine, was heading towards the road when the sound of our approaching gypsy startled it and it made a prompt U-turn, only to disappear into the dense woods. I could not track it too.
Recovering from such a miss as a tiger-sighting the mood was a bit on the side of somberness for the rest of us. Avik had made good for his previous day's miss and was happy for it. Dudu was busy counting the exactitude of extracting 'value for money' from the two sightings 'only' he had had and glowing in its obvious sense of gain. Baeka peppered the guide with questions as to how life for them was inside the forest. What training they had received before getting inducted. What type of qualification was required for such a job. Etc etc and etc. The rest of us, especially Alu, worried that such queries were potential precursors to a voluntary van-vaas of a dear friend, were left speculating on the chances of such an unfortunate eventuality. Then as we were approaching the gate at the end of our trip, a single male Bison showed up in all its brute virility. It looked every bit the one-tonne demolition unit it is said to weigh, a fierce fighter and a symbol of massive strength and violence. While all of us were leaning over to have one glimpse of this shy monster, a piece of conversation stole into my ears and made our day. I could only clench my lips with my teeth to not let out a howl of a guffaw at that very moment. As I later narrated the 'little incident' to others people were rolling over the place with laughter, even the one at its receiving end, Baeka.

When everyone was busy accommodating the Bison within their camera frames, Alu had nimbly put a coupe de grace to all of Baeka's queries with a little chat with our guide ( Raju Yadav). He had said, "Iska sawaalon ka buraa mat maniyega, Bhaisaab......... picchli baar jab yeh Kanha ayaa thha...........tab tiger dekhtey waqt gypsy se girke isko dimaag mein chot ayaa thaa. tab se yeh har saal kanha ataa hain aur..........."

The guide had precluded all further narration with a wave of a hand and a sympathetic, " Haan, maalum chal raha hain. Magar, koi baat nahin, Sirji....... thoda jadi-booti de denge inke liye. roj pelaiyegaa..........bilkuul theek ho jayenge."


The rest, as they say, was history. A hilarious one at that.




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

Kanha- IV

I sleep for six to seven hours a day on an average. Sleep eludes me when its every other person's pastime. I envy people who have the services of this comforting mistress at their beck and call. They can just lie down, close their eyes and sleep settles over them like a warm blanket in no time. But, no. That does not happen to me. I do not pass out unless and until I am dead tired or it has been at least half an hour that I have tussled with sleep in my bed. Sometimes, I feel, I tire Sleep to sleep with me.
The first night inside Kanha was no exception. But with a reassurance of an old habit relapsing sleep diffused into my system within half an hour after the lights were put out.


I woke up to see Baeka covered from head to toe in winter-gear. Three to four layers of clothing to be topped by a fine jacket made me feel warm from inside somehow. Empathy, maybe. His monkey-cap lay ready beside him, resting like a weathered shield awaiting its call to duty. I wondered if it was really that cold outside. Reluctantly leaving the comfort of my blanket, I stepped out to realize Baeka was doing the least he could to keep off the biting cold. It was freezing outside and coupled with the advent of a steady breeze things felt even worse. Dudu, the ever vigilant and the unnecessarily anxious soul that he is thought it better to keep to the warmth of the blanket for a bit longer. Alu was next out of bed after me. Dudu followed, never the one to be left behind last at anything. Harry was looking every bit 'the baby boy in a dreamy daze' that is so typical of him after he wakes up in the morning, sitting up on the bed, not letting off the blanket, staring at people on their move, waiting for that opportune moment to step out and get to work. Avik, was still somewhere lost in his blissful slumber that refused to part with his company even at this hour of morning exigency. The 'daily chores' were swiftly done away with and then started a session which saw 'the great unraveling episode' with our respective baggages playing the lead roles. Every kind of warm clothing, woolen or otherwise, known to human kind found their way out into the open and everyone made the other feel 'ill-equipped' for facing the morning chill with their cache.
There is something magical about the weather in Madhya Pradesh we were told. The days can be pleasant and warm in the winter but, sweltering in the summer whereas nights, irrespective of the season remain a soothing refuge by being cool and comfortable. However cold or chilly, it was a happy haven for us; panting souls roaming the roads in the midst of May with the full blast of the Kolkata Sun and the inexorable humidity we couldn't have asked for a better clime for a outing.


