)
and plans for the same had been made and dumped several times. With a bunch of
friends ever ready to explore Incredible India, STR would somehow always take a
back seat. I personally am an avid wildlife enthusiast but with passions
encompassing a variety of things and aware of the fact that a visit to any
square inch of India is not wasted I patiently waited for STR’s time to come
which I knew it would. I was holidaying in Gangtok when my friend Sushobhan
called me up and fixed the dates for Simlipal. I must admit I was shocked at
the sudden and unexpected turn of events. I had proposed STR several times before
but post the
inside the park apprehensions would always get the better of us but if you are uneasy of the unknown you would never be a true traveler.
We were not comfort seekers but explorers so I agreed readily. The trip was
supposed to commence on 21
April, Thursday and finally the day
arrived. Conservatives reprimanded us for planning to go out to a place like
STR where there is nothing to “see” and in this unbearable summer heat. I paid no heed. It is a
different story altogether that people hardly know about STR and what all there
is to “see”.
I was serving in the pool of the new project I had been
assigned to and thus going out on a Thursday was not a problem for me. I had
done some exhaustive research on the tiger reserve and I must admit that one of
the major reasons were the two waterfalls within the reserve,
Barehipani and
Joranda, the former of which is allegedly the second tallest waterfall in India
dropping from a height of 399 m on river
Budha Balanga. I had also read the
Simlipal Appraisal Report which for the
first time made me realize the enormity and range of problems plaguing STR.
 |
| the retards (amit, prashant, vikram, sushobhan, from left) |
It was known to the whole of us that the train to
Balasore
would leave
Howrah at 10.50 PM but around 8.00 PM I received a frantic call
from Prashant who told me that the train was actually scheduled to leave at 8:35
PM. All hell broke loose. It sounded so unbelievable. I mean, such a thing had
never happened to me. How was I supposed to pack my luggage and reach the
station within 20 odd minutes? It was next to impossible and even if I would
anyhow manage (my home hardly being 5 km away from Howrah) what about the rest
of us who were already on their way from
Salt Lake, no less than 20 km from
Howrah. I packed my luggage (obviously missed many essential items of clothing
and even my debit card) with a hysterical pace, hired an auto and by God’s
grace reached the station in a record 15 minutes. It was already 8:30 PM and I stood
just outside the new station complex. Despite repeated assurances that they
were minutes away from the station and a multitude of advices that ranged from
“go and pull the chain” to “stop the train anyhow” to “plead to the driver to
delay the train by a few minutes” my friends arrived huffing and panting almost
40 minutes later. In the meanwhile, for the very first time in my life, I saw
the train I was supposed to board chug away from the platform in front of my
own eyes and I stood helpless waiting for a bunch of people who still adamantly
said, “bus ek minute aur.” It was around 9:15 PM when the whole of us
assembled together at the station and mourned the loss of money and wastage of
time. I had never thought I would live to see such a day.
 |
| general landscape of mayurbhanj |
Balasore, the place where we had to get down was hardly four
hours by train so the only option left was to board another train and travel in
the general compartment. We had our dinner at the station itself (Food Plaza) and
waited for our train that ironically arrived at 10:50 PM. We instead got into
the reserved compartment and sat beside the washroom bearing the stench that we
were well assured would wither away once the train moved out of the station and
the compartment gets ventilated. The stench stayed but our self assurance that
the TT would melt hearing our tragic story and allow us in the reserved
compartment didn’t. We were told to get down and take the general compartment
at
Kharagpur. We thought of looking for alternatives to reach Balasore from
Kharagpur but realizing it would be sheer wastage of time three of us
(Prashant, Vikram and myself) got into the general compartment while the others
(Sushobhan and Amit) went inside another reserved compartment assuming that the
TT wouldn’t surely come checking all over again (and they were so right). But it was an experience in itself after so many years.
