Inside the Garu forest third part

Uninhibited joy and thereafter

The day was ending. Our forest walk was over and it was now on the way back to the small three roomed brick building across the roaring river Koel. All of us were totally relaxed. Only vaguely aware of our surroundings we never noticed the way we were going. We knew the green trees were our friends, the small deer whose hoof sign we saw an hour back now must be resting in some shelter. The birds returned home with lots of chirpings a while ago. A typical evening fell in the jungle.

Our guide walked in front—silent vigilant responsible leader. We followed him without any thought or worries in our minds. A wonderful forest walk had just ended. We were immersed in the moving experience of visiting, touching and smelling the heart of the forest just a while back. We still carried those wonderful moments of walking along the narrow animal trail head down in a single file with a faint tingling of apprehension of danger and then the downpour, standing together, sheets of rain isolating the small group of humans from the jungle and at the same time connecting them through the sound of rains falling on the leaves and then on to the ground. Soaking wet to the skin was an added pleasure. A feeling of well-being permeated us. Sharing the feeling brought the friends closer. As if we existed in a bubble. The bubble chattered, laughed and walked with relaxed quick aimless steps towards the assurance of warm cosy lighted rooms in the midst of darkness all around. 

We felt as if we were the only living beings in the world. The whole jungle the sky the river all belonged to us. It was a wonderful feeling. 

We didn't notice when the guide had increased his pace. We followed him without any thought. Time had no meaning for us. Darkness fell some time back. The powerful torch held forward by the guide created a spreading beam of light that quickly merged with darkness in front and on two sides. He moved silently, with stolid determined steps forward.

Our poet friend wanted to recite a special piece written by him. After a light bantering he was permitted to recite. Somehow my mind was not with the group. I was only vaguely aware of the poetry that my friend recited with total abandon, but didn't follow the words at all. Only his joy in letting the jungle hear his poem I remember. He wore a thin strapped slipper on his feet that we use only inside our homes. He was the poet, the thinker, the confirmed philosopher in our group. 

Another friend was in night dress and a pair of light slippers on his feet. Just before going to bed he came with us into the jungle for a few minutes of evening walk. The third friend was our story teller. Even today we enjoy his story telling. He has a great way of making even a simple incident spring to life. All through the past hour he was bantering, joking, and telling short anecdotes, but slowly his fervour was a little on the wane.

Tapas and I joined college from the same locality in our city and moved together more often during our college days. He is not a very talkative person. He was enjoying quietly. The last friend was also from Physics and was a friend of one of us. We knew him well. He had a rather straightforward simple personality and merged easily with our group of five. The poet found a ready listener in this friend of ours. All of us had just finished graduation in Physics.

Somehow by some chance this group had joined together and by the quirk of fate were walking in this small tiny group through the vast dark jungle now, totally oblivious of what the jungle held inside it.

Though we six moved together, two of the friends walked little head. I walked with Tapas and two others walked a few steps behind—close together but still separate. We were participating in each other's streams of purposeless talks and at the same time remained separate. 

I walked with a slightly disconnected mind. I watched the clumps of darkness around and on the path ahead; tried to hear chance animal calls. It would have been so nice to hear a wild animal call while walking in the night forest. We don’t have such jungles potentially full of animals in our city.

Like all things, sameness change, new situation arises. I noticed first that we were walking too long. My internal clock alerted me. I had an idea of the time we had taken to reach the fork from the bridge on Koel from where we took the animal trail further inside the forest. I felt more or less sure that now on our return path we were walking much too long after coming out of the fork from inside the forest onto the wide path that led towards the bridge.

I called out to the guard and stopped him. All of us stopped. I told him my concern and tried to explain with not much of a concrete proof that we were walking too long after coming out on the wide stretch leading to the bridge. “By now we should surely have reached the bridge”, I told him. The guard patiently listened to me and with just a shake of his head turned round. He was the leader. He was the man in the know. How could we, the city-bred lads know anything that he didn’t know! On top of it we were much younger than him. We might be more educated than him, but how can we know about the forests that was his home ground!

