Corbett's Land of Tigers (Part II)

Bijrani zone is one of the most sort after zones, second to Dhikala. While it's natural beauty mesmerizes ones eyes, it's wildlife diversity lures wildlife enthusiasts across the world. It's picturesque landscape is ornate with vast expanse of 'Chaurs' grassland where herds of chittal (Axis axis) and sambar (Rusa unicolor) graze placidly drifting in and out of the grass. The dense sal (Shorea robusta) forests harbor predators and prey with equal indulge. Among the woods while the herbivores cherish on the lush foliage, the dancing light and shade provides concealment to the ambushing predators. By the way of nature both flourish. And every safari ride into these lands is like a Christmas present, you never know what might pop up at the next turn. Well... everyone hopes that to be a tiger, but the lord of the jungle always makes his appearance on his own accords. 

Into Bijrani

At Bijrani - ready for the wild

 Afternoon sun was beating down on us as our gypsy glided into the wilderness, yet the touch of it felt cool on our skin. The dense foliage gave way to open grassland after twenty minutes into the safari. Until now no animal had crossed the road or any bird had flown by. The silence of the forest was only scattered by the screeching of our vehicle  tyres on the graveled path and the monotonous rehearsed words of Mr. Jagdish Negi ji (our guide) who had made himself quite comfortable on the front seat. Wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks, deep set eyes with furry brows overcasting them hinted of him spending a considerable time of his life in these forests. His knowledge of its flora and fauna was sizeable. His potbelly bounced whenever the vehicle took a bump over the rocks. He would then involuntarily rearrange himself in the crumped space of the rugged seat and continue with his narration. 

The Spotted deer stag

His dozy voice crawled through, "Sir, you will find Spotted deer, sambar deer, barking deer in this zone commonly... if lucky you can spot Elephants around the grassland and along the river. At the terminal point of the safari we will stop at the watch tower from which you can have a wonderful view of the river and grassland."

"And Tigers?", I poked in. 

Instead of answering, he momentarily glanced to the right, into the bushes and announced raising a finger in that direction, "Chittal". And there were the first animals of the day, a pair of Spotted deer (Axis axis) grazing just few feet away. One of them raised his head while our vehicle passed by. It was stag with a magnificent set of antlers which could seduce the most ravishing doe. He stood proud, head raised, snout high, commanding posture... the subtle grass in his mouth was the only dent of a perfect picture. Now, who says only tigers can be majestic!

Bijrani Forest Guest House

There were already many gypsies lined up at the Bijrani rest house when we drove in. The campus houses a forest guest house constructed back in 1928 like a British "dak bunglow', few staff quarters lining the edges and an elephant camp that shelters two forest department elephants and a calf. Electric fencing though secures the yard, yet I feared wild animals could still sneak in during the dark hours. A part of me wondered what it would feel like staying here at night - the sounds of the jungle, darkness veiling animals who lurked just few yards away and a sense of diminution as a human would acknowledge in the vastness of the Indian wild. A fantasy I still harbor in my bosom. After a quick snack we were back on the dirt road. 

October, the winter was just rolling in as one could feel the chill of the mountain gale. Sailing through the wind came the call of a Brown fish owl (Bubo zeylonensis) - "too-whoo -hoo". Perched somewhere in the high canopy beneath the hillock on the right, he seemed to greet us. Or perhaps it was to intimidate its prey. A sound I believe can give you nightmares when heard in the darkness of a night. Yet, somehow to me it was like a chime resonating from the heart of Corbett's wilderness. Squinting my eyes I scanned the canopy with my binoculars to have a glimpse of it. After several minutes of intense search, my eyes stared to ache and I gave up. Its large speckled brown body seemed to have consolidated with the dark brown bark of the trees. Camouflage, that's the way of nature. I remember elders in our village's saying, "Animals are the children of the forest whom she holds dear to her bosom, shielding them from any preying eyes.". I believe it now.

Grunting at my failure to spot the owl I urged Negi ji to drive on. His consoling words provided some relief though at heart I wished I could see it- "Don't be disheartened Sir. You might spot some Griffon vultures (Gyps himalyayensis) near the riverbed. They are even larger than the Fish owl."

Meeting the Elephants

The river bed was quite dry with a petite stream dancing down among the rocks. Tall elephant grass also called Napier grass (Pennisetum purpureum) fanned out long to the farthest corner our eyes could see. A sense of claustrophobia set in as our vehicle infiltrated through them on the way to the river bed. While we were trying to cope with the surrounding walls of green, a sudden burst of musky-earthly smell took us by surprise. And we heard them before we could see them, the gentle rumble of their deep throated declaration of their presence was evident to our ears. We stopped by. I climbed up on the back seat and up the railing to get a better view to which Mr. Negi did not protest. He had sank down in his seat with drowsy eyes, his belly rumbling in synchrony with the elephants' grumble. A little rustle in the grass some yards to our left and a minute bulge of the greyish hump was all that I could see. Amazing it is to note that how such a huge animal silently disappears among these foliage. Ahhh... Elephant grass. Their padded feet muffled any sound while they walked. Their gigantic frame moved like a shadow among the blades of tall grass. The Elephants (Elephas maximus indicus)  seemed to be moving towards the river and that's where we headed to before they got there. 

