It was a weekend when I went back to the forest, this time in the morning. While the Northern Solstice had passed and we were hurtling toward summer, winter hadn’t still relaxed its grip and a chill enveloped the air at 8:30 AM; the time when I entered the forest.
Starting off with the quarry having water, I stumbled upon a Little Cormorant trying to sun itself. In the background, squirrels and bulbuls were alarmed at the presence of a hawk or falcon. I’ll see to them later, I first wanted to bag a few frames of the Cormorant.
If you stumble upon a spot where squirrels and bulbuls are making a racket, look closely. Sooner and not later would a bird of prey emerge from the thicket.
Again, it was the sound of my DSLR camera and my movements that ruffled the Cormorant. In a few moments, the bird loosened its sphincter and took to wing. By then a few frames had come in pretty decently.
Winter is a time when the National Park sees an influx of seasonal visitors. Ranging from birds coming in from the Shivalik and Trans Himalayan ranges to a few that cross international borders. The Central Asian flyway is a vast swathe of territory that spans a large continental area. Read more about it here.
A Himalayan visitor, the Verditer Flycatcher was still hanging around, its presence seen and felt and not heard. Coming into peninsular India between end October and early November (though I have seen an early visitor in September long ago…), the Verditer and other Himalayan visitors would begin their return journey after Holi, by when it gets unbearably hot for them here.
The name Verditer comes from the French “verde de terre”, green of the Earth. Copper Sulphate is also known as Verditer.
Returning to the predator that had alarmed the Bulbuls and squirrels; it turned out to be a hawk like bird though I couldn’t be sure. Peering hard through the binoculars, I could see the bird perched on a bare tree. However, a leafy tree before the perch and surrounding foliage managed to conceal the bird and turned the photo into a mere record shot.
The “hawk” in question
After a few minutes of wait and watch, the bird took to wing, making the forest explode with alarm calls. The bird was nearly photographed but the camera couldn’t quite capture it thanks to the thicket and bramble. It was a Common Buzzard, an uncommon visitor to my forest.
This is an ode to Helen Macdonald’s inspiring work and borrows more than just inspiration from it. Thank you for this book, Helen.
Living close to a forest is an unquantified blessing. From the cackle of Spotted Owlets at dusk to the occasional Jungle Owlet hooting at night, there’s always an element of potential excitement in the air. The forest near my new home is a mixed deciduous one, a part of the sprawling Sanjay Gandhi National Park. It is quite possible to enter the woods and lose your way in a few minutes if you aren’t too careful.
After moving here in late 2020, I memorised the trails to four watering holes, all of which are seasonal and only one holds water for most of the year. It is at one of these watering holes that I have made a friend. It’s a hawk.
I first met her sometime in May 2021. She seemed like a young bird, inquisitive and bold, she confidently looked me in the eye as I would slowly raise up my camera at her and fire a few frames. Being an old digital SLR camera, the shutter would make a sound upon being triggered. It wouldn’t bother her much and after a few cursory glances at me, she’d look away and sometimes stare heavenward, contemplating on whatever it is that hawks contemplate.
We kept meeting through 2021 almost every day. Working from home meant a quick stroll in the morning or one in the evening wasn’t a difficult option to exercise. And so the days, weeks and months rolled on…
The quarry is a place where time stands still. Date and time are of little relevance in this amphitheater. All that you do is climb up the gravelly slope to the quarry slowly. Suddenly rushing into it might scare her away. Sometimes, a Sunbird or a Tawny Bellied Babbler may appear in the shrubs. Today, they weren’t there. It had been a while since we had met and I feared she may have left the roost for good.
And that’s when a movement to the right revealed a Hawk. Perching on a tree right in front of me, eyes burning bright and beak agape, breathing heavy and hard; it was her. She had forgotten me or so it seems and was angry at being disturbed.
As I am writing this, I realized I forgot how she looked! Only when I found her picture in the archives did I realize, it’s not her but a young hawk! No wonder she didn’t recognise me! This was a completely different bird. I thought I’d write about how I felt meeting my old friend. It didn’t quite turn out like that.
Walking gingerly up to her, I could see the anger and fear give way to the placidity and iciness that all hawks have in them. An unsentimental pair of eyes that gaze upon you and everyone else neutrally. Friend or foe, you will not be judged in her court. Woe betide your fate if you are her prey though.
Slowly turning to the right, I met someone familiar. Finally an old friend who never failed to winter here. He was in a different place. The quarry where he used to roost had recently been fired upon. All vegetation had been burnt to ash. He clearly found this quarry a better choice. For the bird aficionados, this is a White-Eyed Buzzard.
When you are in the presence of a hawk, it is akin to spending time in a place of worship. You walk into a grand temple, measure your pace and watch your step as you approach the deity. As your gaze turns from excitement to quiet admiration, you feel relieved. As if a huge burden were taken off your shoulders. Nothing is said nor exchanged and yet you feel lighter and calmer. Your heart settles into a quiet rhythm and if you are lucky, the hawk peers back at you.
What seems like an eternity might only be a few minutes but it’s the feeling that matters here. The birds do not ask you to leave but the ambience quietly suggests that you move, when your time is done. After all, even gods have things to do.
The White Eyed Buzzard took to wing and settled on a different branch and that for me, was my cue to get moving.
I took a parting look of the hawk I thought was my friend. Perhaps it is her daughter. After all, this cove is a hawk’s dream and hawks are known to retain perches for years on end…
Tibet has made headlines and continues to captivate the world’s conscience one way or another. It isn’t simply another another land that has been seized in the name of national interest or resource capitalization. The roots for the Tibetan issue run deep and i’m afraid, we would digress severely from our topic of discussion.
My first formal encounter with the Tibetan civilization, its means and mores and the political scenario it faces today was through Seven Years in Tibet. A captivating Hollywood presentation of what problems beset the spiritual kingdom perched high atop the Himalayas. Indeed this movie helped me navigate Tibetan customs and engage with local Tibetans that i met in Ladakh.
Seven years later (sheer coincidence i think), i traveled to the Gateway of the North East, Sikkim, only to find a deep rooted Tibetan culture among the populace. The population can be demographically divided across Nepali, Lepcha, Bhutia and Sikkimese and Tibetan Buddhism is a common thread among them all.
Driving up to Sikkim from the Dooar plains of Siliguri and Darjeeling, as you cross the Teesta and the road steeply turns uphill, the vegetation begins to change correspondingly. Pine trees begin to appear at the intersection where North Bengal and Sikkim meet at Rangpo. The demography that had been Bengali in Siliguri gradually begins to change from Kalimpong and gives way to Nepali by the time we reach Rangpo.
From hereon, Tibetan culture holds sway and the smell of burning juniper permeates the air first thing in the morning should not take you by surprise. My travel through Sikkim came at a time when Losar was around the corner. A 15 day long celebration of the first day of the lunisolar calendar. The juniper burnt as incense in the morning is on accounf of Losar celebrations.
