Kanha Diaries Part 4: Nights in the Forest

The MP Tourism Kisli Canteen sits on the edge of a meadow, which is now known - rather for about a decade now - as the Indri route. Not far from the canteen is a lake that the "new" forest road skirts and goes deeper south. Kisli itself is a safari zone now. I think they have brought the elephants back to the kraal over here, behind the canteen. On my last trip way back in 2009, there were no elephants here. The forest officials had moved the beasts to the Kanha headquarters deep within the core area of the park. 

In the evening just before sunset

Ankur and Anupam on our last trip to Kanha, Nov 2009

The hermetic trance I find myself in whenever I am in Kanha. Gosh, I was fat!

Without further digression, the canteen. It has a little oval patio where we love to sit after dinner. Once the dishes are washed and the canteen is cleaned, the caretaker spends time chatting with us, telling us tales of wonderful sightings in recent times, inquires whether dinner was good (It always is; has always been good!), and whether we'd like to carry plain butter and jam sandwiches on the safari the next morning. 

"I'll bring tea for you," he assures us. "At 4 AM." 

He switches off the light in the patio and leaves, while we continue to sit in the cold, under the dark night sky studded with stars. We don't talk; we don't want to spoil that moment, that tranquillity with our chatter. However, is the night really silent and still? 

As the sun went down, the petrol bunk and the tiny, walk-in-wardrobe-sized post office

Colours of the sky at dusk

In the urban parlance, maybe. But the forest is anything but quiet at night. Lean back on the backrest of the chair and look up to the starlit sky. Thousands of them, no hyperbole here. Kanha National Park, like any other forest, is one of the few places left where you can see a carpet of stars blanketing the world. 

At the same time, your ears 'open up'. It picks up the nearest and the most distant chirrup of crickets and other night creatures. The hoot of the owl. The constant chatter of the night jar. The occassional trumpet of a peacock in the meadow north the dormitory and the forest officer's bungalow. The calls of the chital. Even the lapwing sometimes. 

You slip into a state of trance. Eyes closed, shivering in the cold despite your multiple layers of clothing, breathing in the fresh jungle air, and listening to the sounds of the jungle. Then, from somewhere - in my head at least - I hear the opening notes of a song from a movie that I love: Yeh Tara, Woh Tara...

It is actually the instrumental piece after the first stanza that rings in my head. At once, I transform into a philosopher, a poet, even a singer - a much better one than I normally am, for I can't sing to save my life.

Sunset at Bamhani Dadar in Mukki zone

The vast meadow of Bamhani Dadar at dusk

Kanha National park, more precisely the Kisli core area where I have always camped while in Kanha, can do that to you. For a long while none of us speak or dare to disrupt the tranquility of the moment. But sooner or later, our ears - which are now trained to distinguish between regular calls and alarm calls of most forest creatures - pick up the alarm calls of a chital. We sit up straight and crane our necks, squinting at the darkness around us. Did the call come from somewhere close by? We scan the pitch-black meadows and see shining eyes looking back at us.

"Just chital," we say to each other. Now that we are 'Veterans of the forest', we know there's no need to panic. If the alarm calls stop after a while, we speculate what could have alarmed the deer. Must have been a jackal or dholes, red dogs, maybe. A leopard? The langurs were quiet and unfazed, so might not be one of the big cats. But if there are many alarm calls of the chital, if it turns into a noisy chorus, then it has to be a tiger or a leopard on the prowl. If the night air fills up with alarm calls, we stand up and prepare to hurry to the dormitory, which is about 200-300 metres from the canteen. Our next task is to determine where the calls are coming from? If they are close by, better sit over here instead of risking the walk through the darkness to the dormitory. If the cries are far away, well, enjoy the opera! Where else will you get to hear this?

On my first trip to Kanha National Park, I was sitting on the veranda floor with two Costa Rican chaps, Jorge and Ricardo. The three of us were the only ones in the dormitory, and we had just finished dinner and were sitting outside to drink in the sounds and the chill of the forest. Suddenly, we heard several dholes calling out from not too far away. Even the caretaker stepped out and listened with a smile.

Video: What do Dholes or Red Dogs sound like at night? This is NOT my video; it belongs to a Youtubber, Tejaswi Naik. All credit and thanks to him for posting his experience online.

"Wow, so many dholes!" he said. "You are lucky, sirji. Lately, our guides haven't spotted large groups of dholes. There was a time when the sighting of a pack of 30 - 40 dholes was common. Over the years, their numbers and sightings have decreased. Now, if you are lucky, you'll get to see little groups of 2-4 dholes. 10, if you are extremely lucky. But that."

He was now pointing towards the hills that we saw in the north, hemming the meadows. "That certainly sounds like a large pack."

"What are they, coyotes?"

"Not coyotes. These are dholes, red dogs."

"Red dogs? Like stray dogs?" 

"No, these are wild dogs. The Indian version of the African wild dogs. They resemble jackals but they are different."