All in readiness, our gypsy arrived with Rajenbhai at the wheel and soon we were all waiting in a queue of cars raring to get in first and have the first glimpse of the forest under the wrap of mist and fog. Baeka, slave to his temperamental tummy, got one of his normally numerous calls of nature as the gates were just about to be opened. Panic set into the herd. "Were we going to be marooned in this island of desolation and come last in the race we should have won otherwise ?", "Was this the first of sign of things to come? Was this an ill-omen for us?" were the questions troubling the weak at heart. The stolid preferred to think on the lines of, " How late would Baeka render us?" and "Why us, always ?". One doubts if even Rajenbhai was all praise for Nature's timing at this crucial a juncture. All queries, frivolous or frightened, were answered at the sight of Baeka approaching us, a 'liberated bliss' sketched clear on his features, a gratified smile diffusing in all its human effortlessness. We were left aghast at this 'miracle' of sorts as to how one could ease ones' self in just under 60 seconds. As the gypsy kicked up dirt and pierced into the open meadows one more was added to the number of 'The Biggest Unsolved Mysteries of the World' with the likes of Bermuda Triangle and Riemann Hypothesis.

'The Curious Clean-up Act', we would call it later.


The forest shrouded in the mystery of the morning mist looked breathtakingly beautiful, as if waking up in all its childish reluctance to the nudge of nascent rays the headmaster like Sun lavished on it with an eye towards inculcating the lesson of seeking Truth in Beauty. The meadow was covered with a thick blanket of mist, which looked more like rising from it than setting on it. Two bamboo thickets converged overhead, in the middle of the road, looking every bit a 'Welcome' sign. Our destination was 'Bahmni Dadar', the highest point of Kanha. By the sound of it we knew it would be a longish journey and had collected our breakfast wrapped in aluminium foils from the tourist canteen. There was a thin sense of urgency, not too pressing though, in reaching there as quickly as possible considering that the view from the top was most beautiful during the early hours, gradually decaying to the tyranny of the sun as the day progressed. We had to hurry to be on time. But, we were lucky that hardly anyone had made plans to be there this morning. So it seemed by the silence that greeted us as our gypsy took hairpin bends and tumultuous turns like on hilly roads. Life for the next one hour was a roller-coaster ride. At places the beauty of the forest fascinated with unfailing regularity. Peacocks made way for us and cheetals looked cautious. After a heady climb, which our guide told us was about 850 odd meters above the sea-level, a sight met our eyes which captivated our senses for the last-leg of our journey. This was it! Bahmni Dadar!

The place belied all our expectations as to how a vantage point should look like. Unlike places of high altitude, this was really a plateau, a completely flat piece of land nestling at a reasonable altitude. The vegetation was the surprise-package. It was as green as green could be. Every shade of it. Faded, fresh, fertile. The sprawling meadows reminded me of Discovery channel documentaries on Africa once more. Sunlight was filtering in through a shadow of clouds, the sort of thing we know heralds a doibo-baani ( divine message) in our mythological serials.

We were streaming past the tall grasses which hindered clear sight and it seemed as if somewhere deep inside them was in ambush a tiger for its prey. The very thought was thrilling and going by our surroundings my supposition seemed every bit possible. Enthused, I stood up on my seat ( which was beside the driver's) to soak in the sight and the sounds. The breeze was strong now, now that we were at a reasonable height it was becoming more pronounced. A few meters ahead and we were face to face with a small herd of samvars. They were really close and two of them seemed far from shy. Actually two posed for the cameras, folding a foreleg in true emulation of the alert-deer pose. "What business, Mister? So early in the morning, eh ? Jobless humans!", it seemed to be saying.


