Pauri – Down Memory Lane.

They were six in all, standing in wait for us at the resort gate, located a rung below the main road. They kept waving at us, we reciprocated. After ten hours of strenuous driving from the glorious Corbett National Park on stretches which were nothing but dynamite blasted mountain paths strewn with dust, rubble, stone and poorly clad workers who labored at the site, the sight of smiling faces and our cosy resort situated on a ridge, overlooking verdant valleys, terraced fields and the distant mountain range, now covered in a swathe of mist and fog, brought the color back to our faces. We were in Pauri, located at close to 2000 metres above sea level in Garhwal, Uttarakhand, on a mission and in the safe hands of the six resort employees.

When Jan and Lois left home along with their husbands Bob and Mark, they had one clear vision in mind, to find the house their grandfather lived in and the church he officiated, more than a hundred years ago. They painstakingly worked out the details, carried lithographs of the original buildings and left on their wanderings. We would help find it for them. It wasn’t going to be easy, though. Proof lay in the fact, despite our best yearnings, the snow capped Himalayan range standing out in an arc from Chaukhamba to Nandaghunti Peaks were not visible from our resort for the entire length of our stay!

Then there were contrasts we had to contend with; Pauri has the highest literacy rate in Garhwal, close to 80% of its inhabitants are literate. There is a greater proportion of women to men in the region, this is explained by the high numbers of migration taking place with male villagers going to cities and towns in search of work and livelihood. The main street houses more than a dozen banks and ATMs, suggesting money transfers are still a great source of income for these inhabitants. Deforestation on the southern and western part of the large district results in poor rainfall, terraced fields on certain slopes are bare and as a logical effect water levels have fallen to such an extent, the main town and capital receives water supply once every two days. The situation worsens during summer. On the surprise side, wifi works! We found a cyber café with wifi facilities, much to our delight. Bob was overjoyed with the finding. So were we.

We left early morning with our local guide S. Prasad who knew about the main temple in Pauri and the ancient temple in his village, but not much was known to him about the Methodist church and the Bungalow. It needed the help of insider who turned out to be the current day pastor, Rev. Mathew – a picture of repose and confidence. He led us to the Methodist church in Gadoli, located down a steep slope and reachable on a dirt track with space for exactly one vehicle. Inside the compound we were delighted to find the church in pretty good shape though it was well over a hundred years old. Save for cracks developed due to earthquakes there were few other blemishes to be found. We spend few pensive moments absorbing the stillness and silence around, while appreciating old period woodwork consisting of pews, benches and the pulpit. Up above, hung the wooden cross, an unspoken witness to the passage of time.

Impressed we moved over to the girls school and orphanage, first established in 1899. Funded by the government the school has few teachers who often club three classes into one. Needless to say, it offered a sad insight into education standards for the less privileged, sent to school mainly because it provides a mid-day meal as well as a wonderful diversion from the rigors of leading lonely lives at home. We were told, finding teachers to work is a daunting task, paucity of funds exaggerates the problem. The food menu mentioned rice and lentils for all six days, with vegetables and fruits served on alternate days. We arrived unannounced at the class. Some (students) were bewildered, others unperturbed, a few inquisitive while the rest giggled. Mary Ensign Girls school consisting of 120 school children and fifteen girl orphans, standing in the shade of sub alpine trees seems to suggest a glimmer of hope in the pursuit of hundred percent literacy for Pauri, more funds would definitely add quality to the endeavor. (A couple of days ago I contacted Rev Mathew, he mentioned funds have been allotted for the school, they have even advertised in local newspapers for teachers.)

We were yet to trace the bungalow where the Martin sister’s grandfather lived. We had tasted success; Father Time was on our side. In the lanes and by-lanes of Pauri, where mindless construction has still not begun and old being broken down for the new, we seemed certain to find the bungalow. It needed some more searching, inquiries and an hour later, we located the bungalow in Chopra, now home to retired pastors and adjacent to the Jubilee Church. Both structures are impressive, save for trademark earthquake cracks. Incidentally the single storey bungalow built by the East India company, has impressive columns supporting it and overlooks the Himalayan mountain range, still covered in mist and clouds of dust. The sisters were overjoyed because the original structure standing in front of their eyes perfectly matched the lithograph they brought along with them. Sitting in quiet dignity in the shade of flowering plants, and standing in solitary splendor, the bungalow with a sloping tin roof was worth the many miles we traveled.