 |
| NH6, running parallel to STR's west periphery |
We finally
got down at Balasore at around 2:20 AM and that was when we came to know from
the law-breakers that while we somehow squeezed our way from Kharagpur they had
a good sleep all this while since some seats were empty. Good for the
law-breakers and we moved on. Like always, a weird sense of sensation gripped
me the moment I stepped out of the station. Like I always maintain, no matter
however big or small, popular or obscure a place is, coming there for the first
time and that too in the middle of the night is surely fascinating. I have this
odd hobby of adding districts I have visited so far and it feels great when the
list keeps growing. We were really tired (can’t really say for Amit and
Sushobhan assuming their comfortable train ride) and needed a cup of tea. Balasore turned out to be better than what
I had imagined. It’s the district headquarter after all. Some shops were open
and we inquired for buses that could take us till
Baripada, some 60 km away.
 |
| breakfast at a jashipur dhaba near STR |
There was a busy road a while away from the station and we were assured that we
would get our bus from there a couple of hours from now. We moved on and had
tea at a stall near the “busy road”. Prashant and Sushobhan loitered around
while the rest of us, besides killing the many mosquitoes that kept sucking our
blood, discussed plans for the day to break. We were still unsure of where to
enter STR from. I had read we could enter from either
Pithabata (20 km from Baripada)
or
Jashipur but I was unsure of the later. Mr Biswajit Mohanty had told me to
go for Jashipur but considering it was almost 120 km away from Baripada we were
in double minds. If there was any provision to enter STR from Pithabata why go
to Jashipur at all?
 |
| going around! |
While discussions kept flowing, to our utter surprise, we
saw an air conditioned bus come and halt near our tea stall. It was around 3:10
AM and we were not expecting a bus to Baripada anytime before 4.30 AM (as told
by the shopkeeper near the station). We were excited for sure at the time that
would be saved and swiftly got into the bus. We were five of us and there
weren’t that many empty seats so we had to “adjust” but by the time we reached
Baripada at around 4.30 AM each one of us had rested enough on our “respective
seats”. We got down and after having yet another cup of tea started inquiring
on how to reach STR. I asked a couple of autowallahs if they would take us to
STR (via Pithabata) to which they either plainly refused or asked for an
exorbitant amount but none said that tourists were now supposed to enter STR
from Jashipur only. We asked some localites but gauging their response I
wondered if they had even heard of STR. Finally, on a cumulative basis,
collecting data from various sorts of people we zeroed on the fact that we would
have to leave for Jashipur. We took a bus with very narrow seats and left for
Jashipur just at daybreak. It was around 5.30 AM and by the time we reached our
destination it was around 9 AM. We were either sleeping most of the time or
looked at amazement at the beauty of the state. Distant hills and vast
undulating plains full of greenery and red soil were the norm.
 |
| inside the crocodile breeding centre, ramatirtha |
Someone had told us that STR was still not open for tourists
though I had a hint of hope considering Mr Mohanty hadn’t mentioned anything as
such. We got down at the Gurguria Range (
FRO) and after inquiring from a
gentleman (who said the park was very much open for visitors) busy with his satellite phone we hired an auto and
went towards the National Park Range (FRO) from where the entry would be
sanctioned. It was a wonderful place, located just off
NH6. It was around 9.30
AM and permission would not be available after 10 AM but we still had a problem,
we didn’t have a car. We frantically looked around but realizing that this was
not
Kanha or
Ranthambhore were there would probably have been an assembly of
cars outside the gate and here there was none, a sense of disillusion crept in.
And that was when our forest guide for the day, Mr Ratho Behra arrived on the
scene. Initially there was some sense of confusion when we mistook him for a
pimp who we thought would fix a car at a higher price but he was actually
trying to help us. He told us that he knew a driver and if the need be
(obviously the need was) he could arrange for one.