Red dog sightings had become rare in Kanha. I have seen a few on various trips - not on the first one though - but never more than four to six of them at a time. If we could have driven into the forest that night, we would have surely seen a large gang of dholes traipsing about in the meadows.

On one of the trips, my father joined us - Govind, Anupam, and me. This was my only late spring/early summer safari trip. It was the first week of April and we were sitting outside the canteen, without many layers of clothing. I was wearing shorts for the first time in Kanha. One of the safari jeeps, a green Gypsy, refuelled at the petrol bunk next to the canteen. For a long while, it stood there, the driver chatting with someone at the petrol bunk. We could only see the glow of their cigarette ends in the darkness and the red rear lights of the Gypsy. 

A while later, the Gypsy left, veering onto the road that led to the Khatia Gate outside the park. The jeep stopped again on the road and my father lurched forward. He was gaping at the jeep, rather at the road lit up by the headlights. 

"Elephants!" he exclaimed, pointing at the muddy brown shapes crossing the road in front of the jeep. Until then, he didn't know that those elephants were tame. 

"They send the elephants out at night," Anupam and I explained. "They graze in the forest all night. Then, just before dawn, the mahout goes looking for them. The chains fastened on the ankles of the elephants leave a trail, which makes it easy to trace them. Then, the mahout looks for signs of tigers around. If they find a tiger that they know is going to stay in the spot for a long while, they relay a message to the headquarters at Kanha. In turn, the officials at headquarters issue tokens for the 'tiger show' and tourists are brought to the spot so that they can get a glimpse of the tiger. 

'Tiger shows' are often criticised by wildlife enthusiasts because it is not the most natural form of wildlife sighting. The enthusiasts complain that tigers are often cornered by these elephants so that they remain at the spot for a longer while than they desire. But this is the best alternative for 'tiger sighting' for tourists like us. On most safaris, you end up going around in circles without a sighting. By organising this 'tiger show', tourists can get at least one glimpse of the king (or queen) of the forest. Most of these 'shows' take place when the tiger is located at a distance from the road. Spotting these tigers who are far away from the forest road is impossible without these elephants. From the safari jeep, you climb onto the back of the elephant and are then taken into the woods where the tiger is spotted. I think Kanha and Bandhavgarh are the only parks where they have this arrangement, though I might be wrong.

Video: One of the four videotapes of our trip to Kanha in January 2005.

That is the thing with tigers and leopards. These fine felines are highly reclusive, and seeing them in the wild is a privilege. The Kisli area, for example, is largely leopard territory. For them, the fringes of the core area of the park is safe haven. The chances of crossing paths with a tiger or, worse, getting into a conflict over territory are much lesser. In January 2005 when the whole lot of us - Arvind, Anupam, Astik, Govind, Kaushal, Madhav, and I - were put up at the dormitory, we often stood in the veranda after dark, constantly chattering and playing the fool with each other. One evening, the conversation veered towards Quantum Physics - of which I know nothing - and Theories of Relativity and shit like that. All the result of much alcohol and dope, though I wasn't a drinker in those days. Yes, I was a non-drinker once, would you believe that! 

I was recording the silly conversations on the handycam when, all of a sudden, Arvind says, "Dude, do you get this feeling that you're being watched?" 

The lone light bulb in the veranda at the dormitory

"Hey yes, I was just thinking the same thing!" Kaushal said. A sudden silence descended on the group. We were looking over our shoulders, squinting at the woods around us, scanning the barely visible outline of the tall grass around the dormitory, looking for a stalking leopard or tiger. We saw nothing, but we certainly felt it. We knew we were being watched. 

"Come on, let's go indoors," we said and shut and bolted the door behind us. 

North-East Natters Part One: Bonhomie in Bomdila

Gontse Gaden Rabgyeling Monastery

Bomdila? Why?
On a salubrious afternoon at the fag end of July, we got off the crammed last seat of the Sumo share-taxi in the main town square of Bomdila. The air was crisp, a pleasant respite from the muggy plains of Assam. We yawned and stretched, and our joints croaked and cracked, as we collected our rucksacks from the luggage rack atop the Sumo. At once there were touts all around us. Hotel room? Onward to Tawang? Tomorrow? Book your seats on the Sumo today, sirs. It might get full otherwise. 

On the road to Bomdila

A tea break

Another halt before Bomdila

All seats sold out in this season? That too to a town as remote as Tawang in West Arunachal Pradesh? This chap had to be kidding! At his behest, we scouted for a hotel on the main street, but none of them were quite appealing. We had been travelling since Saturday before dawn with a night's halt in a pathetic excuse of a hotel room in terrible Tezpur. We hadn't eaten anything worthy of being called a meal. It was past lunchtime in Bomdila. Most eateries were closed, and the only roadside stalls were those of multicoloured raw beans and corn. Not a single restaurant had food? Not a single Momo stall, which are ubiquitous in faraway Bangalore? After roaming around, we walked into an inn, where we nearly barged into the kitchen and prodded the innkeeper, a woman, to give us some food. Anything would do. 

