Sometimes in your life, there are a few moments that you want to relive every now and then. There is one such thing still fresh in mind. It was during monsoon 2008. It was when I fell in love, again.
This narration is as much an attempt to revisit that period of my life, between the 19th and the 28th of June 2008, as to take you through it.
I have tried to give you the best seat in the house, with a window into my thoughts and memories, but honestly, nothing is as good as being there. Some experiences are much above than what your endless imagination can create.
Being on a misty mountain with evergreen forest cover, during the monsoon, evokes a lot of emotions. Romantic, serene, you just want to soak in the beautiful atmosphere; you close your eyes and welcome the light drizzle with your arms wide open. Someplace where you can keep your routine life aside and spend hours delighted amidst the amazing world around you. A great feeling isn’t it?
I was in one such place, experiencing all this. Don’t envy me just yet; what I was going through was above all the bliss. I was actually numb to these things. The mountain, rain and forests were still there but it was rather creepy, wet, and it was around half past 2 in the morning.
I was following this 5 foot something dare devil with a high IQ and an affinity for short women of far eastern origin with tiny eyes and feet, Pradyumna, Prad as we called him, on an invisible forest path. We were trying to find a way out of and onwards from a swampy clearing, which was roughly circular and the size of a football field, during our trek up the Kodachadri hills. The rest of the 11 member gang waited for us at the clearing pulling out leeches, enjoying the night in the wild.
We were drenched to the bones and the frequent gusts of wind sent shivers down the spine. People say there is safety in numbers, we don’t even think about this is when there are many of us, but now it was only 2 of us, and we wished we had asked a few of the others to come along. It was very evident that it was not any Rock-Star, Wrestler or War Hero but each other’s company that prodded us into the unknown. What it did to our facial expressions made others think that we are expedition professionals. We took the undeserving pride that came along though.
In this part of the world, looking ahead was scary enough that we did not want to look behind at all. I prefer being attacked by a leopard, from behind, and rendering instant salvation, to putting up a vain fight and watch the leopard feast on you as your life flashes by. I didn’t know what was going through Prad’s mind. As we followed the sound of water hoping there would be an exit nearby, I thought about how I ended up here.
I cannot start without paying a tribute to one of our friends. I am tempted to mention his name but considering this article is unclassified and the people who matter would already know about this, I’d rather not. We’ll call him Jiggy for now. Jiggy, Prad, and Vatsa, another fellow trekker, tried this night trek a few months back. Unlike a strong 11 member gang now, it was only 3 then and only 2 of them, Prad and Vatsa, had trekking experience. When they started, Jiggy kind of seemed to like it, until the forest became thicker, the path vanished and the only way ahead was by going through a natural tunnel of sorts, through the thicket with enough clearing for one adult.
That was when Prad, leading the gang, thought of something and stopped in his tracks prompting the others to do the same; he pointed the torch light at the bushes and said in a low voice that he saw something move. Vatsa saw though the prank but our pal Jiggy stared at the bushes with eyes opened wider than ever. His mental computer crashed and he made it clear that, being the only son to his parents, still single, never mind the lousy job, he would take another step only if it was to get back to civilization. Well, he won. Dragging a smooth spherical rock uphill is tougher compared to rolling down with it. When Vatsa narrated this to me, I could not stop laughing all through our hour long phone conversation and I still can control myself every time this comes up. That is when Prad and Vatsa decided to attempt this trek again, but only this time, Jiggy would be safe in the cozy environs of his home.
Vatsa and I discussed the plan at length. Any idea of traveling ensures that till D day, all our conversations are only about the trip. We plan routes, places to visit etc and Vatsa asks questions that I like to answer. If we have nothing else, the same conversations happen again and again just because we can’t wait to hit the road.
Numerous discussions, invites (another thing I take pride in doing) and plans later, the arrangements (pretty basic ones) were made and the D day arrived. Kaka (Namdev Kakade), Galij (Bharath Medehal) and I were jobless, so no worries about leaves and deadlines… for the rest though, every second at work passed by painfully. The earth had just stopped moving, finally at around 4 p.m. most of them raced out of their office buildings and towards their houses. Packed the bags and started towards the Bangalore Interstate bus stand. In the meanwhile I was busy getting a haircut, driving my dad to work, packing things and I didn’t realize that I was running late. When I did realize, I made sure that everyone present in the house, my folks, my aunt’s family, got involved.
I had promised to meet Vatsa at the pedestrian over bridge that runs across the vast, well planned bus station at 7 p.m. so I can start documenting the trip from there. He made sure he left early in order to make it there on time, but by the time I left, it was 6:30 and I dreaded an unpleasant meeting with the punctual one. Once on my way to the bus stop Vatsa called to make sure I was on time and his findings were not very surprising. It is not that I am always late, but Vatsa’s schedules are real strict and non negotiable, and our lives at home are very different. Never mind that. All through my journey to the bus station, I imagined what would probably happen when I met that hand grenade, charged with 30 minutes of agonizing wait, and whose safety pin would be off as soon as it caught sight of me trying to pretend I ran all the way and tried my best to be there as soon as possible. Well it did blow up, but I had enough time and experience to make myself blast proof.
Lights, Camera, Action. Quite naturally as it comes to me, I started shooting on his handy cam and a few funny moments helped calm him down a bit. We reached the platform designated for our bus in the interstate bus stop. I have a strange liking for places like bus stops, railway stations, airports etc. People with different cultures, from different places, different appearances. A happy group of college students going on a trip. Women and children of a family huddled around their luggage while the men take care of arranging snacks, checking if the tickets are in order, some hatching plans to beat peers from other families to the available seats in the bus. Conductors, drivers calling out names of their destinations, navigating their buses through the crowd of people and buses alike. Considering my love for traveling, I make it a point to pack my bags and head out at the slightest opportunity. When I can’t, I read maps, train and bus schedules, watch geographic channels and let them and my imagination take me places I haven’t been to before. Bus stops and other ports and stations have a similar effect. The public transport vehicles, the destination boards and timetables give me a high. Also in a diverse country like India, it is these places where all diversity comes together, it looks like one big family working towards one thing, getting a bus, not many are bothered about who your ancestors are, where you are from, what you do etc. It is like a society with very few differences, except few situations like the crew and passengers of premium service buses, accepting admiration and envy from the less fortunate ones standing around J.
We were in no way premium travelers. Not because the fares were obviously premium, but we always take pride in planning low cost trips, just as comfortable as essential, not more, not less. Besides it is a great feeling traveling in ordinary coaches with an open mind, it is something that cannot be described but has to be experienced. We do not recommended such things for soft dudes like Jiggy.
Ok before I carry on with our trip, let me introduce you to the rest of the gang. Anil, Girish, Dennis, Manju and Santosh were friends and had been on a few treks together with Vatsa. Mahesh and Namdev, ex-colleagues and good buddies. Namdev was my mentor when I started working and still continues to hold that respectable post. Prad, Vatsa’s cousin and another avid trekker. Bharath, My buddy and shares my passion for photography and finally Vatsa, I can tell you a lot about him but let’s just say we are long time buddies, shared a lot of childhood, sort of grew up together in our formative years and now, share the passion for traveling. He hits the road more often and gives me some map reading work to do. I envy his trip count, and he envies the variety and uniqueness of my journeys. Also drives me mad sometimes.
We reached the platform to find Mahesh and Namdev along with Prad. Though they had never met Prad before, their faces reflected similar thoughts running through their minds and eventually they introduced themselves. As we met the reason for our delay was very clear, that tall guy following Vatsa with a handy cam. Soon the rest arrived and a quick intro session followed as the bus backed up into the platform.
Well… the moment of truth had arrived, as the TATA powered Karnataka Sarige bus pulled out of the bus stop, we left our lives at Bangalore behind and felt like half our age. Yes, it was a new life for a few days now. More so for Namdev, he was the eldest of the lot but had never before experienced anything close to what was about to happen during the 5 days of his life that followed. In some situations, I felt like his uncle. His trips were restricted to well known places, accessible by private vehicles, and would not even consider a bus or train. That was until he got to know Mahesh and a little bit of this changed. When I spoke to him first about this trip, it was to inform Mahesh about the trip, as he is one of those very few members of a species that does not want to own a mobile phone. The conversation was brief. I asked Namdev to inform Mahesh and ask him to get in touch with me. As I was about to hang up, this guy Namdev, now counting his bachelor days, listened to his heart that was now beating harder and said “if I can ask, what exactly are your plans?”
It doesn’t take more than that for me to rattle out details. Not even that much sometimes. Anyway, I told him everything we had planned and also on basis of conclusions drawn from previous experiences, I said it would have been good if he had joined, but I was not expecting what I heard. He said “Is there place for another person?”
What? Who? This guy? Did I hear it right?
He said “yes, now that I am going to get married, and because I have enough time on hand, and also what you said seems exciting, I want to risk it”. The odds of winning a big lottery are more than getting this from someone like him.
I didn’t know what I felt. Happy, shocked, zapped? It was a mixture of all that. Namdev’s adventures were not of our kind. Though we were much above our preferred pride strength, I just couldn’t leave this guy behind. More than the fact that this would probably be his last opportunity, I didn’t want to wait before he changed his mind. It was more like an opportunity for me. Don’t know why? When somebody is more excited than you are about something you are doing, it is a great feeling. And none of us had any idea that the word exciting was too weak a word to describe what we went through, most of it because of Namdev.