 |
| mr ratho behra outside the park range, jashipur |
He dialed a number and
within 15 minutes a young man arrived with his Bolero. Our joys definitely knew
no bounds but there was still some confusion regarding how the day would go,
where the waterfalls exactly were and if the driver would show us that and a
lot many more. We negotiated with the driver and agreed on Rs 1700 and Rs 250
for the forest guard, though I am unsure if the amount we paid to enter the
reserve, which amounted to Rs 420 for a group of five, the driver and the guard and two digital cameras included any fee for him. We got hold of some
information brochures and a booklet on STR whose data matched exactly with the
website STR maintains. Things were clear now and our forest guard, whom by now
we had realized was a man eager to show us around, guaranteed us to show the
falls but not the tigers or the elephants. We assured him that we were
not here for the tigers but the place per se. It was already 10 AM and with
permission granted we were ready to move but prior to that we need to have some food.
 |
| river confluence at ramatirtha |
Mr Behra directed the driver to show us the Mugger crocodile park managed by
Crocodile
Breeding and Management Project at Ramatirtha since 1979. It was also a
place of Hindu pilgrimage where Ram and Sita had come during exile. Mr Behra showed
us some holy markings on the rocks that allegedly belonged to Ram and Sita. More
than the Croc Park what amazed me was the beauty of the place. It was a rocky
area situated at the confluence of rivers Khairi and Bhandan. There was a lone
temple but on the other side of the confluence. After spending some time there
we came to a dhaba where we had a delicious spread of roti, tadka and omelette
and after getting our lunch packed set off for the reserve. We must safely
ignore the ruckus Mr Behra created when he refused to get our lunch packed in
polythene and asked the dhaba owner if we looked like “jail ka kaidi”. The
helpless owner had to arrange for utensils to pack our food. We lost much time in the process.
 |
| confluence of khairi n bhandan, ramatirtha |
Mr Behra, time and again, reminded the driver, who somehow
looked reluctant to show us places, (maybe he didn’t consider Rs 1700 worthy
enough for the day or maybe he was just like that) that the fate of the reserve
and ultimately his livelihood rested to a good extent on the tourists that come
here and it was his duty to send them satisfied and more so to them who showed
signs of understanding and didn’t haggle for “tiger sightings” randomly. Though
I can further
debate on the
aspects of tourism and how it affects our forests but then STR
immediately needed some popularity. It would become difficult for the government
and the forest officials alike to ignore the park if and when it comes to
limelight. Media had a few darling reserves of which STR was not.
 |
| outside the STR, jashipur |
STR, despite being one of the largest and the most beautiful
and appropriate places for housing a healthy tiger and elephant population is
more in news for being a hotbed of naxalism, timber smuggling, poaching and
habitat degradation. The buffer area has almost been wiped out of wildlife
except the occasional chital or peafowl and post the attacks of 2009 the
motivation level of the ground staff is not to speak of and looking at the
driver I could well make out the health of the reserve. On paper, STR is a
tiger reserve, an
elephant reserve, a national and international
UNESCO
recognized
biosphere reserve all put together but on ground it is one of the most
crumbling forests in India which requires immediate attention from the
government and the civil society alike. I had read exclusively on the various
problems that have been affecting STR but I wanted to see that from my own
eyes. Unlike
Kaziranga, where I had seen so much of activity around the
reserve, STR was eerily silent. We were perhaps the only tourists for the day.
 |
| entering STR via gurguria range |
Taking a detour from the place where our bus from Baripada
to Jashipur had left us on NH6 we went further across the Gurguria Range (FRO).
We got some fruits and some sal pata plates and pushing through the forested
plains and distant hills came at the entrance (Kaliani Forest Checkgate,
Karanjia Forest Division, Gurguria Range) of the reserve. While our driver and
the forest guard proceeded with the entry formalities we spent time near river
Khairi and that was when a group of tribal boys came running to us. They wanted
to show us something. We followed them to the base of a huge tree where a
chameleon was struggling to get free from the jaws of a hungry snake. We
explained the boys not to disturb the “laws of nature” but they insisted we
free the chameleon. I took a twig and tried poking the snake which would just
not let the poor reptile go. After much struggle and arm-twisting we were
finally able to free the chameleon which hurriedly scaled atop the tree.