The elephant herd crossing the river

We parked the gypsy right on the edge of the dirt road near the river front. With my camera ready, I was back on the top of the gypsy railings. And we didn't had to wait long. First it was the matriarch who made her appearance. Swinging gently like a leaf in the breeze and the trunk held loose she gracefully made her approach to the river. Two calves and seven cows( Female elephants) followed her lead. The silhouettes of the pachyderms streaked across the Teria landscape was a surreal sight. It felt like a photograph from distant past when these pachyderms' ancestors, Stegodont ganesha would have crossed these rivers in a similar demeanor. The young calves were a little brattish and often ventured away from the herd. A shrill trumpet from their mothers was enough to send them running back to the shelter of their mothers' underbelly. We watched this little herd till the last of them vanished into the tall grass on the opposite bank. This encounter is still sketched bright and clear in my heart - my first tryst with the gentle giants of the Indian jungles. 

The Watchtower

The Watch tower and the grasslands

The watchtower stood at the end of the trail, footed at the edge of the forest and overlooking the vast grassland. True to his words, Mr. Negi did manage to get us there before other gypsies arrived. From the elevated platform of watchtower the view was one to behold. The elephant grass glowed golden in the slanting rays of the sun, the pools of water glittered and the rocks on the river bed emerged like a disoriented pebbled path. The trees beyond the grassland formed a formidable wall of dark green, while amongst them hillocks popped up here and there. The horizon seemed multilayered with overlapping mountainous silhouettes. Each getting lighter at the farther end to finally merge with the sky beyond. Somewhere beyond them lied the mighty Himalayas, out of reach of our paltry vision. Someday I wished to visit them as well. Mr. Negi said, often tigers dragged their prey into these tall grass to have an uninterrupted meal. Lucky if we might be, we might sight one as two days back a tigress had made a sambar deer kill on the right bank some hundred yards from the watchtower. I was quite skeptical of a sighting though, for one my luck is not a strong attribute of mine and besides sighting a tiger in the grass where elephants disappear without a trace was next to impossible. Twenty minutes after ascending the tower we climbed down with no animal sighting at all - not even a deer.   

Dance of the Barking Deer

The forest was far too silent for a late winter afternoon. On a typical day it would have been echoing with chirping of returning birds and calls of animals. Mr. Negi also raised his concern. "Bhai, sab gaye kahan?" - he muttered under his breath. We stopped by and put our ears to use for any call or any rustle among the leaves. Time ticked by and nothing changed, just silence aided by a clement breeze that came in from the river. 

Finally Mr. Negi's patience also gave out, "Chalo bhai, nikalte hain waqt ho chala hay.". Not a moment had passed after the driver ignited the engine, two muntjacs (Munitacus muntjac)  came rushing from the forest. Passing right in front of our gypsy vanished into the bushes on the left. 

The Barking deer pair

A moment later they rushed back, now form the rear of the vehicle and vanished to the right. It felt like flashes of reddish-brown zapping around our vehicle like lighting on a stormy sky. We waited, for we knew they would show again. After a brief period of time, crackling of the leaves near the undergrowth confirmed our prophecy. On this occasion the walk was more elegant, cautious and lacked the hurriedness. Appearing from the bushes was a doe(female). Close on her heels was a bulk(male) in his prime. He sniffed the rear of the doe, tongue protruding and head slightly raised, he seemed lost in a realm of delirious love. Struck by cupid, undoubtedly. The doe however took her own time to flaunt. With a raised tail which flashed a speck of white, she walked a few steps and stopped to lure the bulk to follow. With hormones taking over, the thick reddish fur of the bulk's winter coat flared with the sensuality. His antlers half covered with fur bent backwards resembling a feathery crown. The trademark canine of this unique deer peered through the upper lips shining like ivory. Attempts of seduction by the doe were promptly answered by the bulk. There seemed to be no hurry and both went on with their own pace. We stood audience. 

"Yeh raha aapka bijayta.", announced Mr. Negi. Apparently he explained the ordeal - the previous chasing around we witnessed was a fight for the lady among two bulks. The victorious male had chased away his adversary and now was cherishing his well acclaimed prize. We silently watched the dance of the two wild lovers that has been a routine drama in this wilderness for time immemorable. Amidst this we failed to acknowledge the sun that was going down on the far west horizon. Soon it became too dark to see the reddish antelopes among the dense bushes. Leaving the barking deer in their attempt at a new generation we rode off into the golden dust.

The Last Souvenir 

All safaris into the wild do not promise you a guaranteed sighting of the king of the jungle. Mostly it's like a drive into the forest with an unyielding venture. Yet, what you truly seek in the forest defines if that trip was worth it. I will not deny the fact that our prime reason for being in Corbett was tigers and tigers only, yet I also announce that memories that I will be taking away from this land are far more precious than I ever imagined. No Tigers in this Corbett's trip - that is what we had accepted. The sun had already bade its adieu for the day and the air was getting cold. The little light that lit the sky and the forest was mere ruminants of the fading sun. Our gypsy had just entered the river bed on the far end when the driver stopped. He bend over his driver's window and starred into the mud next to the vehicles. Curiously, we bent over the ledge to see what he was intensely looking at. 