We left the city lights and cruised along the highway towards our first destination Udupi, a very famous temple town on the Konkan coast. We spent a lot of our time talking about almost everything, even made a courtesy call to Jiggy. Had dinner, mostly Idly, Vada and Rice at a roadside hotel. We drove under the bright moon through some amazing country side.
For those of you who think that the country side looks beautiful during the day, point taken, but the landscapes, woods, tiny villages, look great even during the night. It is a different feeling altogether. The world is still, farmers sleeping in their cozy houses, most animals are resting too and Mother Nature seems to be taking care of her children, wrapping them in a soft blanket and the moon is a lovely night lamp.
In my opinion, the night gives a sense of uniformity to the world. There are no colors, only varying shades of grey which creates a sense of balance and peace. Though night and day are so close to each other, I wonder why the peace and unity has not rubbed off on the day when the world sinks deep in corruption, hatred and ignorant people making big issues out of trivial things like caste, creed and geography. Argh! Forget it.
By around midnight, our bus pulled into the Hassan bus stand, but instead of the terminal, he drove into the depot. While we dreaded a snag and an eventual delay, Namdev decided to season his lungs that were now very deprived of the city’s pollution. It was dark outside. As Namdev lit a king between his lips, the driver jumped at us and asked him to put it out. We soon realized that he saved the road transport corporation some expensive fireworks display. It so happened that the bus was driven into the depot for refueling and while the crew were at that, Namdev chose to strike a match. Some kind of stunt we’d prefer carried out under controlled circumstances, edited and shown on the big screen. We clambered on board relieved. That was another tobacco roll well wasted.
The bus headed out of Hassan ready to take on the heavenly mountain range fondly called the Western Ghats. This mountain range, stretching hundreds of kilometers from Maharashtra to Kerala along their coastline and that of Goa and Karnataka in between, is like a fort on the western side of the Great Indian Peninsula. A biodiversity hot spot full of evergreen forests, exotic flora and fauna is home to some unique species and is also well known for many things, for example, it is the home of the famous King Cobra, The Malabar Gliding Frog, some beautiful birds, dracos etc. It has many of India’s most beautiful hill stations, trek trials, free fresh and natural spring water, rapids, waterfalls and natural harbors. Home to some of India’s largest producers of coffee, tea, vanilla and spices, it also has many old temples and other important places of pilgrimage nestled in its thick forests. For anyone worth his car, it is an amazing place for a great drive (but please spare a thought for momma nature, car pool and use mass transit whenever possible). Also the fact that it is so close to the west coast along the Arabian Sea makes it even more mesmerizing. In short it is a rich intoxicating brew of flora, fauna, history, romance, adventure, nature and everything great.
As we approached the mountains, the four-lane, smooth highway narrowed down to a two lane mountain road with numerous hair pin bends. There are only two ways about driving here, either you really enjoy it, or you really don’t. It does take a toll on the driver, whose senses work harder than ever to help him concentrate and drive. Especially in the night, and rains and fog only make matters worse. One small mistake could be fatal. Yeah it is that tough. Another reason is the woods are so mysterious, hill sides offering great views of moon lit mountain ranges, lights from little far-flung towns, scattered in the valley below. Lucky for us that the driver has had many trips to do on this route coz if you are driving for the first time, you’ll curse your luck for not being able to stop and soak in the view, more so during the day. We were lucky we didn’t have to drive. I once cursed my luck when I drove 1200 kms mostly through the Western Ghats, with constantly changing weather, landscape etc., with great views and amazing waterfalls thrown at you every now and then. We had a tight schedule and a lot to cover and I was the best bet among the two drivers, out of four travelers, hence I now remember the tarmac more than any of the scenery I drove by. But I vowed to return again, with more time and possibly a bike.
In the meanwhile our bus, with a mediocre not so powerful mill snaked through the woods quite easily. Thanks to the driver’s expertise. We passed Alur, Sakaleshpur (another famous trekking spot) amidst thick coffee and flat bed tea plantation and finally stopped for tea at a place on top of the hills, Donigal. It is to or from here that most people attempt the famous Sakaleshpur railway line trek. A dim lit restaurant was the most happening place in that region. Regional songs were blaring from the coarse loud speakers. Counter boys rapidly catered to the customers consisting mostly of the bus passengers, drivers and crew of numerous trucks and buses that pass by and occasionally people driving in private vehicles. Cups of hot beverages, plates of food and money crossed the counter in frenzy contrary to the calm atmosphere outside. The moon, playing hide and seek amongst the clouds, rain drops floated through the air carried by the cold breeze. We couldn’t stop admiring the atmosphere while we sipped hot tea, in the wild as the rain drops caressed our faces. If somebody said that I didn’t have to go back, I’d spend a few lifetimes here before I would have had enough. Sigh!
We were off again, a few sleepy heads had woken up and the road was still the same twisted one through the woods but this time it was mostly downhill towards the coastal city of Mangalore. Just a few minutes into the drive, a medium right turn threw up some of the most frequent and dreaded things on this stretch of road, traffic jam a couple of kilometers long. Some things never leave us. This road connecting Sakaleshpur to Mangalore is called the Shiradi Ghat Road. Incessant rains and heavy vehicular traffic mostly comprising of heavy trucks and buses that ply on this stretch every day do a lot of damage to the road. Even minor accidents can lead to very long delays, up to almost ten hours sometimes. When the road is closed for repairs or in case of big accidents and a detour means adding up to a hundred kilometers to your trip plan.
We did not know the reason for the jam. The human and vehicular population there was bigger than that of most of the villages and small towns in the mountains. Everybody had a different story to tell. We decided to walk the length of it and asked the bus conductor to pick us up on the way in case we didn’t return before it cleared. With that arrangement made, we didn’t intend to return.
As we walked past the long line of mostly heavy vehicles, the sleeping drivers only meant that they had been here long enough to catch a nap. We walked on the edge of the road with vehicles on one side and the secretive woods on the other beyond which we heard a sound from what seemed like a fast flowing stream nearby. As I had never traveled on this stretch during the day, it was only a year later that I realized the source of the sound sound was a river flowing a few hundred feet below in the valley, on one side of which we were traveling all this while. The highway snakes next to the river for most of its way downhill towards Mangalore. The treacherous terrain and incessant rains cause landslides which at times cover up or eat away parts of the road. There are no barricades to hold you back if ever your car, bus or truck decides to take a dip. Once you have been on this stretch during the day, it is hard to believe it looked so safe in the night.
The moon came out again throwing some light. But I wasn’t enough to see beyond a few meters into the forest. There are a lot of things that sound of water can do to you, and a lot more when you can’t see the source. We looked in the direction of that sound with our eyes wide open. Our imaginations were running wild as they had been all night, and we tried to figure out what the source of that sound could be, waterfall, rapids or a deep ravine a few feet away from us? But what we stared at was just a dark clearing in the woods and we had no chance of finding out what lied beyond. We walked to the beginning of the jam to a nearby forest department check post where we waited for the bus. We had a tough time recognizing it against dazzling headlights of the vehicles but luckily our friends who remained on board helped the driver locate us.
After a while we left the Shiradi Ghat and made a detour towards Dharmasthala, another very famous temple which is about three hours from Mangalore by road. From then after calling at other well known places of pilgrimage like Moodabidri and Karkala and past the tiny little incongruous town of Manipal, known for its colleges, universities and a great night life (surprising), we reached the Udupi Railway Station which is on one of the most scenic and advanced rail road in India, The Konkan Railway.
We finished our early morning ablutions at the railway station. Sharing a huge square shaped wash basin on the platform to brush our teeth and wash our face. Another thing we don’t get to do very often. The cold morning, colder water, the slow but steady flow of travelers on to the platform, couple of friends taking pictures from across the tracks, and the rest brushing together cracking a few jokes, it was an amazing setting for a great bathroom. We were doing all this like it was our home. Yeah we do make homes out of such places wherever possible. For us it is only when we travel but a lot of people across India quite literally live out of bus and railway stations for long periods of time.
There was an announcement on the public address system informing that the train would arrive in a few minutes. The announcement, though not anything like those influential speeches made by Adolf Hitler or Martin Luther King, had its own effect on every human being in the station. The station crew got busy preparing for the arrival and subsequent departure of the train. For the travelers, it was like a virtual switch that set things off and they scampered from tea stalls, wash basins and parking lots to the benches at the back of the platform and then carried all their luggage, kids, etc. and moved to the front like one large wave. There were also a few who waited to receive someone arriving on that train. The transformation of the platform from a silent, sleepy little place to the one that is teeming with life amidst chaos, shouts, laughter, farewells (and hell! where were all these people a few minutes ago?) is remarkable. It is similar when the train leaves; the atmosphere recovers from the few moments of frenzy and becomes peaceful again. This cycle repeats every time a train arrives and departs from the station.
