Madhai

It was an all too familiar cat and dog tale that we witnessed at Madhai. The cat here - a leopard - was up on the slopes with its kill, appearing quite regal as cats usually do. The demeanor was, however, short lived. Soon came a pack of dogs – the dhole - ferocious Asiatic wild dogs. Like all cat and dog stories, no sooner had the dogs arrived, regal bearing was thrown to the air and the cat scampered up the closest tree leaving its proud possession behind. The dogs, after taking a shot at tree climbing and managing only to scratch the trunk, suddenly realized that food was essentially on the ground floor. Focus immediately shifted to the feast, which from a distance appeared to be a female black buck. Having had their full and after a few more rounds of amusement at the expense of the hungry cat, they went their way merrily. After a few minutes of cautious surveillance from the top, the leopard came down and hurried home with the leftovers.

The Madhai forest reserve, part of the Satpura National Park, is located close to the confluence between the Denwa and the Tawa (a tributary of the Narmada) rivers about 150 km from the city of Bhopal. The Satpura National Park lies entirely along the Satpura Mountain Range that runs from Gujarat in the east to Chhota Nagpur plateau in the west. The mountain range serves to divide the Gangetic plain from the Deccan plateau. Madhya Pradesh can easily be termed as the wild life capital of India with over 60 % of the state being under forest cover. It boasts of quite a few well-known National Parks like Kanha, Bandhavgarh, and Pench. We however decided to explore the less frequented forests of the state in our quest for “that isolated, untouched beauty”. And we were not disappointed. Madhai is exquisite, to say the least. It is a “complete package” of almost everything a forest goer can hope to find in a forest. Be it the densely wooded hills, the sprawling grasslands, the winding backwaters or the occasional swamps - Madhai has it all.

The sighting of two of the most coveted predators along with herds of Gaur (Indian Bison) early in our safari had us flabbergasted. No doubt, it increased our expectations as well. Madhai however was up to it! When we thought we had seen it all, suddenly the thick teak forest opened up into a magnificent meadow reminiscent of the East African savannas. The yellowish hue of dried grass contrasted splendidly with the deep green bush land on its periphery, capped perfectly by the royal blue canvas above. What with a huge gathering of Cheetal, Boar and Black Buck sifting their way through the dried grass and Cross Tailed Drongo and the Indian Roller fluttering about, sometimes riding on boar-back and occasionally diving into the grass, it seemed the world of the paintbrush has come alive.

It is amazing what vegetation can do to the climate of a place. The temperature fluctuates as you leave the dense forest for the comfort of the open grasslands. This in turn also affects the mood hanging over the forest. The bright open savannas seem to be loaded with life, with birds chirping around, monkeys scuttling about – now in mid air, hidden in the grass the next – the sun weaving a magic of life, while, the thicker woods paint a countenance of dark, grim, sullen disposition. The mood, no doubt, is also impacted by the time of the day with the setting sun spreading a gloom across the entire horizon.

In the afternoon, we hired a boat from the forest department and set off to explore the backwaters. The backwaters are, in essence, narrow winding off shoots of the main river that coils its way through the forest much like an octopus spreading its tentacles over a prey. These shallow waters, brimming with fish, insects and other reptiles are the favorite “haunts of coot and herns” - wading birds like Storks, Cranes, Herons, Cormorants - so lively immortalized by Tennyson. One can easily spot a cormorant sitting atop a dead branch looking like a mere extension of the branch. Often one can also spot a Pied Kingfisher hovering over the water, and then suddenly swooping down at full speed, scooping up a small fish from near the water surface and settling on another branch close by – all in one smooth motion. An abundance of prey invariably ensures the presence of predators. High above, the Fishing Eagle and the Osprey patrol the skies. They also use the taller trees by the river as watchtowers and remain perched there to keep a watch over their territory below. The banks are also home to the crocodile. The crocs spend most of the winter days sun bathing and rarely stay under water. They invariably jump in though on hearing the sound of the motor. The relatively quieter petrol boat is thus a preferred choice over the diesel one, albeit costlier too. The ride through the backwaters is not only useful for bird-watching, it can also be used to good effect to spot game in the forest as they come out for a drink in the water channels that cut through the forest. In fact, these narrow channels are the hunting ground for the crocs as they lay ambush for thirsty deer. Just as we were about to wind up for the day, we heard a ruffle in the woods near by. Our boatman stopped the engine and we waded closer. The ruffling stopped and there was silence. We craned our necks to peer through the foliage. Then suddenly it began all over again and the bushes moved violently. And almost as suddenly out came a sloth bear!

Our shelter, Madhai Wildlife Resort was on the banks of the Denwa River at the edge of the forest. The only other accommodation available is a couple of nearby forest bungalows. The key feature of the resort is its wonderful location – overlooking the forest - not to mention the possibilities of gastronomical pleasures. We would simply devour the mouth-watering ‘alu parathas’ and curry made from local country chicken prepared by the cook. One can simply while away time lazing on the balcony sipping coffee and munching on the sumptuous ‘pakoras’ watching pied kingfisher swoop down and create ripples in the still water or painted storks create wonderful patterns as they soar high above. Additionally, the owner Mr. Dubey was also of great help in planning our safaris.