The Tiger's pugmark

"Tiger" - he said.

And there on the wet mud lay the pugmark of a tiger staring back at us. 

"I am here.", it promulgated.

"I will be back for ya." - I replied. 

 

DISCLAIMER - The cover picture is courtesy of  Mr. Rahul Rao. And three other pictures in the article also belong to different photographers, on which I do not lay claim. They rightfully belong to the respective owners. 

Corbett's Land of Tigers (Part 1)

 As a child stories of the wild fascinated me. For a tiny throbbing heart the jungles were enigmatic lands shrouded in mist and mystic of creature that filled it with dread and amazement. Cuddled between the cozy arms of my grandfather as I slept peacefully, my childhood dreams were often flooded with visions of the dark forests piercing through which moon-white glazing teeth would emerge followed by the majestic face of a striped golden beast... Tiger. Afraid I was not but spell bound indeed I was. 

 

Man eaters of Kumaon

Visits to the book store near the government bus-stop with my grandfather every evening was customary, where he would chat long with his childhood friend "Dukan Baba" (as I called him, the owner of the book store), leaving this curious child to wonder into the labyrinth of numerous stacked books. The stacks were far taller than a six year old child and my bewildered gaze would scan them like a kid on a street scanning the city skyscrapers. Scanning lane by lane my eyes always would rest on a particular book... "Man eaters of Kumaon - Jim Corbett". Do tigers really eat humans? How big can this beast be to take away a man? How do people live in villages in the jungles when they know a tiger would take them? Curiosity danced wild in my mind. Those clinking coins in my pocket, a sum total of one rupee fifty paise were not enough to get me the book. And even I could not muster courage to ask my grandfather to buy me that. My eyes fixed on the cover of the book where an Englishman with a raise rifle faced fearlessly to a pouncing tiger, my mind raced to decided between wanting and sacrifice. 

Moments later I came to my grandfather jumping with joy and we headed back home as the night had fallen. That day, when the shutter of the bookshop shut down one book was missing from it's shelves... that one book lay secretly hidden beneath my pillow as I slept on it, it's stories seeping into my dreams. My lust for Jim Corbett and tigers had won... and one sin added to my life, I had stolen that book. This is how I was introduced to "JIM CORBETT".

To Jim Corbett Finally

Nineteen years later I was aboard a train to Delhi with two of my friends, Ashis and Sai to visit the land whose tales had framed my perception of Indian tigers and it's forests. Corbett's land of tigers... Jim Corbett National Park, Uttarakhand. Early winter chill floated in the heavy Delhi air when we got down of one train at Delhi Railway station to board another standing three platforms away. With no time for dinner we just grabbed a few sandwiches from the adjoining food-stall and got on the train that would take us to Ramnagar. From there we were to take a cab to Nainital and then it would drop us up at Corbett. Typical Indian 3 tier railway compartments are just enough to accommodate six not very spacious though. Upper berth is of my liking and in no time I was up there, with a book in hand, blanket on and secluded from the hustle-bustle below. I don't remember when I slid away into deep slumber that night but I do recall of my state of delirium that I went to bed with. 

On the way to Corbett National Park

The next dawn found me with dazzling eyes standing at the gate of the train, honking through the abeyant mist and night bathed fields of Terai village outskirts. We had arrived at the foothills of the legendary Kumaon and Garhwal. The sun had not made an appearance when we set foot at Ramnagar and the over hanging digital platform clock flashed  4:25 AM. We still had time to freshen up before our cab stopped by at around 5 AM. A couple of hours later we were enroute Nainital, a short stop there and then our little cab was winding through the hilly slopes of Ringora to Wild Crest Resort, Dhikuli. 

Lost in memories of Corbett's tales

In the Himalayan foothills night descends swiftly, the chill settling in like a silent assassin. Wild Crest Resort is nestled in the dense forested buffer area of Corbett national park. Though modern amenities make up for the comfort but the primitiveness of the ancient wilderness around is all engulfing. At sun down I made my way to the rooftop to breath in some forest charm laden air. The land was all new for me, and all different from the childhood dreamy visions of mine where Corbett followed and shot Man-eaters. The hills sloped in from all side, tall alpine trees looming over like sentinel spirits, mountain tops carved intricate jagged pattern on the purple skyline and calls of the wild echoed all around. Bright lights of the beautiful resort cottages stood in strong contrast with the untamed nature. It felt unreal, even to this day that moment seems to me like a dream not lived... yet I had. Time ticked by as I lost myself to the land ... how long I do not remember. It's when the birds had gone silent and night creatures announced they presence I knew it was time to withdraw. I need to sleep now, tomorrow I will be venturing into the magical world of Corbett whose roots stretches back into the past and it's spell has branched deep into the present. 