"We have Thupka," she said. Of course! Bomdila is a town full of Tibetan-origin folks. Bring us the Thukpas, we said. She served the noodle soups with chicken shreds in them. After one glance into the soup bowl, I began to wonder: Was this trip a big mistake? 

This Thukpa in Bomdila was sad!

A sense of foreboding had come over us when we reached Paltan Bazaar in Guwahati the previous day. The untidy surroundings, the dust and grime that we sought to escape in our home cities, the dreary bus ride to Tezpur, the filthy surroundings of the decrepit guest house that we stayed in, the tepid, unappealing food that we had since we landed, and the disparaging laughter of the Malayalee soldier of the GREF unit of BRO, whom we met that morning at Tezpur bus station, and who rode with us in the share-taxi till his military camp in Tenga. 

Malayalees are typically cynical people, we concurred. All three of us - Jose, Sachin, and I - are Malayalees, and we know our kind well. 

"Malayalee-oo? Ivideyo? Endinna?" Malayalees? Over here? Whatever for?

That was the first thing that the GREF soldier told us. Y'all are coming from Bangalore and are going to Bomdila and Tawang on a trip? Devamme! Oh my God! There's nothing over there!" He said that with much incredulity, using the typical gesture - of flicking the fingers as though you were sprinkling holy water - that Malayalees often used. 

In the balcony of our room at Doe Gu Khill guest house

The terrace lookout to the woods surrounding the road leading to the guest house

Can't stop admiring the sylvan surroundings

Walking to the monastery

Young monks walking up to the monastery for the evening prayer

As I finished the bowl of Thukpa - I gulped it down because I was hungry - I began to wonder, was he right after all? Nothing looked promising so far in the North East. Even the Thukpa was rubbish. Were all those advertisements that showed mesmerising Arunachal and enchanting Arunachal just exaggerated gimmicks? Or were we missing the real thing?

Eventually Google put us on track. We returned to the taxi stand and hailed a taxi - a Maruti Omni - to highly-rated guest house attached to the main monastery in Bomdila. 

"Two kilometres uphill, sirs," said Ali, a tubby, one-eyed taxi driver. "Only 100 rupees. Anywhere you go in Bomdila, only 100 rupees." 

Ali, or one-eyed Ali as we chose to refer to him, asked us where we were from, where we were headed, and whether we had prior bookings in Tawang or even at the monastery guest house for that matter. He gave us an alternative to the share-taxi drive to Tawang: I can take y'all to Tawang, in and around, show you around everywhere. In a share-taxi, you can't stop as and when you feel like. But with me, you can. I'm from Bomdila only and I know this place all too well.

We didn't dispute that, and we told him that we would consider the offer. First, the guest house. We had to put down our bags and rest a little, and unwind later evening with a drink. 

The Doe-Gu-Khil guest house on the Gontse Gaden Rabgyeling Monastery campus was an absolute delight. At first glance, we liked the room we were shown and the environs. Overlooking most of Bomdila town, the monastery and the guest house sat in sylvan settings, amid woods on the hillside, offering fantastic vistas from the balcony of the guest-house room. Trainee monks reside in the adjacent building. They also cook and provide food for guests in the dining room of the guest house. 

"We serve only vegetarian food," the caretaker apologetically said. It didn't matter. We liked the place and took the offer, bidding Ali goodbye. 

"But do you want me to take you to Tawang?" he asked. We told him that we had already booked seats for ourselves on the share-taxi. "That can be cancelled, sirs. You come with me right now! I'll cancel the booking and get you full refund. But you have to tell me soon so that I can refuel and ready another taxi for you. No, we won't be taking this van. I have another van, which can take the beating of the harsh road to Tawang."

He gave all of us his number and told us that he would wait for our call, one way or the other. Eventually, we didn't call him. 

We awoke to the gentle chants of prayer and drum beats and cymbals from the monastery, and another, somewhat inaudible chant from elsewhere. The latter turned out to be a protest march staged in the Buddha Stadium near the main intersection in Bomdila. Gurkha community folks were expressing their solidarity with the Gurkhaland movement in Darjeeling and chanting slogans against the West Bengal government of which Darjeeling was part. We were more interested in the former. So, leaving Jose who was still asleep, Sachin and I visited the monastery and spent some time in the courtyard, taking photographs and breathing in the pure mountain air. After the squalor of Tezpur, Bomdila was indeed rejuvenating. While we roamed about aimlessly, Jose awoke in the meantime and went on a more purposeful walk to town. He returned after dark with a bottle of Blenders Pride whisky and plastic cups. We were determined to preserve the sanctity of the monastery guest house and so, not only did we finish the contents of the bottle that night, but also packed it along with the used paper cups and disposed of the waste in a thrash bin in town the next morning, leaving behind no signs of alcohol consumption in the guest house. Even the packets of chips were duly disposed of. 