Butter tea and khabzey
My experience of Losar was one of close personal interactions at the Thangshing Homestay. Butter tea was the first beverage of the day. The flavour is one that takes some getting used to and if you like it, you’re likely not going to forget it. It felt good to reacquaint the tongue with the salty, fatty drink. I half expected chhang to be served as the alcoholic beverage following the goor goor (butter tea in Ladakhi). It was a different drink made by cooking and fermenting millet. Named after the vessel in which the alcohol is stored, Tongba is served as a thick porridge like drink. Interestingly, goor goor is called after the sound it makes when threshing in the vessel in which it is made.
Perhaps it was the freezing cold outside or that i was tired and hungry, i simply consumed it in great gulps with gusto!
Losar i was told is a time when families would spend time at home, no work outside home would be done and time would be spent in prayer. An important part of the festivity was making crackers of wheat called khabzey. A large pyramid or tower of khabzey would be made and kept in a corner of the house, as an offering to the deities and guardian spirits. This would be eaten at the end. Separate boxes of khabzey were made and kept for guests.
Those familiar with khaari biscuits would understand what khabzey tastes like. There are several variants in khabzey, some salty and some sweet but the overwhelmimg number of times, khabzey has little or no taste of its own but makes for a great snack with tea.
Featured below is a shrine that a fixture in a Tibetan household. It was here that the man of the house spent an hour in prayer replete with the drum and incantations.
Losar also involves making offerings of rice or some other foodgrain for birds and animals. At Lachung, we found a flock of Dark Breasted Rosefinch feeding on rice scattered liberally on the side of the road.
When it comes to wildlife photography or even simply scouting for birds and/or animals in the wild, an overwhelming number of times it comes to nothing more than finding your quarry napping or simply sitting, calm and composed for prolonged lengths of time.
It is a naive assumption to expect wildlife to be on the move, hunting or fleeing or feeding all the time. Food is a precious commodity in the wild and isn’t easily available and this scarcity calls for some serious rationing. One that means staying put when low on energy or simply saving up the energy for a successful hunt. When metabolisms run on marginal capacity and do not have stored energy resources like fat, rest or staying put matters greatly.
As of this moment, i am sedentary at home bodily. My fingers run across the keyboard and my mind races, jogging memories and encounters.
The Teesta. You could come across a view like this practically anywhere in Sikkim. A picture perfect postcard
In my recent journey along the length of the Teesta across Sikkim and finally emptying out into the floodplains of the Dooars, i encountered a fair number of birds who were content to stay put on account of various reasons. One important reason was energy conservation. The other was owing to the presence or absence of the sun’s warmth.
Birds are direct descendants of dinosaurs but are warm blooded. Scales gave way to feathers and birds began to evolve heat generation and conservation mechanisms to survive regardless of the external weather. That said, unless they are in immediate danger of being killed, they’d prefer not to take to wing.
The White Collared Blackbird is an excellent case in point to explain this.
Driving down from Lachen toward warmer climes as the Teesta flowed along our path, the first bird of the day was the one in question. Sitting quietly by the side of a frozen drain on a bed of moss, the bird sat with its eyes half closed. Upon approach, the eyes opened ever so slightly to regard the intruders, three humans approaching it on foot in pack formation.
Either it was too tired to care anymore about its well being or it trusted humans not to kill it. Either way, the bird’s response was constant. Compare this in contrast to the Grandala that i had mentioned about earlier.
Why was the bird limp and immobile in the face of apparent danger? Likely due to torpor, the sun was yet to warm the Himalayan mountain flanks and the temperature was below zero.
Indeed you may not even have to scroll back to a previous post, the next feather sighting was a flighty one. As flighty as it gets. A member of the Treecreeper family, the Hodgson’s Treecreeper was merrily climbing up a tree in a manner that a human would scale a coconut tree, with hopping actions and the feet firmly hugging the tree bark.
The Treecreeper industriously chips away moss and bark to expose insects that may be hiding in the foliage
Indeed it may appear as a contradiction to the paragraph above. How is it that torpor, immobility due to lack of the sun’s warmth affect the Blackbird one way and simply not affect the Treecreeper, i do not know. All i could fumble and guess is that the Treecreeper could use torpor to its benefit and catch moths and other insects still napping due to the cold.
Driving down to a cattle station where some birding action was expected, a Common Kestrel came into view perched atop a Tibetan prayer flag. Below the falcon was a flock of Plain Mountain Finches feeding in the slowly thawing earth. The cattle station was an excellent place to expect birds and bird watching action. The station was built to herd Yaks and also served as a medical station for the local Yak.
To come to think of it, wouldn’t it be apt to title this frame “On a wing and a prayer”?
The ground was littered with Yak dung and birds sought this nutrient rich dung for consumption, directly or indirectly. Some Wiki about the Yak and how did this woolly bovine derive its non English name from Tibetan. Yak in Tibetan refers to the male bovine and the female is called Nak. However, the English stuck the generic term Yak to both male and female… Yak and so…
Returning to the Kestrel who was still atop its high perch, content to gaze into the distance glassy eyed, my friends and i who were looking at the bird expected some action. A take off from the perch, a dramatic swoop down and a return to the perch, hopefully with a dead bird. Bon appetit!
Alas and alack, it was not to be. The bird sat atop its lofty perch content to peer at the distant frozen peaks, occasionally turn its head to regard the sound of cameras and then look at its potential prey. Time went by as slowly as it could and after a while, the action seeker in me went about exploring more fruitful opportunities.
To compensate for the lack of action in the morning, a flock of White Browed Fulvetta more than compensated with their ceaseless twittering
My travels through February and March can be summed up as a combination of multiple variables and a constant.
Journeying through North, East and West Sikkim (the erstwhile kingdom of Denzong) and parts of North Bengal, from temperatures of six degrees below zero to the warm and stiflingly humid climes of the flood plains and now Mumbai, the Teesta river has been the constant.
Detailed below are some memorable moments from that epic journey. The Grandala was one of the first ones.
The word Grandala does not evoke sentiment or feeling. At best perhaps a sense of passing curiosity that wouldn’t sustain for long if you read the definition A taxonomic genus within the family Muscicapidae.
Instead, save a few minutes to look up the word on Google and navigate to the Image search. Or simply scroll down below.
A bird that lives high up above the world, perched atop trees in the lofty Himalayan ranges; they come down every winter to lower elevations, seldom going below 2,000 meters. During the harsh winter months, a fruiting tree promises these normally insectivorous birds food. The Seabuckthorn tree grows in abundance in the temperate soil of the Himalayan mountains, spanning the range from Himachal all the way into Sikkim and beyond.
This here is an account of the Grandala in North Sikkim. Although the Grandala seek to escape the cold, they do not descend to warmer climes of the Himalayan foothills. It can be said that their life revolves around the Seabuckthorn, which the Sikkim government has protected by law.