Stories were exchanged, anecdotes unfolded as the retired pastors into their seventies recounted the many wonderful memories they had from their exchanges with others who had the good fortune of knowing Preston Hyde affectionately referred to as `nana’ by Jan & Lois.

Buoyed by our success Swaraj Prasad, our confidant suggested we visit his village, located downhill and visit the 1100 year old Laxman Temple. It was late afternoon and worshipping time when we entered the stone temple by built by Shankaracharya; women devotees sat cross legged in the quadrangle singing kirtans (devotional songs) in praise of the gods. This was a daily ritual repeated for nine days and culminated with worshippers dancing to a rhythm in front of the idols placed in the inner sanctum of the main temple. Admittedly the village of Deval had sprung up a surprise, we were grateful to Swaraj.

Urban jealousy was beginning to grip my senses as we continued our walk through the bare and basic village boasting of simple single storey settlements with the lower portion reserved for cattle during nights. Pauri suffers from sub zero temperatures in winter and is cool in autumn and spring. The owners use the upper floor as their dwelling and resting place. We heard the birds sing and children laugh, green paddy fields glistened in the evening sun. Thanks to a steady flow of water the village sows three crops each year and is by and large self sufficient. We resumed our climb back to the resort, not before we were rewarded with a stunning view of the newly built central jail located at the highest point in Pauri. Imagine serving time in the awesome company of such breathtaking scenic beauty. Convicts could end up being philosophers!

Satisfying journeys are all about unexpected pleasant surprises, Pauri threw up more surprises than I recall. When you add the warm human touch and the joy of finding century old-buildings in ship-shape condition, the experience reaches a new high. The bad approach roads notwithstanding!

Rambling at Kumbh 2010

It's in coffee table books, on news and on television. Actually it's everywhere. However, nothing is more enchanting than being present for earths largest religious gathering of pilgrims - the Kumbh Mela celebrated once every three years among four different locations, alongside famous river banks of the Indian plains. I arrived at Haridwar located on the banks of the River Ganga and entry point from which the river leaves the Himalayas to join the plains, with much apprehension and not knowing how the occasion would unfurl. Little did I realise the pomp and custom, as well as tradition associated with Kumbh Mela in Haridwar would not alter my feelings for humanity, instead it would increase my empathy, tolerance and respect for cultures and religions in a more humane way. One of life’s ambition of visiting the Maha Kumbh was finally fulfilled.

According to astrologers, the 'Kumbh Fair' takes place when the planet Jupiter enters Aquarius and the Sun enters Aries. Kumbha (Kumbha means pot) Mela (means fair) is a sacred Hindu pilgrimage. It is said that a holy dip in sacred rivers during Maha Kumbh or Ardh Kumbh takes a human out of the circle of life & death. This explains the reason why over ten million pilgrims gather from the middle of January to end of April 2010, considered auspicious months to take part in sacred rituals.

As far as the eye could there were tents everywhere. Except for a huge patch of green which represents the Rajaji National Park, the dust coated plains were covered with temporary accommodation shelters to cater to pilgrims who came walking, by rickshaws, public transport buses, private coaches, tractors and even on horseback. Then there were the sadhus, fakirs, mendicants - some of whom were semi nude, while the nagas were completely disrobed and smeared in ash.

On our first evening we attended the arati (fire lighting) ceremony at Parmarth Ashram situated on the river banks and overlooking the river ganga, looking resplendent in the evening light.In the words of Swami Chidanand Saraswatiji Maharaj, `the essence of the aarti ceremony is that all day long God offers us light - the light of the sun, the light of life, the light of His (Her) blessings. Aarti is a time when we say "thank you," and we offer back the light of our thanks, the light of our love and the light of our devotion. We realize that the small flame is nothing compared to the divine light which shines on us all day. Aarti is a ceremony of humility.' The rapid flow of gurgling waters had a mesmerising effect on my senses, the hum of the crowd and chanting of Vedic hymns by devotees and priests added to the effect. We waited for the religious head of the ashram to arrive, the crowds slowly began to fill in empty spaces, now few and rare. I heard my cellphone beep, it was an sms from a dear friend who informed me that his mother had passed away. I replied back saying that she would find heavenly peace. My being in a sublime setting probably prompted me to send out this soothing message.