View of Bomdila from the monastery

It was the dinner that was the highlight of our stay in Bomdila. Simple, vegetarian fare that was absolutely delicious. Steam rose from the casseroles containing hot chapatis, dal, vegetable curry, and rice. I had goosebumps after the meal, for it was the best vegetarian meal I had had after the meals in Kanha National Park. 

When we returned to Bomdila after our stay in Tawang, we fervently hoped that there were rooms available in Doe-Gu-"Chill" - that is how they pronounce "Khill" - guest house. Thank the Buddha, we got rooms here. On our return journey, our trio rose to four of us with Jarshad, whom we met at a tea break after Sela Pass enroute to Tawang. 

Jose's photograph of Bomdila by night

View of the hills the next morning as we left for Tawang

We met Ali again at the taxi stand and asked him if he would take us to the guest house again. Because of a certain confusion over how to go back to Guwahati - I just didn't want to even pass through Tezpur again, let alone stop overnight - which also led to an altercation, we eventually booked ourselves on a bus that went straight to Guwahati bypassing Tawang. Eventually, after booking our tickets, we called another cab and rode up to the guest house. 

In the evening, I think the boys called Ali once again, this time to ask him to take one of us to the liquor store. He didn't answer the calls. 

It rained all evening and night in Bomdila. Even the lights went out later at night after dinner. In the evening, while the boys sat in the room and drank, I sat in the veranda outside the guest house, chatting with a senior monk who lived in the adjoining dormitory. They served me tea, two cups of hot brew while a chilly rain pattered on the asbestos awning under which we were sitting. He told me about the exploits of the Dalai Lama, about how he first took refuge in Tawang and Zemithang after escaping from Lhasa; about the struggles of the Tibetans and the Chinese occupation of Tibet; about how at least one member of every family is chosen to be ordained as a monk; and all the internal schisms among the Buddhists and things like that. 

Rainy night in Bomdila on our return leg

"You are from Bangalore, right? There is a big Tibetan monastery not far from Bangalore. I have been there. Have you?"

I told him that I'd heard of the place and even passed by on our motorcycle ride to Madikeri. But was I Bangalorean? I smiled. I could have explained to him, just as painstakingly as he did the Tibetan struggles, how I was returning to Bangalore for the last time and how I was moving back to my hometown, Mumbai. But I didn't. Like the grand Buddha statue in Tawang, I only listened to him with a smile. 

One of our tea and pee breaks on the way to Tawang

Getting There
Bomdila is the headquarters of the West Kameng district of Arunachal Pradesh. From Tezpur, it is 156 kilometres by road that winds uphill after Bhalukpong, the entry point to Arunachal Pradesh on the banks of the Kameng river. On the other side of the river lies the Nameri Forest Reserve (in Assam) and the Pakke Tiger Reserve (on the Arunachal side).
From Guwahati, the shortest route is 276 kilometres via Kalaigaon and Kalaktang, while the longest is 335 kilometres via Tezpur. The bus service, however, takes a middle route, via Orang and bypassing Tezpur, which is 308 kilometres. The bus takes 12 to 14 hours in either direction, depending on floods or traffic in the plains of Assam and landslides in Arunachal.

The road is prone to landslides. As the Jawan from Haripad had pointed out, the soil here is not firm. With the slightest rain, whole mountainsides come sliding down, blocking the road to Bomdila and Tawang. Fortunately, we did come upon a landslide or two, but we didn't get stuck anywhere for more than 15 minutes.

If you can book a car and drive to Bomdila, it would be the best thing. There is no other way to get here, unless you can afford to book a helicopter. After Bhalukpong, the route is daunting and achingly beautiful. The thick rainforests will leave you spellbound and the clouds descend till you are at the same level; after a point, even above them! We went in the rains and thus, we got to see several waterfalls enroute. Do check with police officials in Guwahati or Tezpur about road conditions irrespective of the season that you choose to visit these places. I think in summers, you won't have problems, unless the Brahmaputra floods the plains of Assam and leave you stranded over there. 

Where to Stay
Doe-Gu-Khill guest house, certainly! Warm folks, delectable food, clean rooms and tranquil surroundings. There was a medium-sized hotel in the main town square, but I can't remember its name now. For the price that they charge, it isn't worth checking out. 

What to Do
Other than the monastery, I think Bomdila is renowned for its apple orchards. So, if you come here in the right season, you will get to see the apple orchards I guess. Bomdila only serves as a stopover otherwise for people headed to Tawang. 

Woods, Rain and Elephant: Overnight Weekend Motorcycle Trip to Mananthavady and Back

The 640 kilometre weekend ride was one of my best motorcycle trips and certainly the most fulfilling. Jose and I saw a record seven elephants on five different occasions on this trip, apart from several herds of deer, a couple of peacocks one of which scampered across Jose’s path in Bandipur, and two large sambar standing right next to the road. With Jose, I’ve covered Bandipur and Masinagudi, the forest stretches of the Nilgiris region, various forest sections of Wayanad, the forest of Madikeri and Coorg further north, Agumbe, the BR hills and the Cauvery sections, and Sathyamangalam. This ride also marked probably my last motorcycle trip in the southern forests. 