At last we were at Bahmni Dadar. All jumped out to touch land at last. It had been quite a long journey. We rushed off to the edge to have a glimpse of the entirety of Kanha from there. It was truly a beautiful view. A natural spectacle riveting to every detail by the sheer power of its size and extent. I accepted the fact that sighting one of 131 tigers in this vast expanse of blinding greenery was but a little short of zealous optimism. Not a subscriber to such 'brightness and light' that often drives an element of wishfulness in the name of Hope into humans, I took solace in the fact that one night inside the forest and already 'one tiger sighting' was good enough for us, starters. In that way we were fortunate, judging by the sheer probability perspective of another sighting in the offing.

A prolonged photo-session later when everyone clicked everyone else, clutching and holding onto anything in sight ( e.g a rock with a notice engraved on it) we jumped into the car to head home.
The breakfast-foil forayed out and was quickly emptied to the cry of our aching tummies.
Baeka pointed out at a strange white bird, the Changeable Hawk-Eagle, on our way back. But, it promptly flew away precluding any possibility of taking a picture for future research. The rest of the journey was spent on an argument raised by Avik as to why the changeable hawk-eagle was so queerly named ? Was it hawk by the day and eagle by the night thereby justifying the 'changeable' part? Aren't hawks and eagles the same thing indeed? Not finding suitable answers to buttress his otherwise suspicious inclination towards the wild Avik concluded with his trademark callous indifference (bordering on restlessness at not having found a satisfying answer) that, "such hawks were dime a dozen in Kolkata too. The average Chil it was.". All this while Alu was giving constant company to more such hilarious theories on 'Apt Nomenclature'. There were comparisons being drawn between the Deer Park in Shantiniketan and Kanha and how it too housed a variety of deers. The animal lover in Baeka was aghast at such a horrendous proclamation ridden with falsity and ignorance. Some comparisons just never fail to blow your lid off. As battle-lines were being drawn we again offloaded for a while to see the place where it is believed Sravan's ( the character who carried his blind parents around in Ramayana) parents were cremated. Our guide pointed out to us that not a single blade of grass grew on the two mounds till date.

In serious need of a cup of tea or two to rejuvenate our senses from the overdose of an exhilarating optical extravaganza we stationed ourselves at the Center-point inside Kanha. It had a spacious canteen which served piping hot tea, samosas and bread-pakoras, had a parking space, green benches and to the delight of Bekaa and Aka ( i.e Harry) a set of 'spectacular' toilets.
Next we headed for our hostel. Adequate rest would be of essence considering we also had an evening-trip coming up shortly. But it would be a post-lunch affair and how much we were looking forward to that!

Food came first. Everything could just follow. Like always, no exceptions. No exemptions.




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

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.............................

Christmas Mass at St. Paul's

Today I had a religious encounter of a different kind.
I visited the St. Paul's Cathedral with four of my friends and it was a truly novel experience.
Had to get up at 7:30 in the morning to get ready as a big crowd was expected at the premier Roman Catholic Church of Kolkata on Christmas morning and we didn't want to be late for the mass. Arriving on time and full of enthusiasm that winter mornings unfailingly inject into unemployed minds in this city we were pleasantly surprised to get a seat in the last row made up of make-shift plastic chairs when inside the Cathedral. Already the gathering was sizable and by the look of the continuous stream of people that trickled in I knew it wouldn't be long before the Cathedral would be full.