Wild Crest Resort at sundown

The Jackal Encounter

The jackal staring back at me 

The crescent moon was still dozy on the horizon when I wok at dawn. With tumbling steps as I made for the door, my hazy vision was still trying to make out objects around. Unlocking the door knob I stepped out to find a dog cuddled on our doormat. On seeing me it raised it's head in alarm and then in a flash it jumped up and ran away to the far side of the courtyard. It paused beneath the garden lamp shade to glance back at me once... Silvery back, thick bushy tail, sharp pointed ears... "Oh God!!! That's a jackal", I spoke out loud. She stood there like telling me through her glance, "You stupid humans always scare the lights out of us." It turned on it's heels and the hopped away into the fading darkness. I called up the reception to tell them that there is a Jackal in the resort. 

And a sleepy voice on the other side of receiver told me, "Koi darr nahi Saab ji, Siyar, Hiran, Langoor aate jaate rahte hain resort mein. Kuch nahi karenge." (Nothing to fear Sir, jackals, deer, langoor frquently come into the resort. They won't harm.)

I fired back, "Toh phir Tiger, Leopard bhi toh aa sakte hain." (Then tigers, leopards might also come)

The replay came, "Haan aa toh sakte hain, lekin aaj tak aaye nahi." (Yes they can, but haven't come ever)

And that was the end of the conversation. At length acknowledgment set in that I was amidst true wilderness of Corbett's tales. 

Stuck in the Jungle

The Resort staff had already arranged for an open gypsy to drop me at the safari booking office at Ramnagar as we had not made any safari booking prior and had to book it on spot for which there is generally a long queue. So, we had to leave early to acquire one. Shortly after the jackal encounter I was at the reception when the pick up gypsy drove in. The back seat was already occupied by two kids aging around seven - eight, before I could inquire the Manager informed me these Delhi School kids would also be accompanying me as they had spot booking to make for their classmates, 23 in all. With a long sigh I jumped on to the front seat. 

Ten minutes later we were stuck in the middle of the jungle on our way to Ramnagar as the gypsy engine had failed. The silence of the forest was shattered by the over joyed gamboling kids who paid no heed to the constant request of the driver to keep calm as we were in the elephant corridor of the park. Not to mention my fear going pitches high as I was aware how devastating a rampaging elephant herd can be. The driver had already called up for a back up gypsy from the resort and it was not until the orange glow of the sun filled the horizon that it showed up. 

Lunch after a long day wait at the booking office

We reached  safari booking office at 6:20 AM, obtained a front position in the queue. But what the Manager failed to inform me was that the booking counter opened at 11:00 AM. The queue grew long behind us with each passing hour as did the paper cups of tea that I had consumed during the wait which the driver had generously brought for me at regular intervals. With the Safari permit in hand I reached the resort at 12 noon. I was famished and red-eyed. A dip in the pool followed by a excellently dainty lunch was that it took to get life back into me.

The Jungle Safari 

Wading into Jim's Tiger land - safari ride

We had obtained a safari permit for the Bijrani zone of the park, entry point being at the Amdanda gate we had to make an early start from the resort that afternoon. The open gypsy was a four seater and hood-less, thus an open view we could cherish. I duly took my place on the raised back seat, that I believed would give a better opportunity to view animals to long distances. The engine roared, geared on and hit the jungle road in no time. Cool jungle breeze gushing past my face had a lullaby effect and my eyes felt drowsy drifting me into a dreamland where I followed Jim Corbett as he strolled through the Kumaon wilderness in search of man-eaters. Today seemed different, Jim was not alert and on tiptoes as always instead he hummed gently, melodiously on hill folk songs as he walked on a pugdandee (game track) leading deep into the forest. Occasionally he would pause looking up at the canopies where the birds chirped and sang filled with joie de vivre (Joy of life). Smile that stretched across his face was a testimony of the extra-ordinary being he was whose heart was full of compassion and appreciation for the living though his rifle that he carried on his shoulders vowed to take many. Killing tigers was not something he rejoiced, it was the need to save human lives that made him take up his rifle. "Tigers are large-hearted gentleman with boundless courage", he believed. With thoughts of him running wild in my mind, we had reached the Amdanda gate. The gypsy steered in, the village out-huts faded away into the trailing dust of the vehicle and dense foliage materialized ahead as we drove on... following Jim into his world of bundu eutopia. 