It was just around 0 degrees or slightly less when a single bird atop a Fir tree came into view. Perched at the edge of the tree, it appeared almost contemplative. The following sentences will paint a picture of a bird that’s anything but that contemplative.
Following the Teesta and fording a bridge near Lachen, another Fir tree came into view. This dry tree was virtually painted indigo. Below is a photographic account of what seemed like an eternity watching the Grandala gorge on Seabuckthorn, sortie after sortie, each sortie for five seconds and no more.
The flock takes turns to feed, one sortie at a time. Each sortie lasts precisely five seconds. The flock then heads back to roost and the next sortie takes off
Flying in formation also means no bird of prey wants to mess with this organized mob
It is the mark of a sad existence or a poorly managed life if the only time one makes for creative pursuits are on holidays. Indeed, i will not make excuses about not writing enough. I have been a poor manager of my time. And now that a short vacation is underway, why not write about what i love the most. A walk into the wild side.
Tungareshwar hosts an ancient Shiva, a not that ancient Baba, insects, plants, animals and a host of associated spirits, sprites and poltergeists. I do not usually require an invitation to visit the forested mountain either alone or with friends. However for the past month or so, it seemed almost impossible to make time or the energy to walk up to the forest and pay respects to the God of Gods and the denizens that call the forest home.
Today it seems was the day. The morning’s alarm rang, i did not procrastinate in the usual way, a Borivali bound train i had boarded from Goregaon conveniently turned into a Virar bound train upon reaching… Borivali, two perfectly fried medu vadas for breakfast… today was the day i could have defeated a giant or become the Prime Minister. Wait, cancel the Prime Minister part…
The walk started on a quiet note with little or no activity on either side of the dirt road that leads to the main temple and then to the ashram of a Baba, plummets down the mountain on the other side and joins a road that leads to hot springs at Vajreshwari. The forest that spans and covers this stretch and also spills over on the sides is some of the best in the entire Mumbai region in my limited opinion. Tigers have been sighted (allegedly) as late as the 1980’s. The allegation clause is employed because the official tiger in the Mumbai region was shot on the banks of the Vihar Lake in 1929. However there also happens to be a gentleman, a doctor by profession who claims he was in 1954, mauled by a tigress in a forest that’s half a day’s march from Tungareshwar. The last time i met him, he was still very much alive and narrated more tiger encounters. His last tiger sighting too puts the date as 1981.
An overcast sky created a dappled light environ that made the walk, which was otherwise a bit frightful because i was walking alone in the forest. Warning, do not try this on your own. I have been scouting through forests for well over two decades and Tungareshwar and its little trails are very well known to me. And yet it has the potential to send shivers down my spine.
Contrary to popular opinion, the fear isn’t of being attacked by fauna. It’s people. A lone traveler has tempted Fate time and again across the ages and many a traveler did not live to add to this warning. However, some of the best scouting experiences are availed when you are alone and there’s nobody to disturb your “hunt”.
The walk up to the temple was uneventful with respect to spotting birds although i must give my fair share of thanks for making the journey successfully without fiscal or physical loss. A Barred Jungle Owlet gave its rolling, bubbling call in the distance but the foliage was too thick to identify its precise location. Red Vented Bulbuls and the occasional Gold Fronted Leafbird kept popping in and out of the herbage and represented the avian community at large.
It was the trail beyond the temple leading toward the ashram that had some surprises up its sleeve. My scout for all matters associated and friend recommended that i take a walk along the road there. No tourists had gone up the trail today. Indeed, i had the rather unfortunate misfortune of “inaugurating” delicately woven spider webs which were large enough to span a motorable road. Clearly we are talking about abuse of real estate on a massive scale here.
The Gold Fronted Leafbird made an appearance this time again. With a caterpillar in its beak.
Speaking of caterpillars and insects at large, 2018 has been a year of erratic rainfall. With 2-3 heavy bouts of rain in the season, leaving the remainder of the monsoon high and dry has had a terrible impact on the insect life which depended on the rains for procreation. These insects will then become the food for wintering birds that would descend upon the peninsula when the Himalayas freeze over. In summary, this might lead to a severe food scarcity for birds in the months to come. What seems insignificant indeed has effects that aren’t visible on a measurable timeline but every cause will have a proportionate or disproportionate effect.
Within a few minutes, the Leafbird was wiping up on a branch as i would wipe my beak on a napkin. This anthropomorphic sight does beg the question, although humans are undoubtedly a superior specie but do we know everything there is to be known about our non human neighbours?
The lack of human noise meant the vacuum was addressed by Drongo and Woodshrikes. Curiously enough, White Bellied Drongo and Common Woodshrike paired up to hunt dragonflies and butterflies. Opportunity creates the strangest of bedfellows. The Bronzed Drongo, a local migrant to our region in the winter too had arrived and more than a few young Bronzes were flitting about.
This is when the trailer for the winter bird watching scene unfolded for a few seconds. Within moments of the Drongos taking off, a sharp tittering sound made me seek the author of that call. A woodpecker. A common bird in the region until half a decade ago, woodpeckers in our region are on the decline and sharply that too. A Mahratta Woodpecker made a “blink and you’ll miss” sighting but not fast enough to escape my camera. Frozen in immortality now, i gloat…
The camera had been under wraps for most of the trail and only after starting the climb to the upper trail did the camera come out of the bag and hung around the neck. Up above on a branch, a Vigour’s Sunbird sang to the world. The sight of a crimson bird singing throatily with a dappled sky for background would have made a frame worth possessing. However the distance was a bit too much to make a good composition and i let the moment pass, soaking in the experience instead. I had spoken a bit too quickly…
Around a curve on the road as it climbed upward, a rustle on the side did not sound like the land crab scuttling away. A four legged animal was making a quick getaway but not a panicked flight as much as an easy trot. My guess on its identity oscillates between a Barking Deer and a Black Naped Hare. A Hare of that dimension however would have made news if it stayed put to be captured in a frame. The peace in the forest had been shattered by my presence. Even if i was “silent” enough, there were other ways to identify my intrusion and that was a moment of uncertainty. That’s all a hawk apparently needed.
An audible thump followed a rolling bubbling call but not of a Jungle Owlet. This time it was a Brown Headed Barbet’s juvenile in a headlong, scramble for life, flight. Again, all that i could see was an explosion of what looked like feathers with barring on them. It had perched somewhere but i could not see where exactly. By the time the senses came around and i fetched the pair of binoculars in my bag, it was a bit too late for both sightings.
The hike upward later did not yield much by way of bird or animal sighting and the rising sun came along with another determinant factor. Heat and humidity.
Walking downhill back the way i had come, a curious buzzing sound coming from the grass got my attention. Was it a leopard kill that had now attracted the flies? Or were they bees who had been dislodged. Black looking flies flitting off the Smithia answered the question. These were bees getting drunk on nectar from the flowers.
