turn in the path was carefully navigated, and everyone was given
clear instructions as to what had to be done in the event of an attack. Elephants as a rule avoid confrontation with humans, unless
encountered by surprise. And we were quite certain we didn’t want
to surprise any creature that day.
A simple trek amidst this heaven brought us to our destination,
along the banks of the stream that forms the Bandaje Arabi waterfall. The isolation of the area was apparent as we found no signs of
human presence whatsoever. We also found elephant dung in abundance. Additionally, there were signs of a panther, and we clearly
found a spot where a bear had dug up the ground in its unending
search for food. This was the definition of wild. An enjoyable bath
in the stream was followed by a delicious meal of rice and sambar.
I vividly remember the group gorging on the food like they hadn’t
eaten for a week. We were treated to alternating sessions of rain
and fog, while we engaged in card games, photography and more
story sessions.
I feel that that night was one of the most unforgettable for the
group. Persistent requests for a bit of thrill from certain quarters led
me to taking the guys out on a night walk. We started at 10:00 P.M.
and the instructions were clear - nobody switched on a torch unless
compelled to, and nobody made a sound. Any message that had to
be passed on would be through actions. It was obvious that doing
something of this sort would give us enough of a kick. Other than
our group, there wasn’t any human presence for at least 20kms in all
directions. That was how isolated the place was.
I slowly made my way forward at the head of the group, intently
listening for any signs of animals. There were many false alarms,
with people confusing inoffensive rocks with moving bears, and
fireflies with malevolent eyes. The fog only added to the macabre
scene. The moment we lost sight of the campsite, we were plunged
into inky darkness. Silence reigned supreme, and the smallest rustle of the scurrying bamboo mice registered on our hearing and
wreaked havoc with our already strained nerves. We reached the top
of a hill and looked around. There wasn’t a light in sight. People
conjured up images of all sorts of creatures. I wouldn’t blame them:
we were after all in the heart of the Western Ghats, in a forest where
we had found signs of every animal except tigers. There were elephants, bears, panthers, wild bison, a multitude of varieties of deer,
along with a prolific amount of bush life. For all we knew, these
creatures were miles away from, or within metres of us. The fog
coupled with the intense intertwining bushes and trees could even
have hidden a whole herd of elephants from view. Slowly, everyone
started suggesting it was time we returned. As we made our way
back, we heard a sound to our left. There was a footfall of something formidable, followed by the faintest breaking of twigs. We all
strained our eyes, but not a ray of light permeated the phalanx of
trees in the ravine. All was deathly still, and the tension in the air was
palpable. Even the light breeze seemed to stop, as if turned off by
a magical switch. I went ahead alone, trying to draw some reaction
from whatever creature it was that was stalking us. Not a leaf stirred.
I had no choice but to do something more drastic. Filling my lungs
to their capacity, I let out a loud scream, imitating the call of a ‘barking deer’. The silence was suddenly shattered as the hills echoed the
sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some members of
the group jump, flinch and gasp- startled by the sudden scream. But
amidst the loud noise, I also managed to catch the sound of something, some animal, moving away. I hurried the group away as soon
as possible. After walking about aimlessly for a while, we realized we
were probably lost. Groups were sent out in either direction, to find
any sign of a route. Not much came out of this exercise, though, as
we just seemed to be walking in circles. I was witness to many exasperated and indignant glares. Traces of panic crept into the voices
of a few who tried hard to find a path in the torch light, but to no
avail. Everyone was of a different opinion. Some suggested we go
left, some suggested we go right, some thought we must stay there
and scream for help. To cut a long story short, it was well after 12:00
at night that we returned back to the campsite. The sigh of relief
that everyone gave out was clearly discernible. Everyone returned to
their tents and slept, for fear of indulging in any more adventures.
The next day I was subjected to an avalanche of questions. How
did we manage to get lost? Where were we moving around? I didn’t
know what had happened. Or did I? A cheeky smile was all I gave
in return.
Narasimha Parvata | February 2014
The trek started from Kigga, about half-an-hour’s journey from
Sringeri. With the afternoon sun beating down mercilessly, we toiled
up the average gradient making good time. Early evening found
us on top, where we were promised a mind blowing view by the
people who had already been there. Nature had conspired against
us though, as no sooner had we reached, than a heavy blanket of
clouds descended upon us.
Setting up camp, we embarked on an evening stroll, enthralled
by the chorus of various birds. Jungle fowl screamed to each other
from the ravines, and multitudes of bulbuls, sparrows and flowerpeckers flitted around voicing their joyous notes. In the distance,
a malabar whistling thrush, a &