 |
| laws of nature |
Meanwhile, the entry formalities were completed. We hurried
back to our car and finally entered the reserve and that fulfilled one of my
long cherished dreams. It was an amazing feeling. Looking at the forests I
wondered how long our heritage would stay intact. Powerful sections of the
society, unparalleled in greed and yet others who don’t want dialogue or peace (and
who have a lot many sympathizers from amongst the intellects) are potent
threats to forests and Simlipal was no exception. We passed a village pointing
at which our forest guard told that it had been recently razed down by a group
of wild elephants. I asked if compensation was prompt to which he gave a blank stare and pleaded ignorance. Unlike elsewhere, our forest guard was quite active
and wanted that we get the best of what the park had to offer. He had so many
stories to tell. He said the park had “four types of tigers.” I was shocked for
a while but let him speak further. Without pausing he mentioned all the types
which included the Royal Bengal Tiger, the Indian Leopard, the Black Panther
and the Cheetah. I tried making sense and explained that leopards, panthers and
cheetahs were not “types of tigers” and panthers are merely melanistic variants
of leopards (and other large cats) and that cheetahs were long extinct in India.
I am unsure if he took my words because in another shot without a pause he said
that a foreigner had told him that. I thought of putting a stop.
 |
| bee hive laden tree |
As we drove down an array of
villages inside the buffer area we came across a place where our guard got the
car stopped and pointed towards a gigantic tree on the other edge of a huge
pond lying near the trail. It was full of beehives. What an amazing sight it
was. We could see forested hills beyond the hive laden trees. It was such an
amazing feeling to see pristine and raw nature from such close quarters. We
continued on our way across vast plains full of
mahua trees. The sweet
fragrance of flowers lying on the ground had filled the air. As we zoomed
past we came across a gang of tribal women selling
hadia. I had always wanted
to taste hadia and mahua and this was a golden chance and that too buying
original and authentic stuff right from people who make it at their homes. What
can beat that? We got down and gulped down a bottle. It tasted good and sold
cheap for Rs 20 a litre. I thought it would make me feel dizzy but nothing
of that sort happened. It was quite light on the contrary.
 |
| tribal women selling hadia inside STR |
Our guard took us
next to show a huge
sal tree named Maha Sal Vriksha. Sal trees are native to South
Asia and can reach heights up to 35 m but this one was much taller. It had an
interesting story behind its survival considering the fact that I had seen many
sal trees cut and smuggled out of the forest. The guard told that it was the
territory of a wild and maniac elephant whose fresh dumping we could see strewn
around. In a whiff of caution he told us that if ever a wild elephant were to
charge the best thing would be to stay calm, not to run and to fold your hands in
obeisance. I wondered where he got that training from. The forest guard was
unarmed because allegedly almost the entire park was under the writ of
naxalites who would feel threatened under such a scenario which could
invariably lead to much conflict. After having admired the tree and the
surrounding forest we headed further for the Uski falls. It is to be noted
that Uski is not mentioned in any of the park catalogues but we had done
enough research before our arrival. The guard was visibly shocked when we told
him to take us to that fall. I had never bathed under a waterfall before. I had no idea if
bathing under a fall in the middle of a forest would attract danger but we were
pretty excited. It was located deep inside the forest with no one to help if a
tiger were to attack, which though looked unlikely. I had read blogs about the
waterfall and knew that people bathed under it so not that we were there to
break laws, moreover, Mr Behra didn’t protest to that idea. Prior to that we
stopped at a tribal makeshift stall where we had some roasted chickpea and for
the first time in my life smoked weed, only at the insistence of the forest guard,
who seemed much like a pro. It was great fun indeed. It was an enthralling experience and the
forest and its life was slowly but surely unfolding in front of us.
 |
| a makeshift shop inside STR |
Moving on, while on the way to
the falls, looking around at vast green plains with tribal homes in the
distance, empty
Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan schools, tribal children waving at us
(Christian missionaries and Hindu groups backed by
Sangh Parivar have a
troubled presence here converting and reconverting tribals which sometimes gets
violent too) we reached a road from where the falls was moments away. There was
a huge stone in our way. Prashant, Amit and I got down to get it removed but it
would not budge. It was rooted deep in the soil. Meanwhile, Sushobhan was not
finding his camera cover and was under the impression that he had left it at
the shop where we had weed.