Swami Chidanand, the head of the ashram arrived followed by his customary band of followers, many of whom were Westerners with tonsured heads. I couldn't single out nationalities but assumed they were from North America. He took over the microphone and started chanting in a powerful voice that had all sit back in silence. Dressed in a saffron robe, his long flowing hair and beard did nothing to conceal his eyes, full of humility; and seeming to show concern and understanding for one and all. The chanting reached a crescendo after which he showered his blessings on one and all. We trudged back to our vehicle truly inspired by events of the day, beginning with a memorable ride from the higher reaches of the Garhwal mountains in Pauri to the plains of Rishikesh. The ride had all the embellishments of a modern day movie thriller as we crossed high mountain passes, drove past verdant fields, and watched the serpentine river down below. At times it seemed so close we could touch the Alakananda river, minutes later it resembled a crooked line.

The sight of the confluence at Deoprayag was breathtaking, two rivers emerging from two different sources to form the river Ganga - the mother of all rivers and source of life to the plains of India. Fifty kilometers from Rishikesh we spotted the first river rafting camp - a cluster of small tents erected on sandy beaches alongside the river. Considered a haven for difficult and mild rapids, this stretch is a rafters paradise. As we neared Rishikesh, a stream of rubber inflated rafting boats came to view. Traffic and chaos on streets increased as well. We had arrived.

Early next morning we commenced our tour, this occasion it was the twin city of Haridwar. Filled with legends and stories dating back to time, Haridwar has its share of ashrams, yoga centers, sacred temples and bathing steps. Legend has it that the Saptarishi Ashram had seven sacred saints meditating at a particular spot. In order they not be disturbed River Ganga divided itself into seven streams around them. We found the tranquil ashram in the shade of mango trees and later surmised having seven streams made things easier for millions of pilgrims wanting to take a holy dip. There is no need to congregate at one stream.

We followed it up by a cable car ride top to the Chanda Devi Temple, the constant throng of pilgrims, our constant companions. Besides having a ten second glimpse of the idol of Chanda Devi installed by Adi Shankaracharya in the 8th century, we had a fascinating birds eye view of Haridwar down below, enveloped in a cloud of haze and dust. We finally headed for the camp of the naked Naga Sadhus.

The naga sadhus are all housed in a separate enclosure with each group having its own tented accommodation. Entry is restricted to all but a few for security reasons and also to ensure tempers are not raised and to prevent conflicts. Reclusive by nature, they live in their own private camps located in different parts of India, on mountains or in ashrams. Their interaction with the public is mainly restricted to participating at religious gatherings like the Kumbh Mela, where they are normally given the first right to bath in the Ganga on auspicious days during the Kumbh Mela.

Non shaven, their hair tied in matted locks, and body smeared with ash, we had a rare opportunity of interacting with them. Conversation, though was hard to come by, since most seemed reclusive and lost in their own cosmic spaces. A few smoked hashish which is basically done to curb sexual desires and to concentrate on meditation. Others stared back at us in mock silence. A couple of them wanted us to buy some handbags for the princely sum of five thousand rupees. We politely declined. One sadhu had his right lifted high above his head, the story goes he has been doing it for over forty years. It seems he disobeyed his teacher for which he was punished. His right arm seemed terribly weak due to loss of circulation, yet he had calmness written all over his face. There was also an amazing sight of a sadhu whose matted hair touched the ground when he stood up. It was all of six feet long, while he was a little over five feet tall. We walked passed sniffer dogs and patrolling guards back into the narrow lanes of Haridwar.

Yet another fascinating day was coming to an end, the sight of pilgrims bathing in the crystal clear river under the umbrage of the setting sun seemed to somehow suggest that for the inconsistencies life has to offer, faith brings all together. The largest gathering of pilgrims on Planet Earth for a religious event just proved a point.

KANHA

`Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, In the darkness of the night.' These words come to mind after I finished reading a most interesting book- `Potrtait of an Indian National Park - Kanha Tiger Reserve,' by Carroll Moulton and Ernie Husley. To me it's been an eye opener, mainly because it revealed many facts about this majestic and graceful animal, that I was blissfully unaware of.

Kanha evokes many fine memories, most notable being the sightseeing of six tigers and one panther all in the space of eight hours. Ten parks and a decade later I have still to spot the seventh, though I have seen pugmarks, spotted tiger kill, and heard tigers roaring in estrus. One chilly morning in mid February when the mist had barely cleared and the rays of the sun had just about managed to penetrate the thick forest foliage, we had our first encounter. We had barely entered the jungle when all of a sudden we saw the king of all cats, majestically cross the unpaved road.