But this brief halt changed the mood of the group. Our pace increased and voice lowered; words spoken fewer. We were apprehensive—not really afraid, but somehow the group felt something was wrong. A faint whiff of danger blew in.

I was by then very restless. I was sure that a great mistake had been committed, but I didn't know how it happened and still more important, I had no proof. Suddenly the guard veered a little from his straight walk avoiding something on his path. We also saw it soon. A large pile of elephant dung still smoking lay on our path. That was the time fear swooped down on us. But we had no option but to follow the hapless guard onwards ahead. I was sure the guard also understood his mistake but couldn't believe it.

Then suddenly, I got the proof. The realization came to me all of a sudden. While coming from the bridge into the jungle along this path, I remembered that the ground rose in a mild slope gradually upwards. And now after a few hours of walking, the ground was still rising upwards. Without any hesitation I ordered the guard to stop and explained the ground rise.

To this day I remember his face in the light and shadow of his torch when he heard me through. He was a dark skinned man. When I finished, all colour drained, his face was literally ashen white. He understood, I understood and all of us understood. On the way back when we came out of the forest onto the wide path leading to the bridge and then onto our temporary home, our friend the guard had taken a left turn instead of a right and led us for more than an hour in exactly the opposite direction deeper into the night forest away from the bridge.

We huddled together in the middle of the stretch and the guard ran from tree to tree with his torch, examining the white markings that perhaps he himself had made on the tree trunks as a part of his work. Within a few minutes he finally convinced himself. He could recognise the trees.

He walked towards us; to his credit he admitted his mistake to us, tried to comfort us and told us not to run or talk loudly. We were to follow him silently, fast but not running. In this dark wet forest running may bring danger.

We turned back and then started our very long half run towards safety. We were at least one and half hours deep into the forest away from the bridge. It was nearly eight in the night. And only two days ago two men were trampled by the elephants near the village across the bridge, outside not even inside this jungle where the elephants live.

The after lunch story now took shape. Large elephants stood in front on two sides and also behind waiting for us. On any moment some of them may charge and trample us. Didn’t we know so many stories of how deadly elephants are!

Every large bush in front formed a suspicious shadow till we came abreast and past it. Our young hearts continued beating. Temporary insanity gripped a few of the group. The poet suddenly left all caution to the winds and while on the half run on his by now torn slippers started reciting poem after poem with total abandon. Another one started pestering a third friend. Sanity left us. Terror reigned supreme. It spread far and wide, deep and near. It seeped in and enveloped our soul.

The dim torchlight in front swayed on and on forward. Hoping against hope we looked ahead with strained eyes for the sign of the bridge. Interminable minute after endless minute ticked away inside our heads. Won’t this torture ever end!

If you ever have experienced sheer terror, you would know that after some time, mind and body adjusts somewhat. Wild fluttering of the heart turns into numbness. We trudged on and on. I am more or less sure we didn’t have much faith in reaching safety that night. As in life we move on by habit, mind unthinking our legs moved us forward. Eyes peered from side to side and occasionally behind. Who knows, the elephant at our back might just have turned its attention on us.

At last, after the longest stretch of hopeless time for each of us, the bridge lay ahead. On a near run we stepped on the bridge, the jungle lay behind. Still we looked back frequently. The elephant can also cross the bridge like us!

Bridge ended, road started. Only a little distance away stood our three roomed safety. The gate opened hurriedly, the last few yards to the room and at last into the room. Oh we are saved, still alive.

None was interested in food. But thirst had to be quenched. The difficult question—who would go out to fetch water from the well in the compound. We looked at each other.

Tapas and I went out. Tapas drew the water from the well while I held the kerosene lantern high to see if any elephant was trying to pick me up in its trunks standing in the shadows just outside the fence.

The small building had three rooms. All of us slept in one room. The fear was so deep. We even looked at the small air opening high up the wall with apprehensive eyes expecting something creeping through it.