Our train was the Mangalore Verna KR2 Passenger and we would travel with it through some amazing countryside, by the coast and the Western Ghats, till our destination, Shiroor. The train ride in itself was great, beautiful landscapes, people working in the fields, herds of cows, flocks of sheep dotted the green landscape. We chugged across mountains over rivers past many towns and villages, with school kids waving at us as they waited for the train to pass before they could cross the tracks. We spent time admiring the scenery and clicking photos. Mahesh also got slapped hard by some trackside plants as he leaned out of the door to pose for my camera as we sped towards Shiroor.
Initially, our intended destination was Bain dur, about 10 kilometers before Shiroor but we decided to skip a stop because we wanted to ride the train through the Baindur tunnel. Don’t smirk, I told you we had grown backwards a few years as we embarked on this trip. But believe me, it was great fun going through the tunnel. Most of us took the available space near the doors of the coaches and a few even screamed their lungs out as we went through the dark tunnel. I must say, if you are on a romantic trip, it is a nice opportunity to sneak a kiss on your love. Especially during the day because during the night the lights would be on and will leave you frustrated if you have any such plans.
We reached Shiroor by around 10:30 in the morning and went straight to the bus stop to catch a bus to the place called Ottinane (sunset point in Konkani, the local language of those parts). We went to the only building near the road that housed a petty shop and a house and asked for directions to that place. The lady at the shop first seemed confused and after sometime said she didn’t know where it was. Then as we were trying to figure out how to get there, she asked us if it was the ‘sunset point’ we were talking of, which was a few kilometers from there and we could catch a bus right across the road. Bingo, we had the info we wanted but still wondered why we she did not tell us the first time, only to realize that a spelling mistake on the map made us ask her directions to Onti-Mane (‘lonely house’ in Kannada, another local language) which she was not aware of. Thank god she realized it was a genuine mistake on our part, coz it would be pretty embarrassing and sometimes offensive if a gang of men in the middle of nowhere, asked women about lonely houses. Thank you, Bollywood.
We then took a bus, passing over the Baindur railway tunnel, reached a point on top of a hill from where we hike for a couple of kilometers along a narrow road off the highway to reach this little piece of heaven called Ottinane.
Kissing the shores of the Arabian Sea, Ottinane is a located on the cliff which drops down in to the sea on the western side and slopes towards an amazing beach towards the south-southwestern side. From on top of the cliff in the west end before it drops down, there is a great view of the western horizon where the sun can be seen sinking into the vast expanse of water. At around 4 p.m. on a sunny day, the sunlight bounces off the sea surface and hits you on the face making the sea look like an astronomical mirror spread across the earth. On the southern side, a creek from the east flows towards the sea and just a couple of hundred meters from it, turns north and flows parallel to the sea shore sandwiching one of the most spectacular beaches. After flowing north towards us for a few hundred meters, turns west again to cut across the beach and join the sea. The view of this creek, the split beach and the sea is just out of this world and it was the pictures I found of this amazing scenery that made me add Ottinane to our Itinerary. After feasting our eyes with the view we decided to hit the surf. We locked up our luggage in one of the few forest department cottages available there and walked down through the light woods to the beach on our side of the shore.
I tell this every time, and I repeat, again, that beaches are not only good in the summer, they are also a great place to be during the rains, a little dangerous though. At first all of us, jumped into the water frolicking among the waves, went into the sea and rode the waves back to shore and played in the water like the rest of the world didn’t exist. When we found our bearings, water sport was more organized, water rugby with a tennis ball, walking to the rocky shores next to the cliff face where the waves crashing against the rocks nearest to the sea, looked and felt amazing as we sat on the other rocks that were not in the line of fire but close enough to get a few showers. Then there was a photo session for our very own swimsuit calendar. Not the one FTV would fancy he he.
We were in the water for a couple of hours when our hungry stomachs started revolting. Exhausted and hungry, we painfully dragged ourselves uphill to Ottinane where we asked the sole caretaker to arrange for some lunch, soft drinks and tea for us while we washed the sands off our bodies and got ready for the main part of the trip, the reason why we were here, together, the night trek up the Kodachadri.
After a decent lunch we packed our bags, backed our packs, and headed off back to the bus stop on the highway. It had started raining by then and our fresh dry clothes soaked as much rain as possible in no time. The narrow road which we had taken to get here now resembled a swift stream with almost knee deep water at some places and our shoes filled with water as we waded across. The vast clearing, almost the size of two football fields, next to the road had turned into a lake. During the course of our daily life in the city, a situation like this, fresh clothes you put on just minutes ago, getting drenched in the rain, shoes filled with water and coated with mud, would make any of us so furious with rage that a little more of that anger would begin to dry our clothes. But over here we didn’t mind getting drenched to the bones, nope, we were here to live like animals, and we would do everything we could to get as close to that as possible. In short, we were enjoying it.
We reached the bus stop by around 6 p.m. From there took a bus to Baindur and reached there by 6.20. From Baindur, the plan was to take another bus to Kollur, a very famous temple town known for the temple dedicated to the powerful goddess Mookambika, just about an hour’s drive from here, Visiting the temple and then hiring a jeep to take us to the starting point of our trek.
At Baindur, we munched on bajji pakodas while we waited for the bus. Some of us even shopped for plastic covers and hats to waterproof their back packs and heads. In the meanwhile we realized Vatsa and Prad were missing. We looked around for a while but the hot bajji’s in cold weather were hard to resist. After a while the duo arrived looking more relieved than excited like the rest of us. Vatsa had forgotten his shoe bag in the bus and had gone off with Prad to look for it. A vain effort in most cases if not for the drivers of other buses in the bus stop. They called up the driver of our bus, who had apparently driven off to his house after calling it a day and told him about the missing bag. Which to Vatsa’s good fortune was still there where he had left it and the helpful driver rode back all the way to the bus stop to return it. An unusual act of courtesy that we don’t get to experience in the big cities. What is more moving is that they don’t consider it out of the way to so such things. Humility at its best.
In a few minutes, we were heading towards Kollur on a private bus. It was about 7 in the evening and we drove through the narrow roads in fast fading light, and the mighty Kodachadri range seemed to tower over us menacingly as if it was challenging us to attempt the night trek up through its densely wooded jungle. As this thought crossed our minds, a few beats in our hearts were harder than the others.
Free food served as prasadam in temples like the one at Kollur are actually blessings not-in-disguise. In spite of the staple diet consisting of hot rice and curry, Butter milk and sometimes a sweet dish, we make it a point not miss the food on our visit to temples in this part of Karnataka. It is something that everyone who has visited any of these temples mentions at least once every time they talk about the visit. This simple spread is a result of age old recipes which include a rich and measured mixture of spices that result in a taste that is indigenous, one of a kind and cannot be replicated. Also amazing is the fact that people from different walks of life, rich or poor, educated or illiterate, sit together in the same hall and relish the same food (except a few places where there is discrimination based on caste, but it can be discounted, as the others don’t lose a lot). There is also a feeling of satisfaction which is an important element of every great dinner.
Apart from being much sought after, the food also became an important topic of our discussion. As per our constantly revised schedule, we would reach Kollur by around 8 p.m. This meant we would have very little time before the temple and its kitchen closed for the day. Vatsa and a few guys wanted to have food first and then visit the temple to pay their respects and pray to the almighty goddess. The others though, like Mahesh and Namdev, were in favor of praying first and feeding later. Bharath and I were neither very devout nor very hungry, so we made up the third part of the group that would accept anything as far as we could visit the temple and dine as well and didn’t care about the order in which it would happen. There had to be one decision and it was tentatively decided that we would decide what to do once we were in the temple. We hired a room for a few hours just to lock our luggage up while we were at the temple. Fortunately most pilgrims had left and there wasn’t much of a crowd. We had a quick prayer and also made it just in time for dinner. Great.
We hired a Mahindra Jeep which took us through the dark and eerie winding ghat roads to a place they call cargate. Don’t know what that means but for us it was decision point, the starting place of our trek. From here it would be a few hours into the forest with no access to any of the worldly necessities. No drugstore, no cell phone network coverage, no roads after some time, Just the dark woods and the mountain ranges and their own world of wild and mysterious flora and fauna.
We clambered off the clangy, old but able vehicle and soon found ourselves alone facing a path that led into the jungle, in a night so dark that the visibility was restricted to a few meters except at times when the moon showed up to check on us. Lucky we had brought a few torches, five of them which meant the torch bearers would take alternate places in the line every time we fell in one whenever the path in the forest, or an excuse for that, narrowed down to accommodate just one person. It was like that most of the way up hill.
For a few of us who had dozed off to the lazy drone of the jeeps diesel engine, the sights and sounds of the jungle made sure that all our senses were up and running beyond their capacity in no time. Unaware of what lay ahead, we thought it would be best to empty our bladders in the safety of the ghat road before starting our trek. Ironical, coz back home in Bangalore we would avoid lonely but well lit city roads at this hour and here we were between the devil and deep sea seeking comfort and safety from an unlit road through the forest. One thing is that we trust strange and wild animals more than strange humans.
Cameras, torches, Knives, bottles of water, in two of which we mixed Orange flavored glucose powder called Tang, Tobacco to get rid of leeches, were pulled out of the bag. Courage woken up and a few opinions and quotes made before we set off on the trek. Initially, after getting accustomed to the surroundings while we prepared for the trek, it was like all of us were taking a stroll in a park. We were spread out looking up in awe of the place around us, listening to the sounds, soaking in the jungle’s fresh atmosphere, and sharing a lighter moment once in a while when suddenly we heard a low deep throated growl. In a moment all this changed and we huddled together into a small circle facing outwards, trying to locate the source of the sound. Some of us thought it was a prank but it didn’t take long to realize that it wasn’t.