A faint orange glow broke in through the mist hanging over the water like a fleece of wool. The winter sun lazily propped itself up over the distant hills. The chirping of the birds filled the cold morning air. It was around six thirty and people were queuing up at the jetty to cross over for the morning safari. The forest department manages the safaris as well as the river crossings. The resort, however, takes the onus for arrangements for tourists putting up at the resort. A gentle breeze started to blow over the river and the mist slowly started to clear away. A flock of geese flapped their way down the river. Far away, a Serpent Eagle let out a shrill cry – a cry of joy as it welcomed the beginning of another day. I stood on the balcony and wondered how long this will last. How long, before fifty hotels cram the riverbanks with their ugly billboards to draw flocks of humans. How long, before 10 motor boats start crossing the river every minute and all the geese fly away. How long, before100 gypsies throng the forests in a day instead of the five now, shrouding the grasslands with whirls of dust and leaving remnants of our plastic culture to pollute this Garden of Eden. I wonder.

Darchik

The road, lined by khobani trees, had remained straight for almost three hours. It finally took a turn and crossed the river to which it seemed inseparably bound. They had come together at a turn just ahead of the small town of Khaltse where the winding metallic strip had de-coiled itself from the rugged, barren mountains and laid beside the gushing, gargling, grey waters of the mighty Indus. The road, as it approached the PoK, now crossed the river and was again lost amongst the folds of the mountains - this time greener, and this time in a different world, amongst a different people.

The mountain hamlet of Darchik along with three other nearby – Garkone, Dah and Beema - is home to a group of people called the Brog-pa. These villages lie close to the PoK and are a good 6-7 hours from Leh which is where most tourists land in for a trip to Ladakh. They are however closer to the town of Kargil which is about an hour’s journey in the southwesterly direction. Darchik is closest to the border and along with Garkone, require a permit from the Army to visit. The permit can is arranged easily by most hotels. The only place for tourists to stay here is a PWD guest house at Dah.

These people – the Brog-Pa - think of themselves as the true descendants of the Arya people who migrated to the sub continent from the Central Asian highlands around three thousand years back. It is difficult to ascertain whether this is entirely true or is simply a myth which has helped these people maintain a sense of identity – after all myths and legends are integral to any community, leave alone an ancient one. It has no doubt helped their livelihood as this story alone draws more tourists than would have otherwise been possible in this remote, secluded, lost Himalayan kingdom.

Myth or no myth, one thing is certain, they are different from any other people living in Ladakh. Their beautiful looks, fair skin, sharp features, blue eyes, contrasts sharply with the brown skinned, flat, mongoloid features of the Ladakhis and are more in line with people from Kashmir, north of Pakistan, Iran etc. Their appearance, however, compliments their surroundings perfectly. The beautiful, sharp features reflect the tremendously beautiful but stark surroundings they live in. For many people, to whom Paradise is decidedly on earth, and Gods and Goddesses are nothing but a group of people bestowed with a higher than average natural endowment, just to have a glimpse of these God like people is reason enough to travel over uneven, rugged country on a seemingly never ending journey to the end of the world.

We stepped out of the car as it crossed the river. The remaining 5 minutes to the nearest huts had to be covered on foot. The driver pointed to a mountain behind us – it was across the border in Pakistan. We were in the Kargil district – the war zone. Heavy shelling had taken place in these border areas and the villagers had to be removed to army camps beyond the artillery range. They returned after the war ended. Walking past a series of khobani trees by the Indus it was difficult to imagine a place of such un-earthly beauty as a grim bloody battlefield. We climbed up the slope to small green fields rendered partially orange by scattered khobani and bordered by the first few huts.

Sing Dorje, the man of the household, welcomed us to the nearest hut which housed a sitting room and a kitchen. The kitchen also doubled as a dining room. The living quarters were in a different hut. While the elderly women and the children gathered around us, the younger women went about their daily chores of washing clothes and picking khobani from the fields.

The Brog-pa livelihood is dependant on agriculture and the army. The women mostly work the fields. Khobani (apricot) is a major crop. The fruit is consumed along with the dried seed which is supposed to tone the respiratory system. They are mostly sundried; however, recent developments have also led them to use a solar dryer. The dried seeds and the fruits are then sold to the markets mostly through the army as the markets are far away. The men do several odd jobs for the army like working on road maintenance etc. However, despite this, most of the villages are poor with a very simple lifestyle built around bare minimum requirements. They still don’t have electricity although they have been promised that before every election since the last fifteen years or so. Solar power works for around 5 hours a day. Every year they eagerly look forward to the summers as the road opens for tourists. As they don’t have too much too offer, they often present themselves in their festive gear for a nominal financial reward. The winters bring with it a gloomy seclusion as they remain cut off from civilization for months on end.

Currently there are around 62 families in Darchik with a few more in the other three villages. All along they have managed to maintain their identity with a strict adherence to intra-community marriages. However, with more and more youngsters bidding farewell to the villages for the wealth and glamour of the cities, they are finding it more and more difficult to maintain their so-called racial purity. Their society is mostly patriarchal with a woman being allowed to marry the younger brother of her husband if he were to die an untimely death. The dead is usually cremated with the family holding a 3 month “ashouch” – similar to contemporary Hindu customs. Their main God – “Pal dan lamo” – is a God similar to the Hindu Goddess Kali. Their proclaimed religion is, however, Buddhism! Though this appears surprising at first glance, it can be recalled, that when a new religion is enforced on a people with beliefs and practices firmly rooted in the depths of time, the new religion simply functions as a garb over the existing beliefs and practices; the observations and celebrations remain same, the names change merely.

The blue eyes of a young girl gaze at us through her light brown hair rendered golden by the blaze of the sun as we start to take our leave. Was that how Draupadi could have looked? I ask myself. Or had the migrants already changed colour on mingling with the locals by the time the Mahabharata took place? Or was I just being a victim of the age old concept of racial superiority of the fair skinned and the blue eyed that has plagued man kind? Difficult to say…lost in the wilderness, amidst the folds of the towering abode of the Gods, along an ancient mythical river, anything seems possible!