Day One Saturday, July 15: A Late Start

We set off later than usual after breakfast at Gottigere at 9:30 am. For the most part, the skies were cloudy throughout, there were occasional showers, and a fine nip in the air throughout the two days. I was a little apprehensive about my motorcycle’s condition. Haven’t serviced it in ages. Besides, I find the Kanakpura stretch quite daunting. The single-lane road, though in good condition, has a lot of villages en route and, as a result, many crazies weaving in and out, flitting across without a care, and even calling for a race! Thankfully, nobody challenges me to a race. That honour is usually bestowed on Jose whose fine Duke 390 with its custom racing stickers evinces a lot of awe and envy. Almost always, he leads and has to wait for me at intersections for a good five minutes.

“Keep flying,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up.”

The RS 200 is capable of sharp cornering but this rider isn't. Whether it is the age or just the style of riding and riding preferences, I don’t know. I’m just a laid back tourer instead of an amateur Moto GP or rally rider. Jose usually reaches a pitstop and finishes his tea and only then do I catch up.

Kanakpura and Malavalli

There’s a little restaurant in Kanakpura – I forget the name – where all bikers like us stop for breakfast and coffee. From there, we ride through the madness to Malavalli and stop at the corner shop before deciding which road to take to our destination. This time, a potbellied, moustachioed gentleman rode to the tea stall on a Honda Activa and stood admiring Jose’s KTM and its custom stickers. He struck up a conversation with Jose, asked him about the cost of the stickers and the top speed that the Duke can touch and all.

The bikes resting at Malavalli tea stall

“I have a Kawasaki 650,” he boasted. “But it’s at home. For regular rounds I only take the Activa. My Kawasaki easily touches 100 kmph.”

“Oh, the Kawasaki 650 is can touch 180 with ease,” Jose said, adding that he has locked 

his Duke’s rev range at 7000 rpm so he cannot exceed 120 kmph, which suits a touring ride. The man went on to ask him about his origins. Where he is from? Bangalore, where you stay? Originally from where? Bangalore, only? No meaning your native place? Kerala? You still know Kannada? If I go to Kerala, do the people there know to speak in English or Hindi?

“Malayalis also know Valerian and Dothraki and the coarse tongue of those living beyond the wall, like you wildlings,” I wanted to add. There is only so much that you can do to or tell a frog in the well. The nincompoop doesn’t deserve a 650, if at all he really has one.

Off the Beaten Track

Off we road via the scenic village roads to T. Narasipura. Spotted a Common Indian Roller on a TV cable wire next to a pretty reservoir which was swollen with rainwater. All along the way, villagers had laid out their harvested crops of some sort on the road. We negotiated around them, sometimes riding over the carpet of crops, and reached T. Narasipura, from where we connected to Nanjangud.

The Foolishly Fast and the Furious

Jose writing notes in his logbook

The ride to Gundlupet is a bit unnerving on this stretch. We’ve ridden down this road before and even then I’d told Jose that the driving on this stretch is wild and dangerous. You’ve got to have sharp senses and keenly watch traffic on the road, anticipate which donkey is going to err and drive or ride into you, or scamper across the road like an idiot. Besides, it also rained in spurts while we gunned down this stretch. The problem with intermittent rain is that the roads get mucky and slippery. The ABS is of great help in such circumstances, yet you’ve got to be extra careful here with the crazies zipping around you.

The Café Coffee Day at Gundlupet is another favourite halt. Jose made a few notes in his log book as we wolfed down chicken burgers with veggies and Café Americanos. The forest stretch was coming.

Elephants One and Two

We entered the Bandipur National Park on the Bandipur-Mudhumalai stretch. The weather was beautiful, there were a few drizzles, but nothing hazardous along the way. We came across a large herd of deer on our side, then on the other, and later a pair of large sambar does appeared right beside the road. Cars had stopped to take pictures and the swamp deer didn’t seem to mind. We continued and Jose was greeted by a peacock that ran across the road and perched up a tree. Just before we reached the Bandipur camp, a scrawny female elephant appeared beside the road. I’d never seen an undernourished elephant in my life. It looked like a large cow. Cheeks had sunk into the bone and even the ribs of the cow elephant jutted out. The elephant wasn’t planning to cross the road, but we still asked the chaps who had stopped their car right in front of it to allow it space to pass. They took pictures and drove away but the elephant continued to stand there beside the road.

Deer close to the road

The first elephant

We saw the next elephant on the other side of the river near Masinagudi. At first, I thought it was a tamed elephant of the forest officials, because a tusker of the forest guys was being bathed in the river. We stopped again but a forest guard in the guard house urged us to keep moving, so we rode on, happy to have seen two elephants at least in Bandipur for the first time! We saw several more deer in the Mudhumalai section, and signboards saying “Crucial elephant crossing path. Go slow.”