Wide open eyes and the light from the torches did very little to help us see what was in the woods around us. We stood still for some time in the compact huddle. Another ironical moment, we complain so much about the population in the cities, crowded buses, marketplaces etc and here we were feeling more comfortable as the huddle became tighter. Huh. It was as exciting as it was scary.
We waited for sometime before the growling stopped and we decided it was safe to move on. Safety was only relative. We trekked along the path enjoying every bit of it, picking up the many sounds and not so many sights of the jungle like it were pieces of gold scattered on the road. Our first stop over was at a house with a few benches arranged in the portico to make a small restaurant. We decided not to disturb the owner tucked away into his bed inside the house and silently made ourselves comfortable on the benches. We were happy to get the bags off our backs and lie down on the hard wood benches. All of us also pulled out many leeches that made bed and breakfast of our legs and blood. The bare calf muscles apart, we found a few of them under our feet inside the socks. It is ok if they bite but definitely not ok if they crawl around. Sometimes during the trek, if we stopped in our tracks I’d still continue marching on the spot to prevent more leeches from getting on. We were on the move again leaving behind a shack dirty with blood and mud and we knew that the owner would not have a pleasant morning. Sorry Uncle.
We were hiking on almost level ground so far and going forward it was a narrow path uphill, just wide enough for one person to get through. Climbing uphill in the night with heavy backpacks was one hell of a task but what made it more challenging, were other hurdles like uprooted trees, roots with smooth slippery surfaces bulging out of the ground, dense bushes, slippery mud, rocks, etc. that we came across very often. The only way past those was by going over them. Some of us fell trying to climb over the rocks. Getting past a few rocks was almost like stepping up about 3 feet at once. The best part though was getting past two trees which had fallen next to each other bang across our path. We had to climb over one tree and then pull ourselves over another and jump off on the other side. All this because the space beneath the trees was not enough for any of us to get through.
The moon came out occasionally and silhouettes of trees appeared in the sky out of nowhere and after a few moments they vanished again. We went up hill till we came across a swampy clearing in the forest that was roughly the size of a football field, yes the same one I mentioned at the beginning of this article. We first thought it was a great place to rest but soon realized that it was slushy from incessant rains and we could stand firmly without skidding only on a few patches of land which were a few inches higher than the surrounding area.
As we entered that place we switched on all our torches and suddenly out of nowhere we heard a million crickets creak up in symphony. The noise was so loud that we could barely hear each other. I even recorded that sound on my mobile phone. It so happened that as we entered this clearing we had only one dim lit torch. But as we were well inside the clearing we switched on all available torches to get a better view of the surrounding and that inadvertently set off the cricket orchestra which was drilling into our minds now. We didn’t mind it. I’m sure you too wouldn’t if it was your first such experience. We were amazed at how a few lights can trigger off a million insects and turn a peaceful forest into a noisy opera theatre.
As we reached the middle of the swamp discussing different theories of noise and insects we suddenly realized we were lost. Looking around we could only see silhouettes of trees like a wall enclosing the swamp and couldn’t figure where we came in from and the way out. That’s when Prad and I set off to walk the entire perimeter and see if we could find the way out and that’s how I ended up here, we took a narrow path leading out of the clearing, trekked for a few minutes and followed the sound of water on a darker and more dangerous path than what we had been on so far.
I consider that I am blessed with great day dreaming abilities, which is as good as it is bad, but it does make sure that my imagination is working overtime. As I followed Prad my mind was subconsciously creating a scene which seemed straight out of a bollywood film. I won’t bore you with the details but it was something like one of us getting lost and the other naming his kid after the lost one.
I did not even feel it was safe to touch wood then. Who knows what would be lurking there. Even a few inches would make a difference between life and death. Apart from that the leech bites were hurting but this was no place to stop and pull out leeches. We were sure that if we stopped we would have more leeches getting on than the ones we’d throw off.
When we were sure of the path we had to take, we went back to collect the gang. There was indeed safety in numbers. The only person to feel a little less safe would probably be the one bringing up the rear. We went uphill for some time when the woods cleared off again and we were trekking along a zig-zag path on the face of a hill. At this time the sky was surprisingly clear, the moon shining bright and the view of the valley was just amazing.
To give you an idea of this place, as we approach it, the jungle path is narrow with the woods on one side of the hill rising up steeply and on the other side also there were trees but what we could not see hidden in the dense woods is that it was a steep drop down hill. Apparently it was like that at quite a few places during our entire climb and we realized that only when we were descending the next day. A wrong foot would have sent us tumbling down into abyss with little chances of making out of it alive. The fall would have been fatal at a few places or would surely have broken your bones, or you could be hanging down a tree and in both cases unable to move. We were hours away from the nearest place where we could find help even if it was in the form of an area with cell phone network coverage. There were chances that a wild animal would take you for door delivered dinner, or you could even have picked up a few fatal snake bites as you rolled down. Huh let’s get back to the happier part.
Ok, as we come to the zig-zag path across a hill face that due to certain geological reasons, location etc had very few trees, the hill is on onto our left and on to the right the hill slopes down into the valley, of which we have a great unobstructed view, the sides keep changing as we climb up the ziz-zag path. Picture this; The valley is in between the mountain range roughly the shape of a horse shoe and we are in the centre of the curved part and can see both the arms of mountains on either side of us. In the front the valley opens up and all we can see there is empty dark space. There is a drizzle carried by the wind as the clouds were not directly above us and the sky over the valley is mostly clear with the moon shining. The hills and the valley were awash with the soft milky white light of the moon and the gray silhouettes of the hills could be seen against the dark sky dotted with a million stars. Down in the valley a few lights were all that we could see from a human settlement.
We gazed at this amazing view like it was a multi cuisine buffet laid out in front of our hungry mal-nourished eyes. We could go on gazing at this view for any length of time and still feel that we haven’t had enough. As we looked on Vatsa spoilt the great feeling by shouting for us to move on. That’s the problem when you have the engine behind the train. We were pretty pissed off though, I mean these are sights that you may never get to see again, may be never coz for all the things, like the position of the moon, the light rain, the clear sky and also no fog obstructing the view of the valley, to come together in the same way is almost impossible. More importantly, when would it be before we attempted another night trek, to the same place, again?
After a few warmed up arguments, we moved on. By now we were very tired and without water. The tang solution was almost empty even before we started climbing uphill. The low oxygen levels added to the exhaustion. All this and the agonizing leech wounds almost brought a few of us down to tears. Most of us would have dropped our bags and passed out at the first opportunity but that was not an option we had. Less than an hour from there we finally made it to the top by around 3 a.m. We relieved the burdened parts of our body one by one starting with the back, shoulders, lungs, bladder etc. It was very cold but we were still hot and sweaty and found comfort under the running water at a solitary tap near the place where the forest path joins the main road. A few couldn’t even wait to take off their bags and went for a long drink and also put their heads under the tap for a good drench.
The main road, which is the only motorable access to this place branches out a couple of hundred meters before ending dead at the only few houses on the hill. I sincerely hope it remains like that and a rich hog doesn’t put up a resort or a hotel up here and spoil the place that is already struggling due to the increased inflow of tourists of late. Of the two branches in the road, one goes slightly left towards a house located a little higher uphill and the other leads to the famous bhatta’s house next to a temple. Everyone who has visited Kodachadri would not have left without visiting the bhatta’s house. Not that it is a sacred place or a museum but the oldest and only available place for travelers to rest and eat. The accommodation is basic and cheap. Rooms in his house with mats on the floor and pricky rugs to cover ourselves but believe me after all the trekking, this will seem more comfortable than your foam mattress and quilt or fleece blankets.
We settled down and went about arranging a few things. Different areas around the house and the temple were virtually demarcated for keeping the luggage, removing shoes, pulling out hundreds of leeches clinging on to our legs, disposing waste, especially blood soaked socks and even a pair of track pants, because we wanted to keep the leeches and other pests away from us and our luggage. We sometimes found many leeches all sucking blood from one wound on the foot. I found about 15 sucking blood out of a single tiny wound, apart from many others eslewhere. It looked like a dark octopus with twice the number of tentacles, trying to get out of my foot. Though the leeches are a nuisance, we would’ve been disappointed and the trek would seem incomplete if we didn’t have even one on our legs. A few will disagree.
We cleaned up and looked around for a place to rest. We didn’t want to disturb the bhatta and his family at this hour and decided to sleep in the veranda and the platform by the temple door. We didn’t have to try hard to sleep on the cold floor, wet and dirty with rain, mud and blood, which was still oozing out of the multiple wounds on our legs. Some of us slept for a while but when it started raining again, we huddled in a couple of places partly sheltered from the rain and called upon the bhatta to rescue us. That big hearted bhatta (or he was used to people like us knocking on his door at unearthly hours) let us in and provided rugs, mats and a few pillows for us to crash, for now, this was another piece of heaven.
We slept deciding to wake up and catch the sunrise, but all of us knew that the sun would be way up even before we realized that we were alive. All except one, I think vatsa had hopes.