 

It stopped. And posed inquiringly. We stood stock still and tried to recover our balance. No one had mentioned `you will see one withing minutes.' Normally it takes a lifetime, thanks to poaching and indiscriminate felling of the forest cover. There she stood, posing in the morning light a mixture of gold and black, with piercing eyes and an erect tail, for a full minute before retracing her steps into the maze of the forest. The next sightings were equally memorable. We spotted a mother and her two cubs in a meadow carpeted with golden grass. Brilliantly camouflauged and perfectly hidden from both the tourist as well as prey, they lay in wait.

 

One of the passengers on our vehicle was a village boy taking a ride in a jeep. He spotted the sudden moment in the grass and asked us to reverse. Moments later the threesome got up grudgingly and headed back. Can imagine the mother telling the cubs, 'Man when you see these creatures on two legs, avoid them like the plague, run for your life, for they feed on every pof our body, private parts included!' `What's the going rate, Mom?' the more inquisitive of the two inquired, hurrying to keep pace with the giant steps of the mother.

 

`It all depends, son, we normally produce about 10 kgs of bone. One kilogram would fetch about USD 3,000 in Taiwan and China. The poachers consider the upper bone of the front legs most valuable.' Then there is the skin, eyes, whiskers, claws and genitals to be considered as well. Traditional Chinese Medicine uses these parts mainly for arthritis and rheumatism, besides being used as an aphrodasiac as well. At times you can find yourself in store shelves of the biggescities in the world, Toronto, San Francisco, New York and Chicago. All in all you are worth about 50,000 bucks. And there are just about 2000 left. It sucks, you know.'

 

We patted the village back on his boy and gave him a big hug, before resuming our ride once again, this time up a steep hill, where we encountered the Great Indian Bison - a huge bull that gets immediately nervous if provoked and will charge. We moved further, and urged our driver to stop when we heard the cough-like alarm calls of the langur, followed by a sambar bell. When a langur calls, there is no doubt a wild animal is at hand. Probably two of the best `chums' in the animal kingdom are the langur and deer. The langur warns all animals of impending danger and the langur forages on all droppings of fruit and seeds from the trees.

 

The jungle was silent, we spotted the sambhar tapping her left foot on the ground repeatedly, a gesture that signifies both danger and nrvousness. The flurry of calls went on unabated, until moments later the panther leapt out from its cover, and strode puposefully into the interiors. The last two sightings were not of our own, instead they were spotted by a group of guides who try to trace tigers on elephant back. After they have been sighted tourists are taken on elephant back and allowed to spend a few moments in the company of the great feline. Its a daily ritual at Kanha, one which is being done with amazing success.

We left the precinits of the forest in a ramshackle bus, our appetites fully satiated by this inexplicable `find.' The book by Moulton and Hulsey only a few weeks ago at a bookshop in downtown Mumbai has been one more of my great finds. Am currently more than 10,000 miles away from Kanha, yet when I turn the pages of this paperback am immediately transported;rucksack, binoculars and camera - back to Kanha!!

KHAJURAHO.......

The body was willing, the spirit even more. Khajuraho is an invitation to experience the unknown form, made visible on stone carvings that capture the celestials in all their moods.

Khajuraho, situated in the Chhatarpur district of Madhya Pradesh, is 55 kms south of Mahoba, 47 kms east of Chhatarpur Town, and 43 kms north west of Panna; and is accessible by surfaced roads from Mahoba, Harpalpur and Satna railwaystation on the Central Railway. For those traveling from Bombay, a direct train from V.T. takes you to Satna, the journey-time being roughly 22 hours. The most convenient mode would be to take a train reaching at about 4.00 a.m. in the morning at Satna, since there is a direct bus service leaving the Satna bus stand at 5.00 a.m. The distance of 117 kms from Satna to Khajuraho takes about 4 hours. A daily air service also links Khajuraho with Delhi, Agra and Varanasi.

In the olden days, Khajuraho was known as Khajivahila which meant ‘Garden of Dates’, and continues to be only a small village, with about 6000 inhabitants- their distinct quality being total nonchalance to the massive daily influx of tourists, with quiet serenity written on their faces. The locals, by their unobtrusiveness, succeed in maintaining thebalance of the on-to-one relationship between man (the wonderful creator), and his creation (the temples) totally undisturbed.

What attracts tourist is the past architectural splendour of the remains of 22 temples built by the Chandella dynasty around a thousand years ago.