As the choir gathered momentum and the carols got fervent there pervaded a sense of measured solemnity that was too palpable to be missed by anyone present. Though none of us were Christians by faith (inherited i.e) we too were part of the ongoing ritual and it was a
thoroughly enriching feeling. After the gathering was addressed by the Bishop people were asked to queue up to pray at the altar. When our turn came, we prayed. On bent knees and with folded palms there wasn't any distinction that we felt while praying alongside people who wore crosses around their necks. After all prayer to the Supreme Being isn't constricted by barriers of faith, colour or creed. And Christmas was just a celebration of that universal truth. The Bishop then blessed us and we headed for the lofted gallery of varnished wooden chairs. There was a
sense of grandeur in them. A feeling of dignified antiquity. The final address by the Bishop and a few carols later we got up to leave.
Wherever we looked there was only the sight of jolly people wishing each other a "Merry Christmas'. There was that unmistakable mirth in their features which we, Bengali Hindus have during savoring our Nabami bhog or when my Muslim friends greet us during Eid. I presume this mirth is exuded from the inner goodness innate to human beings. And there's no religion for a smile to elicit a smile. It's that simple.

Merry Christmas, everybody!!




photo: flickr.com

Its That Sinking Feeling Again.

The last 48 hours has seen torrential rainfall in Kolkata. And among millions, yours truly has also been an unsuspecting victim of it. I can attest to the fact that I, in my twenty years in the city, have never seen such unrelenting ire of the rain-Gods being unleashed with such grievous malice. The major streets are all flooded and the lakhs of people residing in low-lying areas are under inescapable house-arrest. Stray commuters forced to report to their workplaces are either braving knee-deep water to wade and waddle to their nearest islands in the name of bus-stops or are getting themselves stranded being ill-informed of the ‘road-ahead’. Everyday there are half-a-dozen reports of deaths due to electrocution or collapsing of mud-walls. I shudder at the thought of life in the villages now that city-dwellers of this major Metropolis are busy hurrying to the nearest patch of highland.

Now let me narrate my eventful tryst with this Fearful-Phenomenon last Tuesday.
Lured to the connoisseur’s paradise (called Park Street in this city) to be treated by my oldest and dearest buddy I reached my destination in a state of zombie, disregarding the knee-deep water in Central-Kolkata streets (traditionally a safe place during monsoons. I found it flooded too, to my surprise. So you can imagine the extent of the Floods.). With a sumptuous lunch safely tucked within our stomachs we blew good-bye kisses in the air and said Adieu. Now, I had to go to some place infamous for its water-logging capacities to the south. I had to pay double the rickshaw fare both ways as the rickshaw-puller paddled through wheel-deep water at a place where the last semblance of demarcation between land and sea was lost due to the downpour. When I was on my return-trip the skies opened again and to no one’s respite there was more of water and less of transportation. Taking temporary shelter under the roof of an already crowded sweet-shop I could see the steady rise in water-level in the clogged streets and the panicky commuters struggling to latch onto the next auto-rickshaw. Even the major-roads were under water and where I unboarded from the auto, the very sight gave me a shock-of-a-lifetime. There was waist-high water and all forms of transport had shut down. I was left with no option but to join hundreds of others in their wading-expedition. After a tortuous, filth-filled murk-waddle and after seeing ten-odd rickshaw-pullers turn down my route owing to bad-road, I finally managed to get hold of one who was willing. And God be thanked for that. He declared it would cost me thirty rupees due to inclement conditions which was understandable and going by the extortion-spree of their trade in this weather was also quite a reasonable bargain. I was overjoyed for I had estimated I would be set back by something around seventy rupees and this was a winner coming my way. I quickly climbed onto my rescue-chariot and the man (my savior of sorts) paddled-struggled-trundled-waddled-walked-paddled me to my home. I was immensely grateful to him and continue to be so. And this post of mine is only but a fleeting tribute to him. I gleefully handed him forty rupees and he was quite happy. A lazy smile lit his face which so often conveys both gratitude and happiness in people who toil their heart out to make a living. I duck-walked the rest of the road to the warm comfort of my home. And as I write this post, looking out through my window, it is still raining. Sometimes coming down in bucketfuls, sometimes in a light drizzle, sometimes in a reckless deluge. It’s almost like a marathon out here. Cold, calculated, measured and most dreadfully assured and inevitable.

God help us Kolkatans if the skies decide to play a Budhia with us.

Let there be light.
And yes.....some clear skies too.