We were woken up by a few early birds by around 7.30 in the morning, the ambience around the bath and washrooms in bhatta’s house was something that a few superrich would spend a lot of money to have. I am not talking of expensive paint, Luxury bath fittings, or a framed Picasso staring uncomfortably at you, but as you enter there is a small passage with a few bath and washrooms on either side, on your left the rooms are against a rock wall which has its own monsoon spring waterfall with fresh water roaring as it finds the fastest way downhill, and the other side sits on a ledge dropping steeply a few hundred feet into the woods below. This one is covered on the ledge side with metal sheet walls so that we are not scared to death and things don’t start flowing before our pants are off.
After a staple coastal vegetarian breakfast, by 10 a.m. we started trekking to the peak hoping to be back at the bhattas house by noon and then trek downhill to reach kollur for lunch. We informed the bhatta that we wouldn’t join him for lunch. But Bhatta’s smirk when he heard of our plans meant that we were overestimating our capabilities. We had to find it out for ourselves, and we left.
This time we let vatsa lead us uphill, that way he won’t be pushing us whenever we stopped to admire the numerous amazing views that were on offer. It was about an hour’s trek uphill on a pretty wide track to a small temple of the great sage Agastya on one of the peaks. The forest here wasn’t very thick and except for the steep climb, much of the distance was more of a hike. We rested on the stone floored verandah in front of the temple. Some were still sleepy and exhausted, apparently bhatta’s healthy breakfast was not working on our engines used to running on adulterated food in the city.
While the rest of us sprawled out, Kaka stood against a stone wall a little distance away treating his lungs to some fresh smoke. After a while Vatsa, the conqueror, suggested (or demanded) that we move on. As we subconsciously fell in line, one of the two locals who had come to the temple shouted to his companion and pointed excitedly at a very large snake slithering near the temple. Right above the stone wall against which kaka was leaning while he enjoyed his cigarette. Lucky that the cig ran out and kaka joined us before the snake arrived. Though it was a non venomous rat snake, it sure would have given kaka or any of us a heart attack if we hadn’t noticed it till it was uncomfortably close.
We spent some time admiring the snake, and it seemed to enjoy the attention ‘coz unlike most snakes, this one didn’t slip away but posed happily for our cameras as it found its way slowly into the woods nearby.
Happy with the snake sighting, we climbed downhill where a little deviation from our course leads us to a narrow path through the woods to a small but amazing waterfall. A super fresh water stream cascades down the rocks and into the unknown valley below, beyond the wall of trees and creepers into the dark forest. The water breaks on hitting the rocks and looks like silver beads and pearls falling down from the forests above. Not to forget the ever mesmerizing sound of flowing water. We were back in the narrow slippery, rugged and perilous path through the thick forest. On the way to the waterfall we found a small cave temple dedicated to lord ganesha. After about 30 minutes, we reached the waterfall. Another steep decent alongside the same led us to a small clearing next to the falls which would be our camping site for the next hour or so. It also provided enough place for us to keep our luggage, sit down and also served as a safe access point to the falls which itself was a little less steep at that point. The short trees and bushes around were like a natural walk-in closet complete with changing areas and hangers for our clothes as we got ready for a shower.
The water flowed over a series of terrace like rock formations which offered enough place to sit safely in the water. There was also a tree trunk, about a foot in diameter, which had lay across the waterfall and was like a support to hold on to as we took bath in the cold but very healthy mountain spring water. Something we did whenever we had a chance.
After playing hard in the salty sea water the day before, this was a new experience. The great weather with signs of rain, the fresh cold water gushing down and the music it created along with the sound of the wind blowing through the woods made the atmosphere heavenly.
After spending an hour playing in the water, we looked up painfully at the steep path which was the only way out of that place, the same path that brought us here. The trek uphill, though not as dangerous as going downhill, was more painful and burdened our already worked out muscles. Moreover, it started raining and it got colder and darker. We all regretted telling the bhatta that he need not make any arrangements for our lunch. Also it was about half past 1 in the afternoon now. Drat.
We climbed up the path, past the cave temple, onto the open space and hiked down to bhatta’s house. He smirked again. There were a few locals already eating at his house and we wondered if there would be anything left for us. The experienced and sensitive bhatta though was sure we would come back for lunch and had prepared enough to feed the 11 of us as well. Only that, we had eat whatever the bhatta has made, and also wait till the ones who came before us have finished. We waited outside his house and discussed our plans for the rest of the trip and also emptied most of the glucose biscuit packets at the only shop around.
The meal consisted of boiled red rice, something very common in those areas, hot curry and butter milk and some pulses and greens. We ate like this was our first meal in months and we weren’t sure when we would get to eat again. After a satisfying meal, we bade farewell to the good bhatta and started trekking downhill back to cargate. This time most of us wore floaters as they could be removed easily and helped us pull out the leeches from our feet faster, anywhere and without having to sit down.
Prad and I literally ran downhill just for fun. Even though we were fully aware that one wrong step would result in quite a few serious injuries or even prove fatal. We reached the lone house cum restaurant that we had left bloody and dirty the previous night and waited for the others. As we pulled out the leeches and cleaned our legs which had been bleeding since the previous night, we saw a dog lying down outside the restaurant and a few big leeches sucking blood out of it’s under belly. It looked like a mother was feeding her pups; the compassionate dog had adopted a few parasites now.
The rest of the gang joined us sometime later. We had some hot and very sweet tea at the shack, brought some turmeric powder which is a natural antiseptic and headed off towards cargate. The only stop we made on the way was when kaka suddenly got an irresistible call from nature. Three of us, Prad, Mahesh and I waited for Kaka while the others carried on without even knowing that we had stopped.
It was between 5 and 6 in the evening when we reached cargate. We played a impromptu games and talked while we waited for the bus to take us to Baindur from where we had to take another bus to Bhatkal. The bus finally came by around 6 pm. Most of us slept through this journey. I had to try hard to be awake even for a short time till the conductor came and we bought the tickets. I passed out soon after.
Wet, dirty, tired and hungry we reached Bhatkal by around 8pm, a couple hours before we were to take a train to Madagaon in Goa. While most of us decided to eat first before going to the station, for Vatsa, Prad and I, the alluring comfort of clean warm clothes got better of our hunger. A decision we still regret. So as the others went to the nearest restaurant, we went to the railway station hoping to find a place to change first and then a restaurant to eat. Very optimistic ‘coz though this was a very important town, and most of the super fast express trains stopped here, It was small and the railway station was in some remote corner, not an ideal place even for thriving businesses like restaurants. The only restaurant around was out of food before we went there. We took all the buttermilk they had in the fridge and sulked looking at our empty stomachs. To make matters worse, we could not even ask the others to get something for us as most of our phones were switched off and a few which were on could not be reached.
But luckily a few people spared us a thought in between their sumptuous dinner and decided to get 3 packs of veg pulav for us. We dug into the pulav as the others changed their clothes in the dark areas of the platform. Bhatkals population has a large number of muslim settlers, and their cuisine is very popular, for instance the dum/hyderabadi biriyani which is so famous across the world among the poor and the rich alike. Their flavours, the techniques are unique and mouth watering. This veg pulav and the accompanying gravy had that flavor. We finished our share in a jiffy and the great taste only left us hungry for more.
We took the Mangala Lakshadweep Express from Bhatkal to Madagaon. Most of us crashed as soon as we found our respective berths. I told Kaka and galij that I wanted to be awake as the train passed over the longest bridge in the konkan railway route. One of the many highlights of the Konkan railway, the bridge over river Sharavathy was a little over 2 kilometers long. It spans across the cliff a few kilometers up north from a place called manki and connects the coastal city of Honnavar on the other side. To its eastern side is a splendid view of the distant valley through which the mighty river over which your train is flying, flows. To the west is the confluence of the river as it joins the great Arabian Sea which kisses some of the best beaches in India. On both sides of the mouth of the river, are fishing hamlets with colorful boats moored in front of them. I had always wanted to travel and see the mighty bridge and the view of the surroundings from it.
I guessed that it would be a little past 12 am when we would be over that bridge. I told kaka about my plans to wake up in time and enjoy the heart stopping moments while the train passed over the bridge. I imagined the sound of the heavy metal wheels as it echoes in the empty space between the train and the water below. The sound of the sea nearby and that of the river flowing beneath you, both of which naturally wouldn’t be visible. The chilly air, the mind trying to imagine what lay beyond the darkness beneath your feet. All this seasoned of course, with a little bit of fear. Kaka wanted me to wake him up as well.
But unfortunately, this was not to happen. When I woke up we were midway over the bridge and a few minutes away from Honnavar, disappointed I consoled and promised myself that I’d be back to experience this. Couldn’t blame myself, it was about 52 hours since we left Bangalore and each of us just slept for an average of about 8 hours so far. The clickety-clack of the train’s wheels, the cradle like rocking of the coach had put us in deep slumber, any deeper would be comatose. I fell asleep too.
The next thing I heard was a Dennis’s voice, that sounded like he was shouting from a distance about, getting down, train, station, my mind was picking up bits of information but thankfully the important ones, I thought some of the others were playing a prank on me and opened my eyes and instinctively looked outside the window and bang, right in front of me was a board in the shape of a rhombus that said…‘Madagaon’. Now where have I read that before? Shucks!!!