Khajuraho boasts of some of the finest temples ever built. Their distinctive feature is carvings of ethereal beauty on sandstone brought from the quarries of Panna on the east bank of the Ken river. The unique temple structure built on a high platform, gives an impression of a vast open promenade round the temple. These temples are interconnected, and built on a single axis running in an east-west direction, and have 3 main compartments namely: the entrance known as ‘ardha mandapa’, the assembly hall – ‘mandapa’ the assembly hall – mandapa’ and the inner sanctum-garbha-griha’ . The central dome is surrounded by balconied windows, which admit light into the interiors, making the interplay of light and darkness a spectacular affair. The compartments have their own roofs, which rise from their lowest over the entrance porch, to their highest over the sanctum. When seen from a distance, these roofs resemble Mount Kailasa with which the Hindu temple is compared.

The temples groups could broadly be divided into 3, namely the western, southern and eastern. The piece de resistance is the western group from which rise the Kandariya Mahadeva and the Lakshmanna temples.“What makes Khajuraho tick?”, you may ask. Or, what draws hordes of visitors to this nondescript place, barely visible on the map of India? The uniqueness of this place is the sculptures in the temples which have been carved in every nook and corner. Sensuous forms of gods and goddesses captured in various poses that maintain their expressiveness to this day. Basically, five categories of sculptures are used; the first form being the use of images designed and made in round form, the second comprises the parivara, parsva and avarna devatas (family, attendants and enclosing divinities) which are seen on the walls of the temples, the third consists of those celestial beauties most frequently seen on the walls of the temples, the third consists of those celestial beauties most frequently seen on the walls of the temples, as well as on the pillars and ceilings: the famed ‘apsaras’ and ‘sura-sundaris’. These figures are shown in various poses which express moods, desires and emotions so akin to human behaviour. In the fourth category are use of secular sculptures performing group activities in which you witness groups of teachers with their students. The fifth and the last category has depictions of animal forms such as the boar, elephant, parrot, etc., and also has the manifestation of the’vyala’ and’sardula’ forms which consist of horned lions with armed riders.

The temples of Kandariya Mahadeva, Lakshmanna and the Visvantha. Temple are the prime examples of completeness in terms of layout and design, as well as their use of various forms of sculptures without parallel. The Lakshmanna Temple has the Ardha Mandapa, and the Garbha-Griha, besides the 4 affiliated shrines places at the corners. Being a developed temple in terms of construction and design, you also see numerous incarnations of Vishnu, besides scenes from the life of Krishna. The borders of the temples have bands that display different themes on day-to-day life life such as street singers, a lady in the act of putting on her make-up, revelers at a gathering, labourers at work, etc. Apsaras and other well-carved female figures also adores these temple forms. The Kandariya Mahadeva temple is structurally different from the other western group temples, where, the style used seems to suggest less of symmetry and more of projections and recesses all carved with a rare sense of rhythm and continuity. The beauty of this temple lies in the creation of grades of ascending order of replicas which culminates in the dome which is delicately carved and is a visual delight. Extensive use of sculptures at every conceivable nook and corner make this the highest rated temple in Khajuraho. Erotic scenes, use of mithunas and dancing gods, well shaped and svelte apsaras in passionate postures adorn the outer walls of temples. The construction of this temple dates back to reign of vidyadhara and is said to have been built in 1025-60 AD.

The Visvanatha temple has the Siva Lingam and, in terms of design, design, displays the characteristics of a complete temple and also has exhibits that are well and delicately carved. Khajuraho depicts the forces of man and woman as the human counterpart of the cosmic function of creation: the pull between the principles becomes the source of all life and creation. Thus, the joy of physical union symbolically reflects the infinite joy of divinity in creation. It is said that an artist’s creation is unfinished as long as he is alive. In the case of Khajuraho, the artists’ striving for perfection is evident from the sculptures that appear alive to this day. This feature alone makes a visit to Khajuraho so appealing.

Ladakh

One has to fly across the spectacular Great-Himalayan range to enter Leh, the capital of Ladakh, situated in the eastern part of Kashmir and home to Mahayana and Hinayana schools of Buddhism. Open to the outside world for less than three months every year and often referred to as `Little Tibet,' it has managed to retain it's raw natural beauty, tradition and culture. As I sit here `chewing' on my thoughts and typing on the keyboard, the saucer-shaped capital town of Leh must be basking in the early morning sunshine, it's rarefied mountain air charged with the smell of juniper, while lamas chant in incense-filled monasteries and prayer flags flutter in morning breeze. Silence dominates, more often than not, what I distinctly remember was the sound of footsteps.