All smiles after the first sighting

Elephant two

“I hope we get to see a tiger,” Jose said as he slowed down for me to sidle up. “Or a sloth bear!”

We were asking for too much.

Tea Gardens and Forests and Rain

Bikes at a pitstop near Gudalur

Tea gardens en route to Sultan Bathery

More tea gardens

At Gudalur, we missed the little eatery we had stopped at last year where we had delicious, spicy beef curry and Malabar porotta. The place we stopped at this time didn’t serve beef. So we settled for porottas and egg curry and tea, and rode on. The Gudalur-Sultan Bathery stretch, I’m scared of. It rains, there are several twisties through the lovely tea garden and hill forest stretches, the roads are caked with mud thus making it slippery, the winds are strong and chilly, all potential hazards. I slow down to 35-40 kmph on these hairpin bends, not having enough courage to bend and twist as Jose does.

Elephant Three

By the time we left Sultan Bathery and took the Pulpally section, where in September last year, we’d spotted a tusker, it was 5 PM. A fantastic St. Thomas Cathedral appeared and I wanted to take pictures but Jose had gone way ahead and it was beginning to turn dark. We had some more forest to cover, and didn’t want to run into a tusker in the dark, so I kept riding. Midway through the section, at a curve in the forest, we saw an SUV halt. Definitely, an animal had been spotted. Far off from the road in the thick foliage, we saw the head and fanning ears and the massive back of a tusker. It was no use trying to take pictures using the mobile phone. The elephant was far off from the road and with the growing darkness and the cover of trees, I would’ve got nothing. The chaps in the SUV had a DSLR with telephoto lens and all. They stayed and took pictures, while we rode on.

Dusk and rain en route to Mananthavady

Uncle’s Place at Mananthavady

Jose suggested a quick diversion to Kuruva Island, which stands in the middle of the Kabini river amid thick woods where also there was the prospect of running into an elephant. The guards posted at the river said the island is off limits during the monsoon season, so we had to contend with viewing the wilderness from the river bank. I heard jackals howling, which I first thought was kids in a nearby village fooling around. As we returned to the main road to Mananthavady, dusk had set in. It rained off and on, and the road and the forest around it turned pitch dark. Yet, not dark enough for Jose to miss the signboard that read: Toddy.

We had 2 glasses each, but the palm toddy was nowhere as good as the fresh brew that we had had last weekend near Shivana Samudra falls. That was, however, the last stop we made. Fifteen minutes later, we reached Jose’s uncle’s house.

Uncle Savio, or Uncle Sabu as he is fondly called, is a college principal and Aunty Shanthi is a teacher at the same college. Both bespectacled, warm and friendly, they both look the part of academicians, although I would also mistake Uncle Sabu for a priest. Thin, peppery beard and moustache, and bald headed, I would probably end up looking like him when I get to his age.

We’ve a lot to thank Uncle Sabu for accommodating us for a second time. Like Irish beggars, we always reach their place after dark, have the scrumptious dinner Aunty so lovingly prepares, retire to bed, wake up – and wake them up too – the next morning, a Sunday, and rush out after breakfast. Shameless fellows that we are! It’s always when we reach Bandipur that I remember that I haven’t picked up anything for them. Even a good bottle of wine would do, but where can one find good wine in the forest?

Like last time, Jose engaged Uncle Sabu in some spirited discussion about his newfound atheism and his plans of moving to Canada by early 2018. Yes, he’s going. And I hope to be gone from Bangalore too by then. I’m on the verge of finally getting a transfer to the Mumbai office. Once again, after 2015, I’ll be packing up and leaving Bangalore. Sachin, the third Malayali musketeer, will also be busy this year once his second baby is born. There is nothing left for me in Bangalore. I also want to migrate to Canada like Jose and have to begin working towards that goal. If that doesn’t work out, at least I want to stay in my hometown from now on.

Day Two: Elephants Encore in Bavali?

Bavalli forests 

Bavali forests. Precious corridor between Nagarahole and Bandipur Mudhumalai.

Jose was up for most of the night he said. I’d woken up at 3:15 AM, as usual, but I could go back to sleep fortunately. It was raining and quite pleasantly cold, and I snuggled off to sleep, but could feel a faint sway within, as though I were still riding furiously through twists and bends on some hill stretches. Later, over fresh appams and tea, Jose told me that he heard some superbikes screech and speed down the road past midnight. He also enquired about the possibility of seeing elephants on the Bavali stretch. The road crosses the buffer zone of Nagarahole and Wayanad sanctuaries and is also acts as a forest corridor for animals between these two parks and the Bandipur-Mudhumalai forests. Thiruneli temple is close to this stretch, where I’ll have to go with my folks in September to complete some rites for my grandmother who passed away in September. Jose suggested riding to the place because it seems there’s a place where they make fantastic unni appams. Eventually, we continued to Bavali.