I cranked up my senses that ran full steam and shook up the other slumber lumbers who were shocked too. Bharath who was on the top berth thought I was playing a prank on him and just turned around to sleep. We had to pull him out of it and within no time we were still coming to terms with those nearly turbulent few minutes of our lives that we had just been through, standing beside the train on platform number one of the Madagaon Railway Station. Phew.
We thanked Dennis for his presence of mind. Thankfully the railway authorities understood the predicament of late night travelers ‘coz the train was scheduled to stop here for about 15 minutes. If it was another routine stop, we’d be on our way out of Goa towards Maharashtra and would never find out about Madagaon unless I woke up when we were at some station and realized we were way past Madagaon or at the break of dawn, or if some or all of us suspected the train was running late and tried to investigate. There were different opinions about the situation, some thought It would have been a nightmare, missing the stop, traveling without a valid ticket etc. etc. and some others thought it would have been another adventure.
Madagaon is the most important stop on the Konkan Railway which connects some of the important port cities, business centres, tourist locations and important places of pilgrimage and of course, most of Goa along its scenic route from Bombay to Mangalore and well connected to the rest of India by other railway networks beyond that. Bombay cannot be considered as it falls under the western railways head quartered there, Mangalore, Karwar, Ratnagiri, Honnavar, Udupi etc., are important but none as much as Madagaon. One thing it is one of the biggest gateways to Goa, In fact it has an essence and spirit of Goa within itself. The most Important Konkan Railway station as the railway headquarters and their research and testing centers are located here, proximity to the Vasco Port, and is the only junction after Mumbai and Mangalore from where trains can sneak over the mighty fort called the western ghats into mainland India. Western Ghats again, yes, it is indeed a very long range of mountains running along the western coast and it is in between these mountains and the coastline where the Konkan Railway line is. Now you can imagine the scenery.
I can go on talking about the Konkan Railway and the sweet little world of its own surrounding all the different places, terrain, culture and people around it. Not that the way it was conceived and built in record time, through the mountains, over the rivers in most of the places where the jungles and hills had never seen a man or machine ever since the big bang. Passing Through inhospitable and unforgiving jungles, without no access via road, rail, air, or even water. Built during hot and humid summers and wet and cold monsoons when it would rain for days together and floods followed every one of those rains, it is by far modern India’s biggest and the best engineering achievement, kudos to the super brain behind this, K Sreedharan and his mighty, passionate warriors, some of whom gave their lives and limbs to achieve this almost impossible feat of engineering. Hundreds of tunnels, one of which is over 6 kilometers, Hundreds of bridges and one that I spoke about earlier, over 2 kilometers long. All built at places where even walking was difficult. The Swedish agency… If you are interested to know more about this. Visit their official website.
Sorry I couldn’t stop myself, but am a lover of trains, railways, and Konkan Railway has a special place in my heart. Ok where were we? Ah! next to the train which was now pulling out of the busy Madagaon station rocking and singing for the sleeping passengers, onwards towards is destination, Hazrath Nizamuddin in New Delhi, The capital of India.
Prad, Vatsa and I were still hungry, but this time, like warm clothes earlier, fatigue got better of us. We walked to the far end of the platform where some huge cargo boxes, apparently off loaded from the same train, stacked in a couple of rows about 6 feet wide and 6 feet tall, next to each other made up a wall cutting off the silent dark side of the platform from the bright busy side. This was an ideal place for us to set camp. He he. Yeah no hotels, lodges, waiting rooms, or even benches (they were not preferred as they were few and far between) but the platform itself that served as the luxurious bed where all 11 of us slept next to each other through the rest of the night. Unconcerned about the world around us, about our lives or the luggage, the only thing on our minds, was nothing. Yes we slept like logs laid out on a flat bed truck. Nothing was more important than sleep, we used our backpacks as pillows and the only thing I cared for, my camera, was in its bag which was wrapped tightly around my arm. We made bed room of one of the most crowded, ‘public places’ in the Republic of India. Ironically, the first time I did something like that, was also in Goa, one of the most famous internationally acclaimed tourist destinations in India. We lay dead and it was about 7 in the morning when we woke up and were squatting next to each other rubbing our hazy eyes, trying to sink into the situation.
We were relaxed and fresh from all the broken but deep sleep we could get. We slept through most of the journey from Cargate to Baindur to Bhatkal to Madagaon and through the rest of the night on the platform, which served us well. Also the sight of a railway platform, freshly bathed in the early morning drizzle glistening from whatever sunlight managed to get past the low clouds, against the backdrop of the nearby hills, looked very romantic.
No time for that now, we had to plan for the day, clean up, eat and pack some lunch before taking another train to Culem on the outskirts of goa which was the starting point of our next trek. After a few cups of tea, we started getting ready in batches to make sure someone was there watching over the luggage at all times. When our turn came, Mahesh, I and a couple of others went to the nearby sink to brush our teeth and wash up. When we were midway through that, I mean some of us had foam from the toothpaste filling our mouth, some were ready to wash up and I had smeared my palms with soap to wash my face, the taps at the sink, went dry. Shucks, we went to the other sinks nearby and found that there was no water there as well. While we were at that, a train pulled into the platform, I asked the others to follow me and went straight into one of the coaches attracting confused glances from a few passengers, the gang though, read through the plan and occupied the available toilets and sinks in that compartment train, finished the early morning hygiene ritual and got out of the train much before it continued with its journey. In these kinds of trips, improvisation is everything.
We had coffee together, on the platform; which still had the honor of accommodating us for a little longer and because of the luggage, again, we had to go for breakfast at the in batches. Vatsa, Prad, and I were the last to go. While they were talking about the plan and also accounting the expenditure, I decided to take a casual observation walk around the railway station, like I said earlier, I find it interesting, and because it was Goa, we’d have foreign matter and a lot of Portuguese seasoning as well. When our turn to eat came, we went in to the only restaurant in the station, Benjoe’s Pure Veg (dunno how) restaurant on platform 1. The food is decent but what is impressive is the caricatures on its walls depicting the life at the restaurant, in Goa and around the konkan Railways. In fact this depiction stretches beyond the restaurant walls till the main entrance to the station building.
We had a heavy breakfast, ate puris’ (deep fried Indian flat bread) with saagu (potato gravy). Mangalore buns, cheese sandwiches etc. I even saved a cheese sandwich to eat on the way. It was about time for our train and we went over to platform number two to take the Vasco Howrah Amaravati express to Culem. Most trains from Vasco, The biggest Port City of Goa on the Zuari River, are actually two trains combined together, they travel together till as far as their routes are same and break off when they have to go in different directions, this was one of them. The train arrived but only half of it. Apparently the train to Howrah was cancelled due to floods in that region and would only go on to some place in Andhra Pradesh, may be Secunderabad. The train only had about 8 coaches of which one was air conditioned, two were luggage vans, unfortunately we couldn’t stuff ourselves into them as they were refrigerated. The 2 unreserved cars were like a sardine cans and much to the irritation of the reserved passesngers, the unreserved junta packed into the reserved sleeper cars as well. We added to that number. The train was in the platform for a long time and even then there were people trying to fit in, the driver and guard had a tough time deciding when it was safe to move on, and it was late too. They did not want to hold up the traffic on the single line that was one of the busiest cargo lines in this part of the country. Numerous goods trains tug hundreds of wagons transporting metal ores, Fossil Fuels, fertilizers etc between the mainland and ports like Karwar and Vasco.
After stopping for about 20 minutes they took and call and with the hissing sound of the air brakes taking off their grip on the wheels, the train started moving. Most of us were relieved but as I turned around I saw a man and woman crying.
To me it looked like it was a father daughter duo, the father had come to see off his daughter who, I later realized, was traveling with two of her daughters. While finding some place to put them on the train, one of the little girls went in first and the second was on the foot board when the train started moving and the mother couldn’t get on. That’s when the old man and his daughter, now in tears, screamed for the driver to stop. Well, it’s a train, but still the large hearted driver stopped the train and waited till the mother joined her daughters and the teary eyed grand daddy thanked the driver with folded hands. Thankfully nothing went drastically wrong like it happens in many such situations in India. I wondered that the railway authorities should have spared a thought to such very obvious situations and added atleast a couple of more unreserved vans each with a capacity of hundred odd passengers but capable of carrying twice as much.
The train trundled through the lush green goan country side dotted with colorful houses with the European touch. Spread out Arecanut, coconut and plantain farms, rice fields, back waters and streams etc, and chugged on preparing itself to take on the Western Ghats. After about an hour hanging in the door through this super fast journey, we reached culem at the foothills of the Western Ghats. It was from here that we decided to trek up to one of the most beautiful waterfalls in India, Dudhsagar, which means ‘Ocean of Milk’.
We jumped off from the wrong side of the train, the platform was on the other side and on ours was a 5 foot jump and walked past the engines now preparing to take on the steep climb to castle rock. Sand was being filled into the dispensers mounted next to the engines under carriages, which would then release it on to the tracks in front of the wheels for extra grip as the train climbed up the steep slippery railroad on the Braganza ghat. It would also get 3 additional engines at the back for more pushing and stopping power.