My journey in the forest came to a pause as sounds from the temple began to mix with the buzzing and finally overpower it. Until the next time that is…
The rains in Mumbai haven’t begun full and proper but a touch of water and the parched Earth has come alive in myriad ways. Green competes with brown and the living and the dead jostle for space as the season slowly begins to transition from one phase to another. A monsoon visitor, the Indian Pitta has made its way into Central India whilst a second visitor, albeit one who stays for a while has come in its stead. Although there’s nothing similar in the habits of the two birds, the artistically inclined may be tempted to draw parallels on account of the numerous colours that both birds sport. The bird in question is the Oriental Dwarf Kingfisher, popularly abbreviated to ODKF.
This is the Indian Pitta
A sprightly little bird, all of 12 centimeters from beak tip to tail tip. Those still familiar with the rulers we used in school may recollect the little instrument that we used for everything other than measurement. Flying through the forest like a speeding bullet, with a piercing “tseek” that rends the air as it flies past, this little bird’s photograph is the most sought after trophy in Mumbai and Pune in the monsoons. Birdwatchers, nay, photographers pay what it takes for the sought after picture. The ODKF with a lizard, fish or crab in its beak heading home to feed its young ones. Shiny beady eyes looking back into the camera, brilliant colours burn the eyes with their fiery brightness. Neighbour’s (Ahem! Viewer’s) envy, owner’s pride. It is a matter of prestige in the photography and bird watching circles to spot and photograph this bird.
Although i would like to maintain a distance from these photo hunters, i too succumb to the call of the ego, to hunt for this bird and try to capture a frame which depicts it in brilliant light and form. It isn’t so much about the bird itself as it is about myself trying to push my hunting tactics to the highest possible level and achieve the impossible.
I had chanced upon this bird a week before at the Karnala Bird Sanctuary, 90 kilometers from Mumbai and the site for many an encounter detailed in the Weekend Voyager journeys. It had been a cursory sighting with a glimpse that it offered for a few seconds as it peered back at me from the thicket. By way of photographs, these would only amount to record shots as it is called. Just enough to spot the bird and identify it. But a record shot wasn’t something that was enough for me or my voracious appetite for the “right” shot. And so, i journeyed to Film City to a spot of forest owned by an organization whom i owe unspeakably much. My career in wildlife had begun with this place in the summer of ’01 and those initial forays into the forest instilled this undying love that i have for the woods today. The organization in question is the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) and they own a 33 acre plot of the Sanjay Gandhi National Park near the Film City.
The BNHS has made some favourable alterations by way of building a watering hole near their center and this watering hole has seen some notable big game, ranging from the Sambar deer to the elusive Leopard. And now, a few ODKFs have decided to frequent the water source, given a marked paucity of rains yet.
Penance:
News of the ODKF being seen at the BNHS center had spread like wildfire in the bird watching and photography circuit and the kitchen of the center, the little room that could scarcely accommodate 3 people together was finding crowds thick as 15 bodies. Much jostling, talking and noise filled the room as eager minds and cameras discussed the possibility of the shooting the bird. A few expert hands set their camera readings to ensure getting an optimal shot when the time was right. It was somewhere around 07:00 AM and i was sleepy.
Ordinarily, the ODKF keeps visiting a watering hole or a hunting site periodically throughout the day. It has two or three favoured perches in the area and will perch there, give its piercing “tseek” call to attract a mate or call out to one already wooed for the season or sometimes will spend some time contemplating deeply on whatever it is that ODKFs see fit to contemplate about and then go about their business. The moment from when it takes perch on an exposed branch to the moment that it takes to wing again is when the cameras go about their business, firing away in a variety of speeds. “Click, Clack”, “clickclickclickclick”, “thakthakthakthakthak…” are but few of the sounds that one gets to hear all the time. Now there was a good amount of time that was spent waiting between the “clickclick” and “thakthaks”, and that was the time when numerous pairs of eager and enthusiastic eyes scanned the foliage. I have evolved over the years from being one of those eager ones scouting for the slightest traces of movement to one who’d rather conserve energy instead of jostle with the others for a spot to look out for the bird. The firing of the cameras would be my cue to get up and shoot. I’ve developed this habit to perfection and the last time i happened to do this was in the mid sea. The slightest note of alarm on the boat and i was ready for action in less than 3 seconds.
And so… the “penance” paid off. The bird arrived again and perched upon a Liana vine, a woody climber and went into its favourite asanas, the “contemplate-asana” and the cameras fired away. I too fired away a few shots.
There wasn’t much light and the photographs were fuzzy at best. I wasn’t really satisfied with the outcome. And so, i decided to wait. The kitchen was full of sounds after the firing and people were busy exchanging compliments with one another on how each one’s shot was good in its own right. The watch showed five minutes remaining to clock nine. The lady who ran the kitchen came in and made us some hot tea. It was a relief and a great medicine for wiping clean the last remaining traces of sleep. I was still drowsy and didn’t mind plonking into a chair again. By the time the tea sessions were over, only two of us were left at the window sill. Waiting patiently.
Patience:
The ODKF made one “last” visit at 09:12 AM. Light was bad and as i said before, photographs weren’t remarkable. As much as i wanted to see the bird and photograph it in good light just like everyone else, the bird inherently had plans of its own. For starters, the recently rain soaked Earth was beginning to heat up. The rains hadn’t come in full and proper and so the humidity was stifling inside that kitchen. A lone mosquito lingered on and bit me umpteen number of times when i was sleeping. With the heat building up, it too decided to call it a day. We feared the ODKF too might’ve decided the same. The lady who made us tea told us to keep still and wait for a bit more. Perhaps it was the heat and humidity that was getting to us but i’d like to think that it was the thought of being left to my devices, or the marked lack of those devices which made the wait almost impossible to bear. And just as the clock was ready to strike eleven, i decided to call it a day and leave.
The wait
Perseverance:
Didn’t you expect the story to end at this juncture? By all means, this should have been the end of the story and the only trophy that i’d take home would have been this sorry looking picture. But that’s where the final part of this story kicked in for some reason. The undying will to succeed. I made another visit on the following day and by 07:00 AM, i was at the window sill. The bird appeared again like clockwork and the cameras fired off again. Needless to say, the photos were pathetic but most people seemed to be satisfied with it.
A grainy picture of the ODK taking a dive
The hours dragged on and it was nearly eleven o’clock. This time there were two more photographers with me and both of them insisted that we wait for a bit more. Ennui sank its claws deep into my mind again and a lack of suitable devices found me packing and unpacking the camera time and again. The penance was every bit difficult and challenging as climbing a steep mountain with a lot of load. The mind screamed and demanded release, demanded that i head home and wrap myself up with a book or plan an outing to a different place. I had succumbed to this final demand and that’s when something stirred near the watering hole.