Corbett National Park's History

Jim with his Rigby rifle in the Kumaon foothills 

Established in 1936 during the British Raj it was christened as Hailey National Park (after the name of then Governor of United Provinces William M. Hailey). Post independence, in 1956 it was renamed Jim Corbett National Park after Kumaon's beloved hunter turned conservationist Edward James Corbett, whom the people across the land knew as "Carpet sahib". A paramount part of his life during early twentieth century, he spent purging the inhabitants of  Kumaon and Garhwal of dreaded man-eating tigers and leopards. His triumphant success in bring down the Man-eating leopard of Rudraprayag and Champawat tigress brought him acclaimed fame across the provinces and beyond the seas. Ensuing to write his thrilling encounters with the varmint felines of Himalayan foothills who had instigated a liking for human flesh, once he had put down his smocking barreled shooting iron... he offered a kaleidoscopic view of the life and wildlife of breathtaking ancient land Kumaon and Garhwal. The last of his work "The tree tops" he presented to the world days before his passing. But even from the foreign land of Kenya, where he breathed his last the fragrance of his love for the Kumaoni lands disseminated into the hearts and soul of readers far and away. Cherishing his love for these forests, the wildlife, it's people and this hill adorned land as a whole, stands as a cenotaph  ... The Corbett National Park.

Consummation: 

I dare not step foot with pride here, instead humble admiration should I bear on my sleeves... I hope to find the fearless soul of Jim somewhere among these woodlands awaiting me to take back into my childhood dreamland of Indian jungles... into the land of Corbett where he hunted the "Man eaters of Kumaon."

Our gypsy strolled deep into forest now, sun still a few paces up the horizon but enough for us to ogle at the dark forests and it's denizens.And as Jim would have said it, "Ok then mates... Meet you on the other side."

Into the wilder-land of Jim Corbett

DISCLAIMER:

I do not claim ownership to some of the pictures in the article. They respectfully below to their rightful owners. This is just for imaginative understanding of the readers. I hope to have your support and acceptance of my disclaimant. 

Hymns of the Mountains – Tsomgo Lake and Nathula Pass (Part 4)

The snow felt soft beneath my feet and the air chilling. I walked swiftly, briskly among the white canvas of snowy terrain. The breath that escaped my lips turned smoky as they were touched by the cold air. My hands felt numb, my streaming blood inefficient to provide warmth any more. But, somehow in this hostile environment I felt relieved. It felt like I had been graced with the world of my fortuitous dream. Shrill ringing alarm pierced my ears, with it my dream was gone. "Pooofs". I opened my eyes to the clock staring at me, just having struck 4:30 AM. "Early", I thought but then a long day awaited and "early" was the need of the hour. Pulling away my warm blanket I climbed down my bed, tapping on my friends on the beds nearby I made my way to freshen up.

In an hour's time we were at the hotel's lobby waiting for our cab for the pick up. Five minutes later we had already boarded the cab and were on the way to the registration office. "Today's destination - Nathula Pass - Indo-China Border." The feeling that I will be standing at the edge of my country enthralled me. One more hour passed by at the office to get the permits. At around six our cruiser- cab was climbing up the hilly slopes ... we were on our way to Nathula now.

En-route Nathula 

On the way to Nathula

Convoluting roads marked a steep climb on the mountains' face, specks of settlements dotted the landscape. Rolling down my window glass I gazed up to the sky, amazed... "I have never seen such a blue sky!" The air felt light and fresh, the early morning sun's rays soft on the skin. Nathula is 53 kilometers uphill east of Gangtok, Sikkim's capital. It takes some 3-4 hours to reach there due to the harsh terrain and cliff side roads. 

We were moving early to avoid mountain traffic. You would know better if you have ever been through a mountain road how treacherous and time consuming it is when you are stuck in a mountain traffic for hours. But for now we were enjoying the open roads. A few kilometers from Gangtok we were asked to stop at the first Military outpost for I.D. verification. It was done in a couple of minutes. 

Landslide right infront of our eyes

The roads then became rugged, worn off at places. From the distance I could see large boulders and land slipping down... Landslides. As we approached a turn a large puff of dust mushroomed ahead on the road, our cab jolted to a stop. Slowly we moved ahead with caution, huge chunk of rocks were rolling down the hill sweeping out tree along with them. It was a terrifying experience, when you know any rolling rock can crash into your car or knock it off the hillside. But we dared to moved on.

The car rocked  side to side as if dancing like a child mounting a hilly incline. Oxygen got scarce, breathing a little difficult now. The terrain began to appear more rocky merging up into the skies. Sikkimese songs playing on the audio player of the cab had a different vibe to it. Melodious as it was, calming and relaxing all the same. After some time that seemed long enough we reached a small settlement called "Kyangnolsa". Though not very tired, still refreshment was necessary. We got out of the car to visit a nearby cafe...smell of hot tea felt inviting. 

Sipping hot Tea sitting beside a Bokhari.

The cafe was a shop cum cafe with warm clothes displayed in the room present beside a kitchen that   brewed hot tea along with omelets and maggi noodles. Hew... "Maggi" - it's a life saving staple food here high up in these mountains. Sitting besides the Bokhari (a traditional wood burning stove that keeps the house warm) we enjoyed our hot cups of tea for a brief moment. That tea warmed us from within, giving us strength and hope to move on in this bone chilling cold.

After some refreshment we continued on our journey. The mountains ahead appeared white with snow covered peaks. The serpentine road, growing steeper with every turn. To our relief we had been already warned about the cold weather at Nathula by our hotel staff at Gangtok the previous night.
Mr. Anil, at the reception counter warned us during a casual talk, "Sabji, Nathula mein bahut thand. garam kapra leke jana."
Me: " Kitni thand hay? Barf padti hay kya?"
Mr. Anil: "Haan ji. Do din pehle barf gira tha."
And wisely we wore thick jackets, caps and gloves the next morning or else it would have been tough for us to reach our destination. 