Measuring close to 100,000 kms, the region of Ladakh is bordered by the Karokaram range of mountains in the north-west and the Great Himalayan range in the south- east. Eons ago, the highest landmass on Earth, comprising of Tibet and Ladakh was at the bottom of a vast shallow ocean, the Tethyan Sea, which separated the continent of Eurasia from the Indian subcontinent. Geophysical changes caused the oceanic shelf to rise and collide against the continental shelf, causing the formation of the Himalayas. Fossils found here are an amazing mix of sea life and tropical greenlands, with the fossil of the ichthyosaur, presumed to be a pre-historic sea animal confirming the region’s relationship with the sea.

On my next visit I decided to visit the Great Lakes of TsoMorari and TsoKar, situated at over 4500 metres in the Chumathang region, inhabited by Changpas (nomads or herdsman), yaks, pashmina sheep, ladakhi wild ass, brahminy kites, lammergier, and bar-headed geese. Altitude sickness began to slowly creep in as the air became rarer and our 4WD Jeep found the going tougher. Changpas roamed the area with their flock of sheep searching for fresh pastures and grazing land. The pashmina sheep they rear have the finest wool in the world, it's thickness measuring no more than 10 microns and whose renowned pashmina shawls woven by crafty weavers in neighbouring Srinagar can pass through a ring.

We spotted a rebo (tent made of yak hair) and stepped out to investigate. A Changpa dressed in a traditional `goncha' came out, and broke into a toothless smile. He invited us inside his smoke blackened tent for a cup of butter tea, affectionately referred to as `gur gur chai.' Overwhelmed by his offer, we refused. Simply because he would not have much to spare. He kept on smiling, our lack of language skills making it almost impossible to communicate with each other, though my now my dark complexioned face had given way to black, making me resemble a Changpa as well! The only visible difference. He had his `goncha,' I had my Levi (made-in-turkey) jeans. `Jullay,' we said and wished each other well. I've often wondered, what would happen if the Changpa arrived unannounced at my apartment, would I invite him over for a Carona or put the answering machine on?

Ladakh continued to intrigue me and I visited it yet again, to experience its Jekyll-n-Hyde type of weather, where because of the clear mountain air, the sun can sting with the ferocity of a jellyfish and the next moment when a cloud passes over, one can experience chillblains. By now I was familiar with a local travel agent and he welcomed us at the airport with a traditional scarf. I felt like I was the Prince of Gondal! We continued our wanderings and visited the last post of India - the Nubra Valley.

A lone sentry stood guard in an armed barrack at the last post. No private vehicles were allowed beyond this point, though, the army had unrestricted access on a dirt track that criss-crossed the barren plains. Further North in pristine splendour stood the world's highest battlefield - the Siachen Glacier. Only a few hours earlier I met a soldier, who was going to be transferred to this battlefield for a period of three months. I noticed the fright and fear in his eyes as he described the posting. `Not many survive,' he said. `Too harsh weather conditions, imagine fighting at 20,000 feet, where gangrene and frost-bite dominate.' I could sense the tears in his eyes as his voice began to lose momentum and the wind soon took over.

We stood staring at the row of mountains basking in the evening light. I imagined I heard gunfire, but there was none. Instead, I heard the sound of footsteps, the sound of feet stepping on gravel and loose sand. A lama was heading our way.

"CORBETT" - In search of elephants.

Every Head is a World.'

- A Cuban proverb about the uniqueness of the individual.

`Man and the higher animals, especially the primates, have some few instincts in common. All have the same senses, intuitions, and sensations, similar passions, affections and emotions, even the complex ones such as jealousy, suspicion, emulation, gratitude and magnanimity;.... Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man `What happens to beasts will happen to man. All things are connected. If the great beasts are gone, man will surely die of a great loneliness of spirit.

-Chief Seattle of the Nez Perce, 1884.

 

"You see, the lantana bushes destroy the forest, that's why, ever so often they need to be cut down." Our forest guide Negi was at his awesome best, describing in detail the flora and fauna inside the Corbett National Park. A few months earlier a friend of mine was fascinated watching an elephant amble across the crowded streets of Mumbai. Six months later we were inside a wildflife park in North India, on the lookout for elephants in the wilderness of untamed forests.