It was an Emerald Dove, a bright green pigeon with a silvery crown had come for a sip. The cameras fired away and this time, it was just three of us. The Emerald Dove had been my prize for waiting it out, fighting against the odds to calm the restless mind. Indeed, the mind is the most fickle of beings and to channelize and focus ones energies without getting distracted has been the raging topic of discussion and debate ever since humans began thinking constructively. The Emerald Dove for a few minutes reminded me of the prize to be won for retaining concentration. But the feeling of this prize was outlived after an hour or so. Yet again, the same siren song played and i began packing my bags. I could understand what the Buddha meant when he spoke about fighting temptation and the human mind.
I and the two photographers were talking about a lot of things when the lady who made tea came in and exclaimed “Why there’s your kingfisher and here you are busy yapping!” Grabbing the camera again, we found the bird all right. It was sitting on a perch slightly away from the one where we were expecting it. From there, it flew on to another perch a little closer to us. The light was perfect and the camera settings were at 1/400th of a second as compared to the 1/30th of a second that i was shooting at due to the low light.
And it appeared in all its glory.
The Oriental Dwarf Kingfisher sat on a perch where a beam of sunlight fell directly upon it and it sat. It sat preening, blinking, stretching, yawning and doing all kinds of calisthenics and perhaps knowing fully well that there were paparazzi eager to grab it up all. The cameras went berserk and my memory card was full before i knew it.
But it did not matter, my heart was overflowing with delight and i was happy to pack up the camera for one final time and be content to simply admire the winged jewel from the cabin in the woods.
A change in the season is always an augury for change, a change for better. The summer heat had dried the earth and throats of every living being. With the onset of the rains, the forest at the Sanjay Gandhi National Park was beginning to turn over a new leaf in metaphoric as well as literal sense. Of course the river beds were still dry and new foliage was yet to sprout, but water had begun to collect in small rock pools and check dams and the looming rain clouds promised more water to be coming down.
The Cuckoos had arrived and advertised their presence with their piercing calls. I remember a time when the forest here abounded in Peafowl. Virtually every nook and corner of the forest would resonate with their mewing calls. The Grey Junglefowl, not content to be left behind, added their bit to the cacophony although their calling was never seasonal. Now, these calls echo and re-echo only in the recesses of my mind. Many things have changed but the forest still remains beautiful and enigmatic as ever. And every time that i visit the forest, i am transformed in ways indescribable. And after the first showers of rain kissed Mumbai, i decided to take a walk through the woods. After the rain had fallen.
The sound that a Toad or a Frog produces is a croak. Not a very remarkable sound, the amphibian hides under some leaves or in a body of water and croaks away to glory in the hope of meeting a female and mating with her. I wonder can the collective sound of a hundred or more toads croaking in unison still qualify as a croak or something else. If you can, try to draw a picture in your mind such as this. A pond full of invisible toads and all of them croak at the same time. All the croaks do not sound the same, some at high pitch and some lower; the collective sounded like a strange electronic percussion instrument. The sound was loud enough to drown all other sounds except a few boys racing downhill on their bicycles as they shrieked in joy. Except for that momentary distraction, no other sound would disturb this rhythmic percussion. The muddy water surface barely betrayed the presence of these amphibians as they crawled out of their lairs to fulfill their life’s purpose.
At the outset, it sounded just as it should. A hundred odd toads croaking. But after a few minutes of intent listening, i could discern music in the collective cacophony. Maybe it was my mind that was trying to derive a pattern where none existed but there was a rhythm that could clearly be perceived. After a few minutes of listening to the amphibian opera, we continued onward to the Kanheri Caves as the road turned uphill.
When it comes to birds, sighting them in the rains has always been difficult. The dense green wall serves as an effective curtain behind which the birds hide and seek out one another with their high pitched calls. The forest floor begins to crawl alive as insects and worms of all possible description begin to carve their way from beneath the dirt to come out. All of this because the Earth is nourished with water, the elixir of life. Here and there, an ant would appear carrying a winged insect in its pincers. The rains had also brought the termite drones, the males who can breed, who’s only purpose in life was to mate with the female and die. They appeared in their thousands and soon enough, each and every one of them would be killed. A lucky few managed to breed before death. The ground was strewn with countless wings. Nature isn’t high on precision. Hundreds upon hundreds of these insects, reptiles, amphibians and other living beings compete with one another to survive and pass on their genes to the next generation. And yet so few of them ever manage to make it through. The interdependence upon each other mean a termite drone who’s a potential mate for the termite female is a potential meal for an ant or a bird.
Higher up on the Kanheri slopes, a rattling, tinny sound distinctly rang clear through the green veil. It was a Rufous Woodpecker, one of those bad-ass birds who choose to make their nest inside an ant’s nest. Not just any ant, one of the world’s most vicious and ferocious ants, the Crematogaster Ant. More simply known as the Pagoda Ant. I was just about to walk away while Kartik recorded the calls when the brown little bird made an appearance. It flew out of the thicket and sat on a woody creeper, giving us a minute’s while. The Woodie flew away in response to its mate’s call and we made our way forward, rather back. Kanheri was just a stopover for a quick coffee and some snack.
The ballsiest little Woodpecker on Earth. The Rufous Woodpecker
On the way back, a Large Billed Crow, a bird many mistake to be a Raven greeted us on a dead tree. I have always been fascinated by crows and a crow on a bare, naked tree is an eerie portrait but something that is a work of art.
Crows are birds that communicate with the spirit world and this belief spans cultures around the globe. Our crow initially sat on a green, leafy tree and i waited in hope that it might choose the dead tree right next to it. And indeed it did take perch atop the dead tree. i fired away my camera with joy only to realize the settings of the camera were set to shoot in the dark. These frames in bright sunlight all turned out to be whitewashed. More than a few minutes did i spend abusing and cursing myself for that act of foolishness.
And that’s when this happened.
The Large Green Barbet is often heard but seldom seen. If seen, never this close
A Large Green Barbet, a distant relative of the Woodpecker family crept up to us, hopping from tree to tree until it was almost upon us. What’s so special about the Large Green Barbet is that it’s always heard and seldom seen in the forest. It at all, you’ll get a glimpse of a large greenish bird taking to wing only in the height of summer when all the trees are bare.
Just as soon as it appeared, it disappeared into a hollow of a tree a mere 10 feet away from us. From within the hollow, trilling sounds could be heard. For the first time ever, we had found the nest of the Barbet. Minutes later, the bird popped out of the woodwork (literally!) and took to wing in search of food for the hungry mouths inside.
We waited for a good while hoping for the bird to make an appearance again whilst an Adivasi woman selling next to us played retro Bollywood numbers from her FM radio. The bird had probably been spooked by us or had seen us and wanted us to go away before returning to the nest. We slowly made our way back.
The Indian Pitta was a bird i had hotly pursued a month ago. A passage migrant, the Pitta should have made its way to its breeding grounds in Madhya Pradesh by now given that the rains were upon us and the Cuckoos had already arrived. A distinct “Wheet Whiyou” rang alongside “Wheet Pleewit”. The Pitta was perched in close proximity to a Hawk Cuckoo. A few minutes later, we discovered the Pitta on a Gulmohar tree. Throwing back its head magnificently, the bird called out to challenger and mate alike.