Gum-booted 

Travelling in the mountains is an experience that cannot be described in words but then this adventure also comes with it's own risks. Anyway, for the moment I kept looking out of the rolled up window side glass and soaked in the raw beauty of these massifs. The next stop we made was near "Changu Lake"(Local name) or more officially called the "Tsomgo Lake". It is also one of the most popular tourist spot but we decided to explore it on our way back. Here we had to rent some gumboots, because our shoes would be of no use in the snow. There are small shops here that serve maggi and alcohol(A necessity to keep warm in these parts). One can also rent winter wears and gumboots here. Finally dressed for the occasion we marched on.

Sikkim Scouts

On our way we came across many army camps. Being the international border and relation between India and China not that friendly in the past, this area is highly militarized. Different regiments of personnel have been posted here, the most famous being the "Gorkha" regiment, known for their fighting spirit and resilience. These men deserve respect, they work in such hostile conditions day in and night out where it is difficult for us to even thrive for a couple of hours. "Jai Jawan".

Nathula was just a few kilometers away when snow flakes appeared on our cab's wind-shield. My joy had no bounds, it was the first time that I was experiencing snowfall... I still remember how elated I felt that moment. These white tiny petals of ice showered down with consistent intensity. Our cab stopped a kilometer away from the Nathula war memorial, which now was visible at the hill top beneath the red roofed Army office. I sprinted out as the cab screeched to a stop, running out with open arms to embrace the snow. Smile stretched ear to ear as I realized my early morning dream was unfolding true infront of my very eyes.

Nathula lies at an altitude of 4300 m above the sea level and forms a part of the ancient silk-route that connected Tibet to the Bengal plains. In 1962 Nathula witnessed a heavy artillery skirmish between the armies of the two nations - Sino-Indian War. Following this the pass was closed for almost 40 years. With the initiative of the then Prime minister Mr. Atal Bihari Vajpayee(2003), the relations between the two countries improved leading to opening of the pass in 2006. And as of date the line of fire at Nathula has ceased to a peaceful retreat. Tourists throng this place year round, indeed among some strict security measures.  We had to put back our cameras in our bags as photography beyond the parking lot was not permitted. So, the last photo I took was from the parking area only.

It was one kilometer walk to base of the Nathula post. On reaching the base, we paid homage to our brave soldiers at the Indian War Memorial present over there. A plight of stairs took us straight to the Indian border edge, beyond which the land is foreign. I stood there a couple of minutes imagining what this place must have witnessed, the old traders ambling through with goods, the wars between people on both sides, Buddhist pilgrims crossing national borders in search of faith and on occasions like today tourists that flung to admire this place. I wish I could have had a little more time to spare, a life more to spare I would have dedicated it to this land and it's causes. Places like these ignite that dormant patriotism in you but then it is always there I recalled. Snow flakes now showered copiously and it would be difficult to return if this escalated. So, with heavy hearts we had bid our adieus to Nathula and head back.

Playing in the snow

Once back on the road, the skies profoundly started pouring down snow. Visibility was now mere 5 meters. Condition for driving was unfavorable, with no other choice left we had to stop. The sky appeared dark, white snow screening out everything you could put your eyes on.  I remember talking to myself if it safe to get out of the car in such heavy snowfall, but my adventurous better-half of consciousness was inclined to give it a shot. And I obliged. We headed out into the open snow, laughing joyfully, running, splashing snow at each other, rolling down and living every bit of it. That moment is encarved deep in my treasure of memories now.

Baba Harbhajan Singh's Temple

Baba Harbhajan Singh's shrine

Acts of valor, legendary personas and events are always folklored in many battle ravaged lands. Nathula is no exception. The tale of Baba Harbhajan Singh and his legacy is one to behold. Young Harbhajan Singh was posted here in 1968, a time when the two nations had been in battles for quite a couple of years now.  He died during a supply transfer mission, buried in glacial ice. It is believed that Harbhajan Singh guards his motherland and his fellow-mates even after death. Surprisingly no military causalities have occurred in the area after his demise. He is so revered in this part of the world that people and army personnel have built a temple in his honor. Even at the flag meetings at Nathula, a chair is left empty with respect to him. He received allotted salary and promotions till his retirement post-martyrdom. A berth is reserved once a year in a train from New Jalpaiguri to Kuka, Punjab(his resident village), to mark is yearly home visit. 