 |
| beat office from where sushobhan ran away |
Without even informing any one of us, while we were
busy uprooting the stone block, he ran away from us in a direction which certainly
didn’t look familiar. Vikram, who was not helping with the stone saw him run
away. Others were still busy with the stone. Finally, after much maneuvering
when the stone came off we came to know about Sushobhan’s heroics. I have a
weak eye-sight but others saw him running towards a forested hill. We were all
very angry at his antics. After all, this was not a city where you can run
behind and catch up with him. It was a jungle and an alien territory. We were
now running short of time and it was already around noon. The forest guard and
Prashant went to seek help from a beat officer who was hardly half a kilometer
away. Others waited anxiously and played with the village dogs. After some half
an hour we saw Prashant cycling (taken from a villager probably) towards us but
with no one riding pillion. Minutes later we saw a motorcycle approaching us
and others could now see Sushobhan as also the beat officer and our forest
guard. Sushobhan as usually was unrepentant and smiling but he was duly served
a bagful of filthy abuses. He obviously ignored them all and gleefully went
inside the car and told us to hurry up.
 |
| enroute the uski falls |
The forest guard told us not
to worry and that he knew almost everyone inside the forest. He assured us that
there was no naxalites in the forest, at least not in the area he guards. He
also didn’t know of any timber smuggler or of any mischievous elements inside
the forest. It sounded too good to be true. For a while, I thought if the
forest officials where hand-in-glove with the timber mafia who smuggled out
valuable timber because of the lax security on the pretext of naxal presence.
It was a complex thing to comprehend but I preferred waiting more before
drawing conclusions. Things can’t be generalized in a diverse nation like ours.
While it is known that corrupt forest guards and higher officials often indulge
in malpractice but painting everyone in the same brush would be foolish on my
part. There was almost no wildlife in this part of the park (north) and thus it
could be concluded that poaching and akhand shikar has taken its toll. This
part of the park was poorly protected and was to a large extent left to the
mercy of naxalites and poachers whose presence was conclusive if not obvious.
 |
| first glimpse of uski falls |
Amidst all this discussion we halted at a place from where I could see a narrow
trail leading deep inside a cluster of tall sal trees. We all got down. The air
had a slight chill and my heart skipped a beat. The forest guard told us to
follow him, not to make much noise and to be together. It was the month of April
but the park seemingly didn’t have shortage of water so I wondered why a tiger
would come to the base of a waterfall but the topography of the place and the
general feel did scare us a bit. Imagine what would have happened if a real
tiger were to come in front of us. Such is the aura of the majestic animal.
 |
| after having bathed in the uski falls |
We
kept walking beside a stream keeping an eye on the surroundings. We could hear
the fall and the first glimpse was majestic. It was a small one but beautiful
beyond description. I can’t describe the place in words whose beauty was much
beyond the rocks, the water, and the greenery around. The silence of the
forest, the feel of thrill, the various permutations and combinations running
in your mind, the prospects of uncertainty, all this put together makes it
something incomprehensible. Reaching the base of the fall, we quickly removed
our clothes and crossing the steam over the rocks reached a place from where
the cool waters directly fell over us. Ah! That was pleasant to say the least.
After all, I was bathing under a waterfall for the first time and that too
within a tiger reserve. We spent quite considerable a time below the thunderous
waters of the fall and our forest guard was busy taking our pictures. When we
finally moved out we couldn’t keep thanking our stars that a tiger didn’t
really come there.
 |
| barehipani falls, 399 m, budha balanga river |
We were quite behind our
schedule and had no time to have our lunch. Moving forth, the next stops were
the falls of Barehipani and Joranda, perhaps the highlight of our trip. Driving
almost uphill and transcending lustful green forests we finally got to see the
Barehipani. It was unbelievable seeing a waterfall this tall falling from a
height of almost 400 m when river Budha Balanga drops over a cliff in a deep
valley. My excitement knew no bounds. I incessantly kept on taking pictures and
admiring the beauty of the whole place. It was heaven on earth. Moving even
further we came across Joranda.