The forest cover here is splendid. The woods are thick and the jungle is perfect tiger and elephant country. After the buffer zone stretches where there are several tribal villages, the jungle closed in on us and we slowed down, not because we were frightened but because we were awestruck and wanted to soak in the beauty and majesty of the forest. A WagonR slowed in front of us. To the right, we saw three elephant cows not far from the road. Three elephants at once! What a beautiful start to the morning ride! A little later, we halted again as we were presented with the best sighting ever of an elephant. A full-grown tusker, with tusks that almost scraped the ground, stood right next to the road, paying no heed to us or the vehicles slowing down, foraging in the bushes and feeding on the fresh, juicy grass.  Jose raced ahead and stopped far off, but I couldn’t move, so awestruck I was by the sight of the pachyderm! I switched off the engine and watched the elephant for a good five minutes, before riding away halfheartedly. It was a stupid thing to do. If the elephant turned and charged, I would’ve been finished. But I didn’t get off the motorcycle and somehow, I had the feeling that the tusker was used to an audience, because it wasn’t even fanning its ears or swishing its tail, which is what agitated elephants usually do.

One of the 3 female elephants that we saw this morning

The final and best sighting: A tusker right next to the forest road

We rode out, wove through some village roads where I could not read the signboards, until we finally reached the ring road outside Mysore. From there, it was the usual traffic and the usual madcap blasting through to Bangalore at a minimum of 95-100 kmph. At NICE road, we finally said goodbyes, and that we would probably meet on the 29^th next, in Bangalore airport. Another trip, this time not on motorcycles. And to a place neither of us have been to before. Watch this space.

After reaching the ring road near Mysore

Kanha Diaries Part 3.3: First Night and Dorm-Alone

The shrill bark of a spotted deer (chital) made me freeze. I had a morsel of tandoori chapati and chole curry standing still an inch away from my mouth. By then, the guide had told me about "alarm calls" that various animals give out when they see or sense danger . Chital, for example, raise an alarm only when a predator such as a tiger, leopard, or a pack of red dogs called dholes in Hindi is close by. Fowls such as peacocks and jungle cocks raise an alarm when they spot smaller predators such as jackals or even snakes. These calls have a distinct sound, different from their regular calls. All this information was fascinating, but at that moment, as the solitary guest in the Kisli tourist hostel, I must admit that a chill went down my spine, and it was not only because of the end-November chill of the Central Indian plains.

Colours of sunset at Kisli, Kanha National Park

Colours of sunset at Kisli

The lone light bulb in the dormitory

Another bark echoed, followed by a third. The caretaker at the canteen casually strolled up to the doorstep and stood  with his hands tied behind his back. He casually looked in the direction of the alarm calls, which he told me came from the Kisli meadows not far away.

'Could it be...a tiger?' I asked, the morsel still waiting in my hand, curry dripping out of my fingers.
'Tiger, leopard...could be anything sahib,' he said, smiling brightly like most men in these parts did, I noticed. 'By the way, Kisli is largely leopard territory because they get driven out by the bigger cats from the core areas of the forests.'

Spooked and exhilarated at the same time, I wolfed down my dinner and joined him at the doorstep. We stood in the patio; I didn't dare to step out of the light zone that the fluorescent light. All of a sudden, in the surrounding darkness, I saw several gleaming eyes, like stunned fireflies, staring at us.

'Dholes?' I asked.
'No sahib, these are deer!' the caretaker said, pointing his flashlight at the shiny eyes. I could make out the spots of deer hide and relaxed. 'They are also scared and are looking in the direction of the alarm calls. Now sahib, you go to your bed in the dormitory. I've to close the canteen and go home.'

'You...going home? In this darkness?' He had a house in this wilderness? I simply assumed he slept in the canteen!

He pointed towards the mud houses behind the canteen and said that was where his house was.

'Hey, why don't you join me in the dormitory? There are so many beds and I'm the only one in that building!'

He smiled again and said that he was not allowed to do that.

'But who is going to know? There are no human beings around here in a radius of 3 kilometres!'

'No sahib,' he said. 'There are people here. This is Kisli village where many forest guards, mahouts, and their families live. Behind the dormitory is the Baghira Log Huts hotel. There are many guests over there. You don't worry sahib. I'll walk you to the dormitory and you lock the door once you get in. I'm sure you are going to sleep only now? There's nothing else to do. No TV, no phones.' Mobile phone networks were several miles away from Kanha National Park. Mobile data, 2G and 3G was the stuff of sci-fantasy fiction.

I didn't want to appear as a completely sissy fellow, so I took the offer and he walked me to the dormitory. He told me how I could find a seat in one of the jungle bound jeeps in the morning and that I should be there at the check post by 5:30 am. Then, he walked away, leaving me behind all alone in the dormitory, in the core area of a REAL jungle teeming with wildlife! When I asked for adventure, I didn't expect so much of it on the first day itself.