I wish i could show you a video of how it throws its head back to call so you’d know how beautiful a sight such as this was. For now, you’ll have to be content with a photograph alone. It is sights such as these that make the heart overflow with joy. And with this frame, i leave you to ruminate upon the Pitta and hope sights and sounds such as these would persuade you to wake up early on a morning and come hail or shine, head into the woods to seek the companionship of the feathered folk.
Until then, stay tuned for more stories from the Weekend Voyager
The night trail hadn’t panned out as i had expected. Ordinarily, a night trail ought to have produced ample sightings of deer, wild boar, civet cat and if lucky, the leopard. And here we were, marching endlessly without spotting even a single hare. The only consolation kept playing in my head like the falling figs, the night is still young. My expectation of the moonlight too was a bit different from what transpired in reality. The forest was lit by the moonlight in parts. Densely wooded areas appeared jet black and clearings and lightly wooded areas appeared slightly grey. We had been going uphill for over an hour. When we did decide to stop for a few minutes, we were greeted by this sight.
My apologies for a poor frame. There wasn’t sufficient light for the camera to fire off
The light appeared fluid and static by turns. The landscape was dotted with static spots and one seamless line fluidly flowed from one side to the other like blood coursing through a vein. Out there, the darkness seemed to be winning ground and the light seemed to be fighting for a toehold. The reality however was much different. It was the forest that was under siege from civilization. Not all the black spots were forested for that matter. Some patches of black appeared at the frontier. These were degraded forests, said our scout. You may be irked by the usage of the word “scout” for the nth time now. But i wouldn’t want him to get into trouble with the law, for having taken us into the woods at night, nor get an army of tourists bombarding him with requests to visit the forest at night. Hiking through the woods requires schooling on understanding wildlife and their behaviour and hiking through a forest is an extremely dangerous idea if you do not have a deep understanding of wild animals. Patronizing though it may sound, it is in your best interests to begin with cursory bird watching and then develop a deep rooted understanding of the forest with repeated visits to reserve forests and sanctuaries in broad daylight. You will then know when you’re ready to visit the forest at night.
Our encounters with wildlife hadn’t materialized in sightings yet. Half an hour after the encounter with the sprite, we heard the sound of footfalls again. This time before we fired our torches. This was an animal and the sound of feet hitting hard earth could clearly be heard, the sound of an animal bounding away. This was most likely a Barking Deer or a Black Naped Hare. A Barking Deer would have hoarsely cried like a dog before running away. This animal was silent so we assumed it must be the Hare.
And then… let me take you to the point where i had previously stopped. The point from whereon you’re thirsting to continue further. That anomalous smell mixed with the fragrance of overripe figs. It was a leopard, no prizes for guessing. The smell was strong and was followed with the sound of feet being carefully placed on leaves. It produced the slightest of rustlings. I recall having encountered a leopard under similar circumstances in a mango grove in a forest but that was during daylight. The leaves rustled ever so slightly and continued to rustle here and there. The torches went up again but were met with tall bushes glaring back at us and no fiery red eyes peered back at us. We were at the foot of an embankment. The rustling came from the bank which was atleast 10 feet above us. To make matters worse, it was densely wooded and covered with scrub. Clearly the leopard was on the winning side with Nature protecting it.
DC Comic fans may remember the epic encounter between Bane and the Batman where Bane famously proclaims “You have merely adopted the dark Bruce. I was born in it, moulded by it. I didn’t encounter light until i was a man. And then it was only a disturbance…” I could very well imagine having this conversation with the leopard as it silently smirked at us from the height. We stood in its path toward the Ramkund watering hole. After waiting for 10 minutes, we decided to move on and let the leopard continue with its business. The figs continued to fall, Nightjars chuckled away and my enthusiasm was being worn away slowly. I felt like an unwelcome guest. The forest hadn’t accepted me in at all. The darkness, the vegetation, the shadows, everything sought to protect the original inhabitants of the place. We were intruders, outsiders, we didn’t belong here.
The deadly Saw Scaled Viper. Asim almost stepped on one just before the flashlight betrayed its presence. Its venom is potent enough to kill an adult human, slowly and painfully
I didn’t keep track of how much time we had waited here. Shrugging off the rustling and the possibility of seeing a shade of grey only slightly lighter than its surroundings, i, Asim and the scout made our way down. There was a fire burning near the temple. It was a fire made by an old adivasi hunter. Our scout was once his student. This man knew the forest like the palm of his hand. And now he was happily enjoying a liquor sozzled sleep. The car felt so relaxing after all that walking. The air conditioning never felt more welcoming and the feeling of coolness when sweat dried up was an amazing experience. Sleep was only around the corner. Gone was the desire to see something, gone was the desire to roam the forest. All i now wanted to do was sleep peacefully in the car. But i was the shotgun, the one next to the navigator. I was responsible not to doze off lest the navigator succumb to sleep.
The evening had not been kind upon us and fatigue was just short of putting me to sleep. We were driving our way up the mountain when something stirred on the road. A huge bird suddenly took to flight from the ground. Spreading open its eagle like wings, it flapped heavily yet silently and disappeared from sight within seconds. A chance encounter like that was sufficient to drive off whatever hold sleep had managed to get on me. Red eyed but wide awake, we drove through the upper reaches of the forest in silence but wakefulness. The forest had transformed from dismal grey to bright green. Here, it was a stretch of evergreen forest. A la Matheran all over again.
The scout promised to show us a final spot which according to him was something we had to see to believe. The Toyota Sedan chugged and pushed against the dirt, rock and gravel to a spot where the road sloped down to the Ashram of Balyogi Sadanand Baba. I will come to the Baba in a minute after describing this viewpoint.
We walked a few hundred meters to the spot, a clearing in the woods. The breeze, nay the wind was powerful up here. Cold, stark and powerful. The wind dried our sweat soaked bodies and rattled our bones. There was a jacket in my bag but i didn’t want to pull it out. I was mesmerized by the sight that greeted me from this vantage point. It wasn’t very different from what you saw a few minutes ago but the expanse was vast. Pelhar Dam lay to our right and the highway snaked through the darkness, carving out a trail of light as it went. There was something about this forest. Something powerful, something mysterious, something that pulsed through our bodies as we stood there gazing from that vantage point.
I defy logic and court ridicule when i say this but there are things which aren’t sufficiently explained by science. The rustling in the woods that could not be determined, the presence of “spirits” and sprites, the hauntings that had taken place in these woods. And the Balyogi Sadanand Baba.