 |
| joranda falls, 150 m |
Joranda was less than half the height of
Barehipani but it was a single drop of almost 150 m down a cliff and it was a
sight in itself, stunningly beautiful and unparalleled so far. It was getting
dark and we thanked our stars that we could see them both. I would have been
thoroughly disappointed had I missed any of the two. We decided to turn back
for the Chahala
Salt Licks were animals would gather at dusk for a dose of the
essential mineral requirements. It had been an amazing journey so far and it
felt sad that our journey was slowly coming to an end. It felt great to have actually
come to a place about which I had read so many a times and a place that was so close
to my heart. Chahala was in the core area of the park, at least this was what
our forest guard told us. We could hear the cries of peacocks as we drew nearer
to the salt lick and as luck would have it we also saw a couple of them
crossing the road and flying around in frantic flights. Going deeper in the
forest one gets a divine sort of feeling and that was quite palpable. Mr Behra
showed us a muddy area with a grassy overgrowth where he said wild elephants
came for cooling off. He also told us to keep an eye on the surroundings.
Though this part of the park had precious nothing in terms of wildlife but you
never know. Forests have a kind of weird thing about them. You always end up
seeing the unexpected. It’s a way of telling the humans that they are way more
divine than we believe them to be. We more than obliged.
 |
| chahala salt lick, STR |
We saw a Bolero returning from
the salt lick and that was perhaps the only sign of visitors other than us in
the entire park for the day. Our apprehension got the better of us when our
guard told that they were not visitors but family members of a “forest officer”
and the “officer” himself. He was returning from his daily duty of inspection
around the jungles. We had no reason not to believe. We got down from our car
and crossing a patch of huge eucalyptus trees reached the salt lick. I moved
near the burnt and damaged guest houses and the office buildings. That was the
first thing I had wanted to see. That made me angry. I had seen the photographs
before but seeing it from your own eyes makes you realize how some elements of
society were hell-bent to bring about anarchy. I don’t know what animosity they
could have with the animals that can’t defend themselves. If you are angry with
the establishment why take out your anger this way. It was sheer mindlessness
on the part of the naxals who did this and that was in the summer of
2009. They had threatened the forest officers and manhandled and looted
helpless tourists. After that ghastly incident the few tourists who came here
stopped altogether and why not? Tourists were still not allowed to stay inside
the forest houses, the few which still exists. It would take time for the
infrastructure inside the park to be built but more than that it is the
confidence of people that the park needs to build upon and that is difficult
without a blueprint for Simlipal that is eager to come out of the mess and the
downturn in its destiny.
 |
| what do the naxals want to prove? |
Looking at the horizon of the
barricaded salt lick we could see chitals grazing, licking and playing along
with no threat of a predator whatsoever. While I stayed there admiring nature’s
beauty and the bounty this park could hold if allowed to flourish to its
potential I saw a gentleman coming towards us. Some of my friends were already
with him. I thought he was some guard coming to tell us to move out because it
was about to be pitch dark. I also moved towards them. The guard turned out to
be the Forest Range Officer, Mr Prabhat Mallick. He introduced himself to us
and thanked us for coming to Simlipal. I was amazed at the humility of the
gentleman. I mean, he was a FRO and he had come out to meet and thank us. We
were overwhelmed and the ensuing chat of over 40 minutes was one of the best
things that had happened to me in a while. He told us about the health of the
park, about the 2009 attacks and three more which he had survived. Despite all
the odds, I could see his eagerness to think of a bright future for Simlipal.
This is the kind of enthusiasm and optimism that drives me crazy and makes me
feel good that the country still has some real good men. I discussed with him
the general health of the park to which he sounded a bit disillusioned but was
very forthcoming on certain issues relating to the tiger census whose reports
had been recently published and which had sounded the death knell for Simlipal.