Mr. Singh narrating his story 

Harbhajan Singh was awarded the title of "Baba" after the mass contemplated him to be a holy soul who safeguards the life of his followers. Many stories float around of how Baba Harbhajan Singh saved lives in these mountains years after his death. Locals believe his soul still roams these borders and his death could not cease him from commencing his duty. One such story was narrated to us by  First Lieutenant Harpal Singh, who and his company had lost sense of direction in a snow-storm during regular petrol. He explained how the silhouette of a man dressed in uniform of 1960's guided them to the safety of their camp. He acclaimed that Baba Harbhajan Singh saved his life that very day. Sometimes, you accept and fail to accept at the same time, some events and occurrences. And your logical mind questions, but is laid silent by the strong belief of a mass. Baba Harbhajan Singh, is one such anomaly. Whatever the truth be, but this man deserves immense respect. We paid a visit to his shrine and listened long to his folklore. A couple hours later, though we had moved on from that place my heart lingered back time and again.

Tsomgo Lake

some amazing moments with our Jawans

On our way down we met some Army personnel and even they rode with us for a few kilometers to the next outpost. We struck a hearty conversation. Life here is difficult but then what's the charm of it with no challenges, they stated. Tourists can be a little irritating a times, as they know not to how  act at places with high securities. Time and again the jawans would stop the car, get down to tell the tourists not to stop at restricted area for photographs. Duty ridden, safety of the nation and it's citizens is the prime objective of these jawans. Respect, again. They dropped off just before we reached Tsomgo lake.

Tsomgo Lake at the backdrop

Tsomgo lake (Changu Lake) is a glacial lake about 40 kilometers from Gangtok. It is a natural wonder as the lake is known to have waters of changing colors with change in seasons. We had arrived early winter, snowfall already had begun and the lake was placid white now, though not completely frozen. The lake is surrounded by steep sloping mountains giving it the appearance of a saucer. The word "Tsomgo" is derived from two Bhutia words - "Tso" meaning lake and "Mgo" meaning head. That literally meant the head or origin of the lake. The lake hosts the festivities of Guru Purnima, when holy healers called Jhakris assemble at the lake to reap benefits from it's healing waters. Standing here beside it's water felt serene... healing. My heart latched on to this place, somehow I felt connected. See, that is the thing with the mountains they embrace you in a way that nowhere else on the planet you will find.

While walking around we came across some locals providing "Yak" ride. Hesitating initially, but then we managed to convince ourselves for a ride. Just for 10 minutes we moved across the footpath on the edge of the lake. The Yak had ornately decorated horns and their long, black hair felt warm. Afternoon sun was hiding behind the dark clouds with temperature dropping down. It was time for us to leave as we had to get to Darjeeling before nightfall. With the events of the day and memories of moments at Nathula and Tsomgo lake dancing wild in our thoughts we headed back down to the township of Gangtok.

Riding on the mountain harden bovines... Yak Ride

Parting Thoughts

Nathula, a land of ancient reverence, carved millennia back when the earth collided  and raised the low land to sky high summits. A land where belief finds it's meaning and mortality merges into the immortal realm. Time and tide loose their significance yet somehow exist in the shadows. People who have conquered lands beyond have learned to bow down to the vast expanse of these mountains and the forces that govern them. They respect, they worship, they admire ... these highlands. Nathula is not just a place, it's an experience ... an experience that I am willing to have again any given moment of my homuncular life.

Nathula, as I remember seeing it

Meandering into Kipling’s Jungle Book (Part I)

Kanha National Park

Birth place of the legend of  Mogli

"NOW this is the law of the jungle,

 as old and as true as the sky,

And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper,

but the wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk,

the law runneth forward and back;

For the strength of the pack is the wolf,

and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”

Words of Rudyard Kipling’s “Jungle book” rang in my ears as I glanced through the window of room, sipping on my early morning coffee. Infornt of me also an urban jungle unfolded, with sky scrapers aligning the horizon of Raipur city. I looked back at my bed, and found my wife asleep, lost deep in her dreams. And I wondered what thoughts put that pleasant smile on her face.  With a smile I shove it away as my own thoughts were overpowering me now. The “Jungle Book” had fantasized my childhood, and I always wondered how mesmerizing would be the land where “Mogli” roamed wild with his Wolf brothers, Bageera and Baloo. Now, it was time to find out and venture into the playground of Mogli and Kipling’s plot of the jungles of central India, Kanha National Park.

I put down my empty cup on my bedside table, woke my wife from her slumber and put on my clothes; our vehicle was to arrive in 30 minutes at the hotel.

Raipur to Kanha:

It was late in March, 2017 that I decided to revisit Kanha. The Déjà vu of my previous visit seduced me to journey again. It’s almost five hours journey from Raipur to Kanha.  After travelling for 45 minutes we made a halt at Dhamdha. The tea and “Khoa jalebi” is a speciality here and I never missed it. 34 kms from Dhamdha is Gandai, we took a sharp left from there followed by a right turn from Narmada Kund (a few Kms away). Beyond this the landscape kept changing like images flashing through a kaleidoscope. A few kilometers of hard rugged ground, and then suddenly crops fields spanning acres and acres would come into view; driving through hilly terrain as you move on you would find dense deciduous forest emerging out; milestone after milestone patches of dense forest and open grounds. Sitting on the passenger seat I scanned the sights that unfolded infront of my very eyes… My sunglass dancing on the dashboard and my camera loosely hanging on my shoulder I kept wondering how a place like this was lost in time. Much to the disagreement of my wife and family, at intervals I would get down from the vehicle and capture some snapshots of the stunning view of the landscape and wildlife. That’s where you come to understand that man and wife are opposite sides of the same coin.