Next morning we woke up late. It was a slow morning. At noon we boarded the lone bus honking along an empty road back towards civilization and home.

Forty years have passed. Till today the six of us avoid any mention of that night.

Brown green hills and wan waters - Manoharpur third part

Reaching Koina

Amidst nature you tend to rise early—always. I cautioned Tukai, “Don’t delay going to sleep like home. Morning will be different here.” “Don’t worry, I know,” Tukai replied with his characteristic confidence. True—daylight hours are valuable here. Once night drops its shroud in a forest, you won’t have much to do. Better take to bed early and rise at dawn. You would then be able to listen to the morning songs of nature as well as use all the hours of the day enjoying outdoors before turning in at evening. After dark you would be outdoors in a forest only under exceptional circumstances.

Action taken was as planned—dinner was served before 9 and by 9.30 we were filled up, satiated. The amount and variety of dishes offered by Abhijitda were both phenomenal. A bit of after dinner companionship and then we were in our big room.

The problem was the bigness of the room. Twice we had to change our beds to be more comfortable. The room was large and long. It was all dark outside—and inside too. We wanted to be near each other. That night I felt again—how valuable just enough space for one is.

In spite of the unaccustomed surroundings and the deep darkness, sleep didn’t delay much—we were tired.

Morning we woke up fresh. Coming out into the open was like starting a new life. I always feel like this on the first morning of each of my getaway trips to pure nature. The sun shone bright and the garden was aflutter with many birds chirping. Abhijitda had done the garden with great care and love. Soon he joined us with a smiling face and warm “Good morning, how was the sleep?”

He showed us the garden. The garden was small but colorful and bright with many varieties of flowers and plants. When I praised it he disclosed, “My wife takes care of the garden, you should give credit to her.” That’s what I thought—Abhijitda should be too busy looking after the guests.  

We took an unhurried tasty and filling breakfast hosted graciously by Abhijitda.  Breakfast over-—it was time to start for Koina. Morning would be spent on Koina followed by open air lunch in the forest. If time permitted, the second sister river Karo could be enjoyed also. That was the plan.

Suresh, the right hand man of Abhijitda would accompany us in a hired Bolero jeep. He would provide us safe passage as well as act as a guide. Having spent many years here he was totally at home in these forests. Abhijitda assured us, “With Suresh accompanying you there is nothing to fear. Roam freely and enjoy. The only limits would be—you can go inside the forest up to a point and not beyond—under any circumstances. Suresh will guide you.” Heart filled with quiet joy and a pleasurable lightness we boarded the jeep and took up our seats. The engine rumbled and the wheels started rolling—towards the forests, away from civilization.

Manoharpur was a small town. Soon we were out of inhabited area. Ground both sides was undulating and rocky. Trees appeared at random without any order or design—some bent crookedly, a few straighter but thin. These are malnourished, I decided—too little water in the area due to long periods of deforestation and consequent soil erosion. As we moved further afield, a semblance of a forest appeared on both sides of the road.

The forest wasn’t deep. The trees were young, not very tall with narrow trunks—these were thin young trees. Tall old Sal trees were cut away long back. Being end of winter and undergrowth sparse, visibility was good but the air hung heavy with red brown dust. These areas are very dry and the soil rich in iron.

Dusty forest

Some stretches, the road had an inch deep reddish brown dust that covered the leaves of the trees as well. The dusty air created a slight brown haze. We could even smell the dust. We didn’t mind it at all though.

While the jeep rumbled on the uneven road, clouds of dust followed us in its wake. Opening the windows? No way—in an instant we would be fully covered with dust. Soon the dusty patch was over and the jeep moved smoothly on to better surface.

In this kind of ride in a near-empty jeep I always like to look all around, time to time shifting my position to feel the whole environment through which we are moving.

The sky was clear—not a speck of cloud in sight. It was March, winter just gone and summer not yet in. This is one of the best times to go into a forest without much physical discomfort. For those who are keen to see animals, May would be the right time in these parts of the world. It would be summer then, very hot, undergrowth nearly dried away and thirsty animals coming out in the open in search of water holes.