Like the train we also took some time to prepare for the climb up hill. A few of us changed into clothes which we didn’t bother if they got dirty. We packed our phones, fresh clothes and other important stuff into large plastic bags to keep them from getting wet when it rained, and set off on what for me is a pilgrimage, for Vatsa, a picnic and for some others, a new place to discover.
To get to Dudhsagar, we would trek along the railway tracks for about 2 kilometers then took a shortcut through the jungle for another 3 kilometers, branch off the jungle path and after a short and steep climb up a few steps on ravine, join the railway again for the final 3 kilometers to the falls.
The first stop was just after the first curve on the railway line, some of us had to take a few important calls by the river side while the others skimmed stones on the water and some waited by the tracks. Then galij stuck upon a novel idea to climb up the signal lamp, thankfully none of the railway authorities were around otherwise his stunt would have led us into a very bad situation. But I have to admit, even I have always wanted to climb up a railway signal lamp, nothing whimsical about it, I think it is a nice place to take pictures of the railway from, also the fact that I love heights.
While most of them were around Galij, making him feel like the pope, Mahesh, Kaka and I continued trekking and when we were about 100 meters ahead of the gang, we saw a few men pick up a stone apparently to squash something, in india, the victim is either a snake or a scorpion, we rushed towards them and asked them not to kill it. Lying on the ballast was a beautiful little morphing viper. Just a few weeks old may be. As we closed on it, it felt threatened and charged towards us as a warning and stopped a few feet away from us ready to strike. It is called the Morphing Pit Viper because of its ability to morph its eyes, which are the main feature on the face of any living thing, in a way that they blend with the body and makes the snake virtually un noticable. An ability that proved itself when the rest of the gang arrived and for a long time found it tough to spot the bright yellowish brown snake lying a few feet away on the stone ballast.
More pictures, and gasps of fear and admiration, and we moved on. A short stop by a small stream for a drink, where girish proved his mettle in tree climbing but surely has to work on identifiying a ripe fruit as his efforts made to acquire a wild jackfruit went in vain when it was cut open to reveal the raw insides.
The next long stop was by a fast flowing mountain stream where a few guys were happy to shed their clothes again and take a dip in the cold water. Some of us decided to just wade through it and galij gave it a miss. We decided that this would be the last time we’d get into the water on this trip. Yes, Lack of sleep and fatigue had taken a toll on us and there were only two things on our minds, Dudhsagar and our berths on the train to Bangalore. But we guessed that the resolution would not hold for long.
We hiked on to a place called Sonaulim. It is just one of those railway mandatory braking stops and crossing points on the otherwise single line railway. There is a railway station and a few quarters for the railway men in a row next to the tracks. A few yards away from the station is a temple with a huge portico, more like a long hallway open on two sides. Around that is a house with a tiled roof, a grocery and condiments store that sells liquor too.
Sonaulim is about 5 kilometers from the Dudhsagar railway station and the railway line in between hugs the sides of the mountains and drawing a rough horseshoe with both ends connecting these two stations. The falls however is almost in the middle, a little biased towards the Dudhsagar side just before the curve in the middle of the shoe.
After a brief rest at Sonaulim, we climbed up towards the railway station and hiked on the tracks till we crossed 3 tunnels when suddenly, on one end of the horse shoe curve, a clearing on the drop side of the mountain, presented the best view of the falls. A few first timers gazed with open mouths reminding us of the first time we saw this spectacular sight. Though at that time, it was more glamorous with the water covering most of the rock face behind it. It was powerful in a way that brought both fear and respect in our minds… it was very very beautiful and the feeling was just great.
Veteran Vatsa went on to repent about how he had paid numerous visits to this place just to see it again in its greatest avatars but had never seen it even half as powerful as how it was during that first time. After about ten minutes we started trekking on the rails towards the falls in batches. The ones who had their fill went on not disturbing the others who wanted more time with the view. After another tunnel, there was one of the many small perennial wayside falls that thrive in this part of the world. Small was only relativity, infact this was about 30 feet high and 6 ft wide, throwing small rock sized drops of water on to a pool below which would over flow down the hill to form another waterfall passing under the 50 ft long railway bridge. It just took a moment to wash off the thought of not getting into water and we found ourselves in our briefs, running down the slippery narrow path that took us from the tracks to the waterfall.
The track was narrow and slippery, and falling from a few places would make us feel like a soft cuddly teddy bear caressed by jagged rocks or evn down the second stage of the falls under the bridge into the thick forest, which could possibly be… fatal. But hell, who cared.
There we were in the world’s best Jacuzzi. There was a rock bench about the size of a large chair, right under the waterfall. We took turns to sit on this and enjoy the feeling of many big drops of water hitting us hard on our backs and breaking apart like a soft farewell kiss before the next batch of water drops do the same again and again. It was true romance. Only thing, as you stand up to make way for the next in line to the throne, the drops get a little naughty and hit your butt taking the modesty fabric, down with them.
Some of us got back in the long line to the throne while the others floated in the pool around the fall. This was the best bathroom in the world. To give you an idea, the water falls down the middle of a narrow gorge about 50 ft wide cutting away from and joining the trackside on either sides of the bridge. The water falls down 25-30ft into the rock-walled pool from about the same height as the stone bridge on which we were standing, before roaring downhill under it. From the waterfall, we could see the rails going across from left to right over the bridge, which was about 20 meters from us just above the straight line of sight. Snuggling us was the tall semicircular gorge in the mountain with lush green jungle. From under the bridge we could see the distant mountain peaks.
We flapped about in the pool and got our massages. Waved at the many surprised passengers and not so surprised crew in the few trains that passed by and after about an hour of frolicking, moved on.
We crossed yet another tunnel and reached another bridge right in front of the Dudhsagar falls. The first time I came here, I stood in the door of the train facing the falls as it passed in front of it and almost got soaked by the water drops that bounced off after hitting the rocks around the bridge. But this time, the waterfall was a little weak and allowed us to access the pool and the area under the bridge from where it drops downhill again for a couple of hundred meters. Nevertheless, this is still one of the best in the country.
The sights and sounds of the roaring water, falling from the heavens touched our souls deep inside and it felt like nirvana. True to its name, Dudh-sagar, the waterfall was indeed an ocean of heavenly milk dripping down on to the earth far below. Indulging in this experience, watching and listening to the falls performing its own opera was nothing less than meditation. Very few things in life caught as much attention. So much that I started feeling like I was a part of it.
A few moments later Vatsa broke into my bubble of peace and reminded me that our train was due in a few minutes and we had just enough time to walk to the nearby station.
That brought upon a cloud of gloom over my cheerful mind. Not because it was time to leave, but because, Dudhsagar, a jewel in Mother Nature’s crown, which deserves a special place, heavily guarded and accessible by a few who really care to go the distance and take the trouble just to spend a few moments with it, revering its beauty and might… was actually on the side of a main railway line, which bears a few thousands of humans every day, just a few meters from a railway station which meant that this place, would not be peaceful, beautiful, and sacred for long, cause I already hear foot falls, smell cigarette, see groups of families on a picnic, step on broken beer bottles, see colorful wrappers of potato wafers and empty bottles of soda, bobbing up and down in the pool of now adulterated milk, and somewhere from the rock walls, the waterfall sheds a grey tear hoping that it had arms and legs like the vile insects eating into its beauty, so that it could break free and go away from the insects that god once called, HUMANS. I plead with joined hands, if you ever look her, Dudhsagar, up and pay her a visit, spend a moment to pick up just one plastic cover or one empty bottle, just any one piece of trash and carry it to the nearest dustbin away from the forest, as a token of gratitude towards Mother Nature for unconditionally offering her most loved possessions to us.
I looked at her for one last time, promising to be back again, I said I love you, and walked away.
It was most likely the end of our adventure. As planned, it would be a ride in one of the railway locos to a place uphill called Castle Rock. Then in the train that it was hauling, to another place called Londa, then tucked in our reserved berths, on the Rani Chennamma Express chugging through the night to Bangalore.
As we reached the station, Vatsa suggested that we wait for the train a little before the station so that instead of getting into the coaches, we could hop on to one of the 3 Loco’s banking the train from the rear, for a joy ride up the Braganza Ghats. We saw the train chug uphill past Sonaulim, (remember on the other side of the horse shoe?) and disappear into the forest and within a few minutes was trundling past us as we waited for it to stop.
As luck would have it, the train went past us without stopping, from here all of us had very different, individual experiences and feelings and I will tell you my part. As the train passed us, and I saw the driver waving at us to come closer to the station where he would eventually stop for about a minute, my mind was a bag of mixed feelings as follows. Though they are not in order.
It started with a big smile running across my face telling me that I had gained another point over Vatsa when it comes to travel and transport. Honest, ask him about it. Then it was a message to my legs to run as fast as possible behind the train and towards the nearest coach as the driver piloting the rear engines had made it clear that we were not getting our ‘most awaited’ loco ride. I ran as fast as I could and after prodding a few guys into the second last coach of the train that had already started moving, I jumped in as the train gathered speed. As I looked back, to my horror (it was a little funny too) I found Galij who could have made it, look backwards (didn’t know if he jumped off the train, as at that moment I thought there was no reason for that) and behind him a little distance away from the coach and next to the second last engine, I saw Namdev’s face change as he realized that he was about to lose the race with the train.