Tungareshwar Wildlife Sanctuary as its legal name goes is a reserve forest that was once chalked out as a prospective hill station but lack of potable water at the top of the mountain and the presence of bauxite went against the decision. The bauxite thankfully wasn’t sufficient to merit mining and hence the forest was spared the axe. The Baba had made his home up here in the mountains in a reserve forest, flouting all rules of conservation and tenancy in a reserve forest. He had made an ashram up here that housed at any time up to 100 people. He had carved a road through virgin forest to allow his devotees to come see him in their SUVs and other vehicles. This was a bone of contention for those who were pro conservation, myself included in that boat.
Legend had it that a couple once visited a saint named Nityanand Swami, quite popular in Maharashtra as a healer and a spiritual man with hopes of having a child. The Swami promised them a child but with a caveat. A boy would be born but he will not be yours. He will leave home at the age of 12 and take refuge in the forest and will follow the will of God. The couple consented and as Fate would have it, the prophecy was fulfilled. This couple had vast estates in Bhayander and other parts of Mumbai which they sold lock, stock and barrel. And so, it was not just the boy who left home but his parents came with him too. And Tungareshwar became their home until this day where the boy, now an old man in his 60’s lives on. The boy remained celibate and meditated upon Shiv. He also spent his time in the woods learning about the ways of the forest and acquired skill and repute as a natural healer.
I asked the scout flatly “Do you think this flagrant tree cutting, road widening and other things that this Baba does is right?” He answered unsurprisingly “Sir. If i am to live in these woods, i cannot cross those who live here with me. You yourself have experienced the power of these woods. Imagine how much power should this celibate Yogi have who has spent years in these woods. There are many legal battles that he is embroiled in but not one has succeeded in uprooting him from this forest. Doesn’t that mean something?” He had astounded me again.
Juvenile Jungle Nightjar
Our expedition was formally concluded. We had decided to return to the temple and sleep until the hours of early morning when we would make our way back home. And so we drove down. On our way back, the Nightjars on the road stared back at the car’s headlights. I carefully crept out of the vehicle to click a few frames before driving back to camp.
By 02:30 AM, we were fast asleep and my eyes flew open to the sound of intense buzzing in my ears. It was 06:00 AM and the mosquitoes had decided to give me a good morning wake up call.
As i had mentioned earlier, i had started the Weekend Voyager tales with an intent to keep you engaged with tales of true adventure, some of which might hopefully propel you into becoming an adventurer or kindle a desire to be one with Nature. This tale, strictly speaking, is not a Weekend Voyager for one silly reason. All of this transpired before a weekend. Nonetheless, let the necessity for nidification slide and let me take you to the northern forests of Tungareshwar, tiger country as i like to call it.
Wednesday, 10th May had been the night of Buddha Purnima. This occasion of the full moon holds special importance to me because the Moon shines brightest during the year on this particular night. I have faint memories of Buddha Purnima from my days of boyhood but recall vividly the first Buddha Purnima in the woods. The Moon was just about rising and in the twilight, a huge Sambar doe stood placidly, munching on leaves. She wasn’t disturbed by the sight of us and continued to feed as if nothing had happened. This encounter was many moons ago but it forever impressed upon my mind a desire to visit the forest on the night of this spectacular moon. The forest department organizes a wildlife census on these moonlit nights and a lucky few get to sit atop a “machan” like hunters of yore and take record of animals that come to drink at the watering hole near their machans. Now, i cannot speak good or bad about how well this exercise is carried out because i haven’t really participated in one. My non participation being mostly on account of me not making time for it followed by the news release for the activity appearing only in Marathi publications. The combination of the two meant i haven’t had
Evening hues of the forest
a chance to sit up on a machan ever. Well, this time i decided to take things to a different level. Why not make a foray into the forest on my own? On the night following the Buddha Purnima.
And so, we (myself and Asim Undre, my partner in crime from the Konkan adventure) sitting comfortably upon the ledge of a dry waterfall, admiring the scenic vista below and around us. The waterfall, the ledge, the amazing panorama and all of it was at the Tungareshwar Wildlife Sanctuary. Just around 30 kilometers from Borivali, the northern limit of Greater Bombay and bordering the extremity of the Sanjay Gandhi National Park was Tungareshwar, tiger country as i mentioned before. In the summer of 2002, a tigress was reported to have made her way into the SGNP extremity via Tungareshwar. A little while before this, circa 1962 to be precise, a trekker had been mauled by a tiger at Chinchoti, the southern end of the Tungareshwar range. To the north of Tungareshwar lies a dam, Pelhar and driving northwards for another 26 kilometers would bring you to Sakwar village, the base camp for Takmak Fort. From Takmak, the forest appears impenetrable. A vast green cover stretches into what seems to appear infinite. I’m certain that once these forests were contiguous and must have hosted a good many tigers, leopards, gaur among other big game. Today, the leopard is the only big game still to be found for certain here. There is loose talk of a tiger still prowling Tungareshwar and Pelhar somewhere but no concrete evidence has been found yet.
We didn’t embark on this expedition alone. Ay, that would be foolishness to attempt to scout in the dark, through a forest reputed to have robbers if not tigers. Our scout was a local hotelier who also moonlighted as a naturalist and had significant knowledge about the local flora and fauna which i had verified during a previous encounter. He had agreed to take us as far as he could or we could, whichever came first.
The rocky ledge is where the waterfall plummets below
The ledge of the waterfall led to a drop which was the site where a model had drowned while shooting for a soap commercial. Behind us was a tank of water known as Ramkund. This tank too had a dark past. The placement of rocks on this stretch of the waterfall have formed caverns which act as lethal traps in the monsoons when the river is in spate. A swimmer is either sucked into a cavern or they get trapped when swimming through the water, trapped long enough for their life forces to be claimed by the river. Till date, the river has claimed 300 lives. This apparently has something to do with the paranormal forces of Tungareshwar, our scout asserts. But we shall return to this later. For now, listen closely to the sound of branches snapping in the forest. Langur scouts sit atop bamboo fronds or tall trees, keeping a lookout for potential predators. Down below, some Pond Herons fly down to the watering holes in search of a quick bite. I keep a sharp lookout for movement. Deer begin their peregrination to watering holes now. It would however be foolish if i was to expect to find any animal movement at this stretch of Tungareshwar, the part near the temple. People were still coming to the temple and there was much noise and some music. No self respecting wild animal would show up now. We sat there at our ledge, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the spectacular colour display as the sky turned from cherry pink into a slightly darker shade, more resembling purple. The sun had set in the hills but some light still lingered on.
Time to catch up on some sleep. I stretched out horizontally on a charpoy, hoping to catch a few winks but a series of sharp bites rudely woke me up. I looked up to find an exceptionally ugly looking fly with an outsize proboscis enjoying a warm drink. My blood. It was a horsefly. No offense meant to its evolution but the painful prospect of that insect enjoying a bloody mary at my expense was too much to tolerate. I brushed it off and tried to sleep again. This time, my ears were filled with buzzing, the dreaded and hated buzz of mosquitoes. These were gigantic vermin possibly coming from the refuse left behind by the tourists. They bit hard and the resultant sores were extremely painful. Asim had opted to sleep inside the car. I followed suit within minutes.