I am never after watching animals in a forest. To me, being inside the forest is enough. All around me should be trees, no human habitation around and ground a little rocky. If I get a river in addition, it would make me wanting nothing else. This promised to be such a place. 

It didn’t take long to reach our first halt. The jeep stopped just before the bridge on Koina. We got down eagerly. Walking on the forest bed has great satisfaction. The jeep ride was only a way to reach this point. We would be on foot now. Suresh also got down. He would accompany us for a while.

On the left of the road we spotted a track winding its way up hugging the hill side. The path was wide and the slope gentle. After a short rise the track moved straight. Rising up to the path I stopped to have a look at the bridge.

Bridge over Koina

At my feet carpet of dry leaves covered the ground. The road coming from the right went on to the small bridge and beyond. After Koina we would take that road. As I now looked around, amidst the pervasive brown a fresh green caught my eyes.

Fresh green and dry brown

Tukai called, “Come on.” I turned towards him and went forward. On the forest path covered with dry leaves we walked leisurely.

There was no hurry anywhere in our horizon, no target to achieve, no mandated destination to reach. If we liked a place we would spend as much time there as we wanted. That is the way to roam. We left our targets in the city we called our home.

After walking a while the view ahead stopped me. I stood with Suresh at the edge of the drop to the river. On the left the hills rose high from the river bed. Given time we could have gone up those gentle sloped hills. There must be narrow tracks through the trees to the top. There is no harm in imagining—no?

Hill rising from river

As I looked closer, the rows of healthy evergreen trees lining up the ridge came into clear view. Higher up, the brown had given way to green. I felt happy.

Green back

We decided to turn back as going this along the forest path was not on our agenda. Walking on the river bed held more attraction for us.

On the way back we looked for a clear view to the right—the small bridge on river Koina and then the hills cradling the river. We found such a clearing. The bridge spanned diagonally, looking longer than it actually was.

Hills beyond

Further to the right, upstream Koina looked absolutely still on the surface. It looked like a pond totally calm. This is what happens when storm of emotions passes over and all energies of mind spent—only one scenario—one can imagine others.

Calm Koina

But when I looked closer I found the ripples that broke over small rocks on its bed. From a distance you tend to miss finer details.

Subtle flow

Koina was a small river carrying not much of water now, though its bed was wide enough to be called a river and not a stream. These are inland rivers, with little water during winter and summer but transformed into angry ferocious fast moving water bodies when rains would come. The muddy waters would roar through the rocks on the river bed creating curling vortex and no way could you cross the river then except across the bridge. But now it was a quiet little beauty waiting for us to wade in. A refrain came to my mind—women are like rivers. Somewhere, some other time I heard it.

Beyond the calm Koina hills rose. Down below at the road level, color was brown and only occasionally green. But the hill slope had many varieties of trees. Some were deep green; some were with young fresh green leaves. Our eyes feasted on the colors soft and soothing. Pointing towards the faded white bunches swaying on the tip of some branches of tall Sal trees Suresh explained, “Those are the Sal flowers. Now is the flowering time.” Ah, it is never too late to learn things that would stay with me.

Colors soft & soothing

In keeping with its sweet name, Koina looked also slim and sweet perfectly at home amidst these multi-colored hilly forests. The Sal flowers nearby formed a tapestry as my eyes touched the faintly rippling waters through them.

Ripples through tapestry of Sal flowers

We went down towards the road. Now to the river bed and with it for quite a while. The left side of the river was the choice as it looked more attractive.

Beckoning

It always surprises me how a scene changes when I look at it more closely. Far view has one dimension and near view another. A bit closer, Koina looked very attractive.

Inviting

And closer still mind wanted to touch the water—sitting on the stones, water flowing by.

Come, touch me

It was time to go down to it—nature on its own, without any will except expressing itself and sustain. Waiting was over.