I shouted for him to jump on to the engine, though it was picking up speed, I thought that any guy with average experience with daily bus travel in Bangalore during the 1990’s, jumping in and out of the moving buses, could have made it. Kaka decided to concede the lead to the train. I thought for a moment and I jumped off the train too in the nick of time. Any later would have left me landing on the pile of 10-15, long slippery replacement iron rails, which the railway men had left next to the gravel ballast next to the tracks. That could have resulted in a little damage, may be a couple of broken ribs, broken nose, broken jaw, missing tooth, and ouch, a broken pelvis. A little more delay, could have laid me under the steel wheels of the train for a remedy which could separate your other side from your true side. Whatever.
I looked back to see Kaka and Galij and what we spoke for the next five minutes, none of us remember. Far away at the end of the track, we saw the last train out of this place, disappear into the mountains as the setting sun added some character to the situation.
The station master, who had been witnessing the drama, walked back into his cabin, silently behind our backs, more than missing the train, a little bit of my ego was hurt. I was sure he thought of us to be silly, naïve, bunch of good for nothing kids who don’t give a damn to the world. It is not a good first impression on a person who could be our savior.
We looked at each other and I smiled. Kaka asked me why I ditched the train and quoted my policy that “our train or bus is more important than our fellow travelers”. I simply answered “I didn’t get off for you, it is just simply more fun being here than there, don’t you think so?”
Then the three musketeers sat on the only bench by the railwayman’s office and came up with some brilliant ideas. We go back to Goa, party all night (remember I told you, we were the only 3 jobless guys) and go to Bangalore in the morning. Kaka offered to sponsor us provided we paid back in some time. Very good idea. So we kept it as a back up plan.
The second was mine, We take one of the engines downhill back to Culem, and then take a bus to Bangalore. I promised that we would reach Bangalore before the others did. The third was take an engine ride uphill to castle rock, ‘try our luck’ for buses or any thing that could take us to Londa, then do something and get to Bangalore. Very adventurous.
While we were doing this, the ones on the train had a bad time. From trying to figure out where Abhinav fell off, to explaining to the ticket inspector why they were in a reserved coach.
We, on the other hand, spoke to the station master about possibilities and also asked him if we could make a call from his phone to tell our guys we were fine, and that they could continue with their journey without us and not waste the ticket money. Well, he refused to let us use the phone.
We went out, and sat on the bench again, I walked around taking pictures. After sometime went back to talk to the station master. He was on the phone with someone, surely a colleague at a different station. He spoke to him about the beauty of Dudhsagar and invited him over to visit. I waited patiently till he was done and as I was about to speak, he said that our gang had gotten off the train at Castle rock. The other person on the phone was the station master there. I was more worried than happy. That meant we had to now write off 11 tickets instead of three.
But there was good news, there were a few engines going up-hill, he asked us if we would like to take them. Yahoo. That was a dream come true, the reason why we had fallen into this the first place. The fat lady of fun had not started singing yet.
The station master warned us that the driver would just slow down, and that he was doing that only for us, and we had to jump in as soon as possible. Well I looked at Kaka again. Sigh!
As we heard the engine approach, I took Kaka’s back pack and asked him to jump on the engines first, Galij and I would join later.
The engines came out of the tunnel towards the station. To my amusement there were three WDG 4 diesel locos, the best in India. Made with tech transfer from General Motors USA and with a bit of Siemens thrown in, they, unlike other diesels were more powerful at 4000hp, less polluting and had a distinct sound that differed from the usual chug-chug and sounded like a jet engine revving up. But as I turned toward the guys the amusement was washed away.
While I saw a masterpiece, a dream ride beckoning me, Kaka saw three huge metal monsters, with wheels that can mince a hundred people at once, and nothing to stop him from being fed into them. Oops.
The locos slowed right down, but Kaka, even though he tried, could get in only after they stopped, much to the frustration of the driver and the locos then started rolling backwards downhill and it took a few long seconds for the driver to gently rein them in and start upwards again.
We gave the station master a military salute and then the kid, train lover, madness, amusement and a big smile returned to me again. Kaka held on tight to the railings which were knee high and screamed in horror as the train passed precariously over the bridge and blasted our ear drums as it went through the tunnels. Quoting him, he said “I have never been on a live roller coaster before”. I’m sure what he felt was much more than that, but after a few tunnels he seemed to be loving it.
The ride was heavenly. Of the three locos we were in the second one. As the drivers were in the first and the third, we took liberty to explore the cabin and check out the controls, though we didn’t touch ‘em (it was tempting).
The train passed through and above the clouds, through tunnels and over water falls, all which passed below our feet. There were sweeping views of the numerous valleys that we crossed, of the mountain peaks basking in the evening sun and a whole day’s washout. I felt like god.
As we pulled into Castle Rock, we could not see any of our guys. Shocked, we jumped off only to meet the driver of the train we had missed. We then realized that he was a blessing in disguise, apart from helping us miss the train, that’s how we could ride the engine, he had also arranged for another set of locos to give us a lift till Tinaighat, a small mining hamlet on the way to Londa. Well…. that was a steaming cup of adventure, served with double shot expresso. Yahoo again.
We then met Mahesh ad Vatsa, happy to see us. The other guys had already clung on to the multi billion rupee engine, again a WDP 4, WOW. Kaka rushed towards them and I, as usual asked Galij to Pose for a photo with the very helpful train driver.
We were back together with the high fives all around. The train pulled out of Castle Rock with a loud Horn and we just added to the music.
As we darted past the fields and rivers on a single engine, attracting smiles, waves from people in cars waiting at railway crossings, we felt like kings. Sure they guys down there hoped they were in our place. I mean just imagine 11 guys sitting in a row, on the narrow plank, on the side of a fast loco, with the legs dangling over the undercarriage. AWESOME.
We reached Tinaighat in about 40 mins. We thanked the driver profusely and I, still high with the experience, tried taking the shortest way across the track. As I stepped off the track in to what looked like wet muddy road, my legs went in about 15 inches into the deep red slush. The others had enough time to stop following me and take the more practical route out of that place. I tread through the slush (the stain of which has still not gone off my trouser) and joined the group of laughing guys.
We passed through the small village with tiny houses or shacks. The only proper structure was a small village school with a big playground. A few of our guys decided to join the kids playing cricket there. See, I’m not the only mad guy.
We were getting late so we pulled them out and we got to the highway hoping to find a bus. Some smiles were still on our excited faces when we managed to find (here we go again) a Lorry. Aha… the fun never stops.
We agreed to pay the driver a 100 bucks for a rolling ride to Londa. Standing in the cargo area of a speeding Lorry was more fun than any roller coaster. You just could not stand without holding tight on to anything. We had never had anything like this before. The journey was only getting better and had reached heights beyond our wildest imaginations.
We screamed our lungs out like little kids. It was great fun riding the lorry with the wind blowing in your hair. We reached Londa in 30 mins, thanked the driver, and started walking towards the railway station, after quenching our thirst at a nearby hand pump.
At londa, our first priority was to eat, eat like hell and we did. Vatsa said that our train was at 9 p.m,. which I didn’t believe but was too hungry to discuss. We stopped at a road side chat stall owned by a Marwari and had hot samosas, kachoris served with onions and some kinda new, distinct, tangy, mouthwatering chutney. We lost count of how much we ate but like in most little towns in India, you get lots of food for little money. Satisfied we went on to find a restaurant for the main course. It was about 7:40 p.m.
Some guys at the chat stall suggested a hotel nearby (not sure what the name was) owned by an elderly couple. We ordered one Vegetarian thali (assorted Indian meal) each and asked to elderly owner to serve us as fast as possible as we had to catch a train at 9. He went on to prepare our meal, with a little bit of our help of course, some of us helped pass on the plates, tumblers and water jugs around the tables. He asked us where we were going, and when we said Bangalore, he said that he had to serve us faster than we wanted, coz the train was not at 9, but at 8:30, thanks Vatsa.
We helped him even more now and felt bad for the old soul who was working hard at the age when most well to do people of his age would be relaxing. The dinner was good and even though we were late, we stopped by an ice-cream shop for dessert. We tried leaving some extra money, over the bill for the old couple but, the man blatantly refused. He said, “you liked the food, that’s enough for me, and if you really want me to have this money, you might as well buy something from me”. After a little pushing and shoving, we finally relented and bought chocolates from him. There are a lot of lessons we can learn from the less developed world, humility is one of them.
We reached the station just in time for the train. The Rani Chennamma Express pulled in, about 15 minutes late and we all took our berths ready to crash. After some shuffling and settling down, we died.
We lay dead till early next day. I realized that the trip was coming to an end and woke up early to enjoy the few hours that was left of it. I stood at the door looking out at the tree tops bobbing out of the fog covered fields and the sun rising far beyond, retracing the wonderful journey that we had. I let out a deep sigh and walked back into the coach wondering how long it would be, before we had another adventure like this.
With a deep sigh and the thought that the dull life in the city was only about an hour away, I went back into the compartment. Manju, who was up sitting in the upper berth said there was bad news. More bad news, damn!
He said we we’re running late by 4 hours. HUH? I smiled.