The winding roads en-route Kanha National Park

Encounter with the Digambaras

Digambara monks walking with devotees

Three hours into our drive and we had just entered the small settlement of Damoh that we encountered what seemed like a rally. It took us some time to manoeuvre our vehicle through the crowd, but the sight that followed was something unique. What seemed like a procession was infact a convoy of a hundred naked Jain Digambara monks. These monks exhibit an extreme level of devotion. They abandon their life as a commoner, do not put on clothes, carry a “pichhi” (broom made up of fallen peacock feathers) in one hand and a “kamandalu” (water container) on the other. As they made their way through the small town, devotees lined up on either side paying them respect with folded hands. India is a country of diversity, and shades of all colours of life unite in the heart of this very land. Adding this amazing moment to our treasures of memory we drove on.

Night at the Resort

Club Mahindra Resort - Kanha

The sun was just swimming away on the tidal horizon of the crimson sky when we arrived at our resort, the Club Mahindra. A lavish family resort with all modern amenities nestled it is in the midst of the forest, just on the periphery of Mocha village. I could see the intricate tribal designs on the walls as we drove in but the lobby had a rustic look to it with colonial travel décor. We were escorted to   our room which was at the far end of the resort. Sounds of jungle filled the night with occasional alarm calls of the deer echoing from a distance. In the dim of the pavement lights I could see it was just a six feet chain link fence that kept us apart from the jungle. A feeling of ecstasy drove through my spine, “finally, I have come back to the land of Tigers, Kanha.”   

I changed into my shorts, picked up my camera and walked back to the lobby area. My wife had not yet recovered from her journey lag; she was to catch up with me in a while. Walking through the

Shades of the night forest

dimly lit resort ground I could feel the jungle caving in. The trees beneath which I walked were rustling with movement of monkeys. At intervals their howling with screeching sounds could be heard as the made space for the night halt among the trees. Unlike the silence of our distant rooms, the lobby was bustling with activity. There was an entertainment room beside the multi-cuisine restaurant. Brightly lit, kids and adults equally occupied the entertainment zones. An old grandfather was teaching his young grandson the game of pool, stretching his arms and holding them steady on a pool table as the sue stick moved back and forth between them. It was like a flashback of my past. I always missed these moments that I had with my grandfather. Just a few steps to the right was the information cell, a fine gentle man stepped out and wished me good evening. I shook his hand, and we had a good conversation about the resort and it’s ambience. I came to know it was Subham, Club Mahindra’s business executive. I wished him good night and went on to explore what else I could find. 

Meeting Abhiroop:

Just about the other side, a gleamy lighted sign board caught my attention. I strained my eyes and could make out what read like “The wilderness says HELLO”. My instinct drew me to it. Curious, I moved in … it was a souvenir shop. I had already been to one such at Tuli Tiger Resort on my previous visit. A tall handsome dude with charming bread greeted me in. Something in me made me very comfortable on our first meet itself. Felt like this guy and I had some strings attached. One glance at him and you could see, he wore his passion for wildlife on his sleeves. He introduced me to his passion for wildlife and the way he printed them on the canvas of apparel. Hung from the wall were framed T-shirts with magnificently captured images of wild animals. Every nook and corner of the shop was adorned with snapshots of wild animals, which seemed to be staring dead straight into your eyes. My glance stopped at one tiger’s picture and I called out “It’s Munna”. Abhiroop nodded. “Munna” is the legendary tiger of Kanha National Park with a prominent “CAT” marking on his forehead. This is the very tiger whose quest and stories dragged me back to Kanha. Pursuit of him will keep my spirit alive and my heart throbbing for tigers all across the country.

 

Abhiroop and Me - some pleasant moments

Abhiroop was a part of this team that promoted “Wolfpack”. But deep within, he was man driven by the unquenched ardour for wildlife. He had witnessed a lot of amazing moments and captured some unique events of wild animals’ life through his lense. He told me the story of a territorial feud between a leopard father and son on a high branch, in Kabini. The narrated the turn of events as it unfolded infront of his very eyes. His words were powerful and the images of the ordeal kept flashing on my mind.  Our conversation lasted for almost an hour, sharing stories and taming thoughts. By then my wife had already joined us. After just a few formal words we bade our adieus, leaving the conversation to follow the next day. That brief time between us had sealed a bond of brotherhood, held together by an obsession for wildlife.

Abhiroop Ghosh Dastidar

Dinner for the night

The night was getting dark and the jungle had fallen silent by now. It was time for the dinner followed by a much needed sleep. The next day we had two safaris planned…

With a mind with racing thoughts of uncertain tomorrow, holding hands me and my wife walked on to the dining area.

Hopes held high, fingers crossed… I prayed for a glimpse of the majestic one.

The Tiger – “Sher Khan”