Lying cosily and snug in the foothills of the Himalayas and named after the famous author and hunter turned conservationist, Jim Corbett; this wildlife park is one of the finest habitats of the Asian Elephant and tiger, besides having an impressive variety of flora, that includes Elephant grass, sal, khair (Acacia catechu), tendu (Diospyros tomentosa), canabis and sain (Terminalia tomentosa). Over 100 species of trees, 60 species of shrubs, 2 species of bamboos and over 30 species of climbers crowd the 520 sq. km. tract of forest with the winding Ramganga river acting as it's faithful companion.

It was early afternoon, the forest silent as we drove on unpaved roads in an open air jeep, with the wind gently brushing past our faces. All around, the forest began to unfold; here, a dense overgrowth of shrubs; there, a crowd of sal and bamboo; in the distance; elephant grass, while on the horizon it was irregularly-shaped mountain peaks reaching for the skies. The fresh forest and mountain air was beginning to intoxicate our senses.

I began asking Negi strange questions. "Do elephants talk?" Negi wasn't amused. Being specifically trained for his job, which is more of a rarity than a regularity in many wildlife parks, Negi proved to be an exception and stood out, like his pencil-thin moustache and his light eyes. "Elephants are known to communicate among herds for distances in the range of 20 kilometres using low-frequency calls that cannot be picked by the human ear," he replied. "Besides, elephants have immense intelligence and never forget until they die." A bit like humans, I thought. "Unlike other animals, the brains expand during their lifetime, thereby giving them a natural ability to learn, all the time." A bit unlike humans, I wearily concluded.

Negi's commentary was interrupted as we spotted the remains of a barking deer. Probably hunted down in the early hours of the morning by a famished tiger. Negi closely examined the pugmarks and concluded, that those marks belonged to a tigress. Somewhere in the distance she would be having her afternoon siesta, lying either in the rocky ravines or hidden in elephant grass. With 80 tigers roaming inside this wildlife park, the chances of tracking rest at about 10%. There is a greater chance of being spotted than spotting one. We moved on, Negi was more intent on speaking about elephants. The dense forest growth soon gave way to an open grassland, while the river snaked it's way through the plains. We spotted a lone tusker, quite unusual among elephants, as it's common for them to move in herds. Negi explained that periodically elephants suffered from a perplexing condition called `musth,' something which was associated with sexual maturity and desire and resulted in imbalanced mood behaviour.

During this period, they excrete a sticky substance from their temporal glands and are best left alone. From a distance the tusker looked in perfect composure. On closer inspection, he would be competing for Mr. Imperfect. We moved along.

"How do locals respond to wildlife conservation and poaching?" Negi replied, "the locals that live on the periphery of the forest are being asked to make contributions to wildlife preservation by becoming guides, more tourist friendly and discouraging attempts at poaching by turning down offers of killing wildlife, since it's the locals who possess immense knowledge about the forests and not the poachers, who generally provide only ammunition and money."

Sambhar gamboled in the running waters, oblivious of the dangers of the wild cats, while high above on a solitary branch, the crested serpent eagle surveyed the earth below for unsuspecting prey. The solitary King Vulture glided in open skies; at eye level, robins, bulbuls, drongos, woodpeckers and flycatchers could be heard and spotted along. With over 500 species of birds, we couldn't be grudged for sighting at least 100, though, we hadn't still managed to spot an elephant herd. The shadows began to lengthen with the sun commencing it's downward descent, casting a slanting orange glow and painting the forest, now awash with colors with crimson and gold. Negi continued his tidbits, like the one about elephants loving salt, to the number of toes on it's front and hind feet.

My mind raced back to the earlier occasions when I had spotted elephants in the wild at Madhumalai, Bandipur and Nagorhole National Parks in South India, herds that strode along crushing obstacles that came along their path. We watched from a distance in wonder and regaled at the marvels of Nature. Then there were the harvest festivals I had attended at the City Palace in Mysore, where on an auspicious day, I watched a huge procession of caparisoned elephants bedecked in jewellery and color.

This spectacle lasted for a few hours but left timeless memories. All of a sudden I asked Negi, whether elephants `bury' their dead ones? He said, "Yes, they do. Because they understand loss and mourn as well."

Light began to fade, the same could be said about the color on our faces. We craned our necks in all directions, looking for the elusive pachyderms. Negi had fallen silent, in fact the entire forest seemed to have retreated as well. All of a sudden, over a distance of over of a 1000 metres, I detected some movement. Against the backdrop of the dark impenetrable forest, it was impossible to tell. We stood and stared for what seemed like eternity, before we decided, yes it was indeed elephants. One couldn't mistake the slow deliberate movement of the group with different shapes and sizes, bodies donned the color of mud, instead of the customary black we are so used to seeing. We sped along.