When i opened my eyes, the clock showed 7:40 and our scout was knocking on the windows. Dinner was ready. A hearty meal of phulkas, potato curry, daal and rice and we were ready to make our way into the forest. A few minutes of puffing on the pipe and some loose talk about Tungareshwar, birding, our origins, what was our business and other Indian matters; we started marching by 08:40 PM.
The moon was just beginning to rise as we started off. Our clothes were soaked in sweat owing to the exertions hiking up and down the waterfall and there wasn’t a breath of wind anywhere that could dry us up. The heat of the day had gone but the humidity persisted and we marched on quietly, hoping to catch a sound of some animal on the move. The first kilometer was quiet, absolutely quiet with not even the sound of a leaf falling to the earth. In that eerie silence, our minds too quietened down. And then a “thud”. We froze in our tracks and two torch beams were tearing up the darkness in the direction from where the sound appeared. It was the sound of a footfall on tinder. Tinder for the uninitiated also means dry leaves and branches and not just a dating app. The sound appeared this time from a different direction. Impossible for the animal to have covered such a great distance in silence only to make the sound again. A few minutes of searching and the answer was revealed. A fig tree was in rich fruit and some of the berries were falling on the leaves which produced this sound. Our hopes for sighting an animal were dashed but the night was still young. We walked further, turning off our torches and walking under the moonlight. Now that it had come into prominence by around 09:20 PM.
The scout made a remark that sent shivers down my spine. “Har kisi ko jungal main ghoomna pasand nahin aata. Jiska shani hai, wahi jungal main ghoomta hai” In summary, a love for the forests also meant the most sinister planet of the Hindu pantheon, Saturn had a profound love for you. Now, astrology as a science or pseudo science can be argued to no end but going by these astrological records, Saturn had a significant presence in my life. Becoming the apple of Saturn’s eye means you’re in for some serious bad luck and misfortune. And it wasn’t too far from the truth for me. A spittle gob went down my throat with much difficulty after hearing this. And this was only the beginning of the revelations for the night.
Shani is described as riding a crow
A Jungle Owlet began calling shortly afterward, the sound piercing through the curtain of silence that hung heavy upon us. Another call soon followed up. I didn’t know what it was until the time i sat down to pen this. Now i have positively identified it as an Oriental Scops Owl. We got within breathing distance of the Owl but the moment the torches went up, the voice went from 30 decibels (figurative number) to zero. Yet another exasperating failure but the night was still young. We decided to move on.
The humidity was beginning to wear us out. Our scout had taken off his shirt and was walking bare chested. However he wasn’t sweating at all if you were to compare him to us. My water supplies began to run precariously low. I was carrying 2 litres and out of that, one litre had already been exhausted. And it was only nearing 11 PM. The remainder of the night was still there to wait out. We pushed forward to a spot where the scout guaranteed us of animal sounds if not sightings. This was a trail that branched off the main dirt track and led to another watering hole somewhere between Tungareshwar and Chinchoti Waterfalls.
Sure enough, within a minute of settling into the place the sounds began. No, it wasn’t the falling of figs on tinder. This was the sound of an animal foraging through the undergrowth. Wild pig is what came to mind. We waited for the sounds to grow stronger or atleast allow the animal to settle in before we fired up our torches. A settled animal is less likely to flee than one who has just started to forage. After 10 minutes of hearing the foraging, two torches tore through the darkness again. Only to encounter thick brush and forest but no animal whatsoever. We kept looking up and down for signs of movement but none appeared whatsoever. The sounds continued unabated. It was practically impossible for the animal(s) to be moving without causing some commotion or atleast rustling the plants when they moved. The movement was zero but the sounds continued. This drama went on for 15 more minutes before we decided to pull out. It was decidedly eerie. A bit too eerie to digest.
Jokingly i opined that this could be the work of a sprite. Our scout freaked me out once again. He told us tales of murder and suicide that this forest had witnessed and the presence of Kal Bhairav, Shiv and Hanuman as the protectors of the sacred forest. Apparently the forest was a powerhouse of supernatural energies hence it was a favourite spot for black magicians to come release spirits or perform rituals for binding a sprite upon someone. On an earlier trip, i had come across a tree full of black dolls trussed up to the tree. The scout mentioned this to be evidence of black magic. Apparently an evil spirit who had possessed a human was captured and bound up in the doll. There were more dolls than i could count and if any of these “bindings” hadn’t been satisfactory; there would very well be an angry spirit wandering the forests. These spirits however had no power in the forest owned by the three aforementioned gods. Shiv was not just a God, He was one of the three Founder Gods who maintained the balance of life and power in the Universe. Clearly not somebody that any being, living or dead would want to trifle with. Pelhar on the other hand fell just outside the realm of these spiritual guardians and people had reported seeing horsemen clad in pure white, women clad in white and other such apparitions. I would like to call myself a rational thinker and for most part, i am one too. But when there is an incident which defies logical explanation, i wouldn’t want to write it off as bunkum. This was one of those incidents which defied a logical explanation. In my defense, i would only argue on one thing. Had it been even Wild Pig, they would have fled at the sight of two torch beams moving up and down the brush. No self respecting wild animal can tolerate artificial light. They instinctively associate it with humans and either freeze or scramble. This sound continued as if nothing had ever transpired.
Each doll has a spirit trapped inside it. And this was just one of the trees with black dolls. Do the math…
We walked quietly ahead, a bit too shocked with this encounter to speak and that’s when the second one occurred. This has a logical explanation. Picture a scenario where a sound is compressed into words and those words are aimed as a dart at you. The dart hits you squarely in the chest. You’ll have some idea of what it felt when the sound that felt like a word “HOOM”, a deep bass call that felt as if it hit me in my chest. The scout immediately jumped up “Leopard”. This was the call of a leopard. I have not heard a leopard whose call was so deep upto date. The most common sound a leopard can produce is a grunt that sounds like a saw cutting wood. Their usual call as they amble through the woods is “Haah haah haah haah”, grunting to glory. This call for some reason reminded me of a tiger. Perhaps it was the bass voice, perhaps it was that “HOOM”. Yet again, we plodded on.
The clock showed near midnight and that’s when the scout suggested we better return back and drive up the remainder of the trail. The trip might be more fruitful for us. Asim and i were too tired and more than happy to turn back and get the car. On the return journey, we weren’t so alone. The Nightjars had begun to call and our friend, the Jungle Owlet too began to sing. The figs continued to fall to the earth but we knew better than to pay heed to these trivial sounds. The marching continued until a smell made us freeze in our tracks. Asim could smell it, the scout could smell it but i could only smell fig.
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We waited for a good while hoping for the bird to make an appearance again whilst an Adivasi woman selling next to us played retro Bollywood numbers from her FM radio. The bird had probably been spooked by us or had seen us and wanted us to go away before returning to the nest. We slowly made our way back.
mousafir 