Mr Mallick was sure that there were tigers in the south of the park and if
adequate care is taken they could return back to the north as well. He told us
about an independent census done by the forest authority that came in direct
conflict with the data provided by
Project Tiger. A few gaurs, wild elephants,
chitals and some birds was all that the north was left with. The south, closed
to tourists, still had its share of plenty, if I may afford to use the word but
the divide has to go and we need to talk of the reserve in its entirety and
that looked exceedingly difficult as of now.
 |
| chahla FRO |
He told us that tourists like
us were few and far in between and that made us feel good. Most of others who
come are one a witch-hunt of sorts for the elusive tiger failing to see which
they reprimand the officers. All this made me think of the existing picnic
culture in India where people are oblivious of certain things and come with a
predetermined mindset. A jungle is a place of learning, reckoning and
understanding, of things that are good, things that are bad and ugly and things
that can be revived and how. We are as much guardians of our forests and its
priceless heritage as the forest officers are. We have to equally share the
responsibility and a sense of duty. More than not seeing the tigers and
reprimanding the officers, as if it were a zoo, a far better thing to do would
be some introspection as to why we couldn’t see one. Sharing the guilt wouldn’t
make us gullible but smart on the contrary. I felt angry at this trend of
tourism catching up where people don’t even realize the basic fact that a FRO
is far more learned than most of us and he deserves our respect and admiration,
for he works under the most deplorable of conditions. Much
the same for the foot-workers including the forest guards but that would
require some maturity and thoughtfulness which we so easily assume to be elite.
 |
| road to chandipur |
It was an engrossing chat and
I got to know so much about the park. I had many questions to ask (smuggling of
timber, poaching, animal density of certain key species, wellbeing of the
ground workers, naxal problem, relocation of the villages outside the park,
etc) but we didn’t have time and we couldn’t stay inside. We had to leave but
not before exchanging our numbers and a promise made to Mr Mallick that we
would come again. He thanked us another time and told that it was good to see
the park getting tourists like us who were not only understanding but aware of
things. I couldn’t feel any better. It was already pitch black by the time we
were back on our way to the exit. Moving out, we could see some people in the
forest (they were not supposed to be there at this point of time and we were
sure they were up for some mischief, maybe timber or firewood) but since we
were unarmed and vulnerable to attack we had to speed off. The leafy branches
of a tree blocked our way but Mr Behra (who merely had a thick wooden stick as
his only means to safeguard him and the whole of us) didn’t get down to see if
it was actually a sloth bear holding down the branches as he was apprehending.
We somehow managed to scuttle under the foliage and within half an hour came back
to the main road via the same checkgate.
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| chandipur beach, balasore |
We went to the same dhaba where we had
our breakfast and since we still had our lunch we had that for dinner and went
to a nearby hotel (as per Mr behra’s recommendation). The dinner was bad (the
vegetables half-cooked and the chicken red with artificial color) but we were
eager to go and rest. The hotel was pretty cheap (Rs 700 for a room of 6 and we
were 5 of us) but awesomely clean and well-maintained. It was amazing to have got
such a striking room for such a decent price and at such a place and like I
always maintain, India will never cease to surprise you. After all, we are in
the most interesting country on earth. We paid our forest guard Rs 300 (Rs 50
more than what he had asked for considering his hospitality, affection,
friendliness and eagerness to take us around). How I wish our forests get more
such Mr Behras and Mr Mallciks. I know they are not reluctant to work and
safeguard our heritage. On the contrary they have a greater sense of duty than
most of us but then looking at their salaries and the living conditions and
with no voice to fight for their cause whatsoever theirs is a lost cause which
needs an immediate representation for they are the frontrunners in our means to
protect our forest and all our animals within their confines.
 |
| prashant and his acrobatics |
I could see the lack of
training they have and despite all odds the eagerness to serve the forests
which is more out of love than greed of money, which nevertheless they are not
paid much of. Despite the hectic train journey, lack of sleep or rest and the
entire day’s going around we were not tired. We were worried of mosquitoes but
they thankfully never came and after some adda and chit chat amongst ourselves
for how the day went and what the next day had in store for us we retired to
sleep.