Earlier That Day

I'd reached Kisli after a 4-hour ride from Jabalpur in a rickety bus at noon, just in time for a sumptuous lunch. The food in the hostel canteen, I must mention, is simple but delectable vegetarian fare with an essence of deja-vu of home-cooked meals in it. If all vegetarian restaurants would serve meals like that, I would gladly hop from one vegetarian restaurant to another every weekend.

The caretaker took me to the dormitory building, a single-storey structure with a long, semi-circular veranda in front. There are three large rooms of eight beds each. There were two families in the first room in which I was given a bed. The middle-aged couple from Nagpur and the Majumdar family of four from West Bengal. Mr. Majumdar, a garrulous man in his late thirties, immediately signalled to his dusky and beautiful wife - in Bengali - to lock away all the cash and jewellery and hand him the keys. He also told his preteen daughter, whose bed was next to mine, to switch her bed with his. I don't speak Bengali but I do follow it, especially if the speaker isn't a fast talker. Majumdar babu wasn't one, and was excessively loud. I was amused, but didn't show it.

'You are phrom...?' he asked me.
'Mumbai,' I said. He shook hands vigorously and went on to tell me about his Madhya Pradesh trip in general and Kanha in particular.
'All lies they tell, okay?' he said. 'We hab done 3 safaris already but hab not see one tiger! Now we are doing evening safari. You are coming? Letsee if you is habing the good luck.'

The caretaker pointed out to a backdoor, where there was another corridor that had bathrooms and privies at both ends. As soon as we stepped into the corridor, a green tree snake fell out of the roof in front of us.

'Does this happen inside the dorm too?' I asked gingerly.
'Oh no no sahib. You can ask them. This is a very rare incident.'

Well, I'd wanted adventure and had chosen to live in the core area of Mowgli country, so I couldn't complain. This was what I'd wanted. So if an indoor snake rain is what I was up for, so be it.

I joined Majumdar babu and his family on the evening safari, my first in a forest and probably the worst, for Mr. Loudmouth wouldn't shut up. 'Why no tiger is there here? There? And there? On the trees? Behind the rocks? In our Jaldapara, we are seeing tiger and elephant always! This is a big conspiracy. There is no tiger in Kanha. All lies!' While we passed through some lovely woods and meadows, all we saw were deer and peacocks. And a gaur or Indian bison. After an exasperating drive, we returned to Kisli at sunset. That was when I noticed all the guests at the dormitory, including Mr. Majumdar's family, pack their bags. Cabs had arrived to pick them up.

'Y'all going? Does that mean I'll be alone in the dorm?'
'Nothing to worry Mr. Sandeep. There are no tigers here. Only lies!' said Mr. Majumdar.
'We're fed up of this man,' his old mother, wrapped in woollens of all sorts from head to toe, poked her wrinkled face out of her monkey cap, and said. 'I pleaded with him not to take me out in this cold to a forest, but he just wouldn't listen!'

The family from Nagpur offered to drive me out to Khatia gate where the private hotels and lodges were situated. 'If you feel safer outside the core forest, we can take you there. I can imagine how scary it would be to stay all alone in this place with all kinds of animals around.'

One by one, the jeeps drove off with the families, leaving me behind at the doorstep of the dormitory. I shook my head in disbelief, locked the dorm door, and hurried to canteen, about 300 metres away from the dorm building.

Fear of the Dark

Of course I had the constant fear that something's always near. Iron Maiden's guitar riffs in my head did nothing to allay the trepidation in my heart. To make matters worse, the biting cold was something I wasn't accustomed to. Every now and then, a thud on the corrugated-sheet rooftop made me jump in my bed, but I knew they were only langurs, monkeys, scampering about. The rich sounds of the jungle pierced through the cement walls and rang aloud in my ears. I kept my ears corked for a roar or growl, but heard none - fortunately! Thankfully, tired after the five-hour bus ride and also owing to the fact that I had been awake since 4 AM that morning, I fell asleep with the light in the dormitory room still on.

Jeeps arriving before dawn for the morning safari. Pic courtesy: Ankur Nagar

I survived the night. Early in the morning, armed with my flashlight and toilet paper, I slunk into the privies, piled on additional warm clothes on me, and stepped out as the first light of day touched the Eastern horizon above the canopy of sal trees. And, in the clearing right outside the dormitory, there were three gaurs looking back at me! I locked the door and, without directly looking at them again, marched towards Kisli gate in the hope of finding company for a trip into the jungle. That was where I met Jorge and Ricardo, two Costa Rican boys, who were to stay with me at the dormitory for the next couple of days. They arrived late the previous evening, which was why they weren't let into the core area of the forest. They spent the night in a lodge right outside Khatia Gate. Motel Chandan, Jorge said, and I remember the man who had handed me a brochure of Motel Chandan back in Mandla at the bus stop. A day later, Tim from Britain joined us. On day five when I was ready to leave on the afternoon bus to Jabalpur, Tim said to me: I'm going to be alone tonight, I reckon?

I smiled and wished him luck.