Minutes later we found ourselves face to face with the herd, a large matriarchal group of about twenty, with oldest well in it's sixties, while the youngest was probably a year old, constantly getting lost among the pillar of legs, trunks and tusks. They foraged on grass and leaves and twigs and branches and continued the elephant procession, unmindful of our presence.

Led by a female in front and tuskers at the rear end, the group moved in two's and three's occasionally colliding with each other. We stared like curious schoolchildren on an outdoor picnic, vaguely trying to reconstruct the story of the elephant and six blind men. `Should an elephant attack you, spit at the end of his trunk,' someone once said. Leave alone spitting, I wondered whether I'd be able to open my mouth. Sure-footed, the group began it's retreat from the open grassland into the safe confines of the forest, from where we heard twigs being crushed and branches being broken, the occasional trumpet and swishing of trunks. It meant curtains for us as well, the `drama' of the pachyderms having lasted for a good wholesome ten minutes.

The species Elephas Maximus and me, what's the common thread that brings us together? Them, always showing up like duty-bound postmen and me behaving like a lover on his first unconfirmed date! Am I part of the herd as well? Search me. Perhaps Negi may have an answer.

The Taj Mahal, Where Time Stops.....

It's early morning in Agra, home to one of the seven great wonders of the Modern World- The Taj Mahal. And it's sometime in the middle of August, the thunder clouds have all but swallowed the sun. The air is damp and moist, the rain clouds will soon burst, and we need to hurry. In the middle of this confusion, some onlookers decide to stone a stray dog. Makes me wonder who is stray! Almost unexpectedly a herd of buffaloes cross our path. I am with a group of tourists who've come from the Basque region of Pampalona in the north of Spain. Javier, the leader has a look of disbelief on his face. Aracelli winces, Maria simply laughs, while Fermin decides to capture it all on film.

We are at the entrance of one of the most widely photographed monuments- the Taj Mahal- a monument built to enshrine the body of Shah Jehan’s favourite wife-Mumtaz who died while giving birth to his fourteenth child in 1631. Grief stricken, he decided to built this marvelous monument in white marble in her memory. Architects and labourers were hired from all over, the marble was shipped from Makrana in Rajasthan, precious stones and gems were imported from the Asia and Europe, this painstaking exercise took all of twenty years and twenty thousand workers before being completed in 1653 A.D.

We go past detectors and security guards, modern day gadgetry designed to keep terrorists at bay. Our guide, a wizened old man with a flowing beard starts narrating his gospel truth version about how, where, when and why this earth shaking monument was built, I choose not to listen. Soon we are at the main gates, the Taj Mahal is only a footstep away. The sun still doesn't show up. The Taj Mahal does.

Tagore described the Taj as `a tear on the face of eternity.' First time visitors react no differently, most exhibiting a look of disbelief, followed by long moments of studied silence. It's almost as if Father Time has stopped ticking and all stands still, putting paid to the saying, time and tide waits for no one. At the Taj it seems like it does. Our guide nudges us to move. Past the symmetrical gardens laid out in Charbagh style (four parts), they represent water, milk, wine and honey. Dividing it into four parts are running streams of water. We move to the main quadrangle.

At the entrance to the dome, Chaudhuri our remarkable guide now takes out his torch and lights a spot which he asks us to examine, it's here that I see an inlay form of architecture also known as `pietra-durra' in which precious were inlaid to form perfect patterns of flowers and other intricate designs. The mausoleum of Mumtaz lies down below not in the middle but at the end of the rectangle. There are Islamic inscriptions from fourteen chapters of the Quran, with ninety-nine names adorning the tomb of Mumtaz.

The sun has finally managed to make a dent through the clouds, I make out the distinct outline of the Agra Fort in the distance, it's from a prison room inside this impressive fort that the man who envisioned and built the Taj, the Grand Emperor Shah Jehan spent his last days. Imprisoned by his own son, the Emperor had one dream unfulfilled, that of erecting the Black Taj on the other side of the river Yamuna.

Years later I am again at the Taj Mahal, and enjoy an unobstructed picture perfect right angle view of this magnificent monument from the Amar Vilas Palace, a boutique property at a handshaking distance from the Taj. The overpowering mesmerizing effect remains the same. Like it was the first time.

One dream remains unfulfilled though- that of seeing the Taj on a moonlit night...