Mungeli to Kanha

We thought Mungeli was a small, rural town in a backwards and disheveled state formed because Madhar Pradesh didn’t want them anymore.  Well, we were only partially right because Mungeli’s population has grown to over 120,000.  And I don’t think Chhattisgarh is backwards, just hard to pronounce.  Anyhow, it’s a bustling and dusty down built on a simpler lifestyle centered around agriculture and craftsmanship.  The small piece that Anil holds under his sway is about a 15 min walk (or 15 sec drive) from the downtown markets.  Heading from town towards the hospital we passed by the church and Rambo Memorial English School on the left-hand side and soon crossed under the hospital gates as memories of photographic forms stenciled outlines over the courtyard in a sudd3en developmental connection of concept and reality.  Anil took us to his house for some tea and a family meet and greet before his mother brought us to the guest house/doctor quarters around one side of the hospital.  The building is a three story brick apartment style setup with six units in two stacks of three.  Ours is the lower unit on the right side, and airy and functional space that fulfills our Delhi desire of a place to be comfortable.  It is by no means luxurious, but it has flush toilets, a handy electric tool to make hot water for bathing (and give yourself the occasional shock), and most importantly, beds.  We are looked after by a friendly and hard-working woman, Kavita, who provides meals and had-washed laundry service.  But back to the story – we were given some down time to relax after our early flight and bumpy 3 hr drive, and later in the afternoon we walked back to the Henry house, overnight bags in tow, to make the trip to Kanha Tiger Preserve for a jungle safari adventure.

 

The trip to the park, as they call it, is another three hours over exceedingly rough country roads.  In lieu of detailed descriptions of potholes and kettleholes and cauldron holes let me just say that if you’re ever planning for some extended off-roading, I highly recommend Indian tires.  We made this trip in Anil’s land rover type jeep, and because India’s craziest driver navigating some of her worst roads wasn’t enough of a challenge for our delicate American sensibilities, we also packed in 11 passengers to make it a little more interesting.  I hope there’s a picture of this somewhere but it was the five of us plus Sheku and Jeetu (twin boys about 9) and Annkita (daughter 16) Henry, Shashi and her boys Vishal (12ish), and Parveen (10ish).  It was pretty awesome.  And absolutely uncomfortable.  Our only bodily movements came every few kilometers when Anil would misjudge the road ad our heads would meet the ceiling.  On this long trip we grew weary and cramped.  Eventually, we climbed a few hundred feet to a plateau where the park is located and stopped at a gate to register our presence with the authorities.  We all grew excited and hoped the hotel door would soon fall under our headlight’s crooked glow.  “How much further” we asked, worried that our tired bodies would grow moreso. “Fifty kilometers” came the reply, for there were five such gates and even more difficult roads ahead, and we sighed and groaned in our minds.  “O! it could be worse,” say the children, “I’m happy we’re past the first gate”; “I’m happy we’re not two inches from home”; “It could always be worse…”  From the mouths of babes these words crumbled my imperially-erected fortress of self-servitude:  here was a perfect practice of patience. 

 

Sometimes though, sitting quietly is not an option.  On our windy way between the fourth and fifth gates we played a wild game of tailgate chase with some other visitor who refused to let us pass them.  For some reason, I associate this interaction with the journey of the Rebel Alliance through the bowels of the first Death Star in Star Wars: A New Hope, and our spectacular chase ended in a similarly epic fashion.  Anil managed to pull past the offending vehicle, but almost immediately afterwards Nancy doubled over and made her sister proud, leaving a second taste of her foreign lunch as a treasure for some lucky warthog.

 

Earlier in the trip Vishal had been babbling away about scientific and literary nothings, exercising his curious mind.  At one pint he stated, matter-of-factly, “There are there things I don’t like about India:  roads, mosquitoes, and litter.”  His mother, gently nudging him back from the negatively analytical, quietly asked, “What are three things you do like about India?”  “Everything else” came the response.  There is such life here, such vibrant beauty in the lyrical laughter which fills the dusty corners of our journey.

 

Our hotel, like almost every other property in India, was a walled compound containing supporting facilities and a large gazebo where meals were served.  The rooms were Spartan but the company was excellent.  We spent the evening with a fire and a bottle of wine, fighting back sleep’s heavy onslaught with conversation, stories, and a generous does of chiding, for children and flames are not always the winning combination you might imagine…  Anil explained the plan for the morning – a 5:30 wakeup to lad into open-top jeeps for a chilly ride over to the park gates where we would line up to have our papers checked before the official opening around 6:30 or 7.  We would surely enjoy a pleasant fauna-spotting ride through the jungle, but the main reason everybody, tourists and natives alike, goes to the park is to spot a tiger.  The rangers and guides have a unique method for putting their wild beasts on display:  before sunrise a contingent of expert trackers sets out astride elephants in search of a tiger, and upon finding one, they box him in (tigers being somehow pacified by the presence of an elephant) and set up a “tiger show” which involves an orderly procession of elephants shuttling viewers from the nearest road to the pinned tiger.  These shows require supplementary tickets, which are only available after a tiger is secured, so our chances of seeing a tiger would depend on our timely admittance to the park, the opening of at least one show, and our ability to negotiate the queue for tickets – wow what fun!  Excited by the prospect of the show but utterly drained from another long day, our bodies wanted rest and we soon grouped off for a few hours down before a bell-clanging wakeup in the bible black predawn.

 

Up by 5:30 we dressed and gathered in the hotel’s upper lobby in what was becoming our stereotypically punctual and ineffective MO, as our entire crew was not assembled and loaded for at least another hour.  Our safari day began like any other, cold and crowded.  We piled into two jeeps for a windy ride through the park, each of us as clenched in our own thoughts as the throbbing fingers in our jacket pockets.  Roving through dense forests in dampened air, I was reminded of Smoky Mountain treks, except here warmth was not to be found in boot-tossed stones, and we received yet another lesson in physical patience.  But soon enough our earned reward revealed itself as the rosy-fingered tips of dawn stretched across a misty veil of jungle plains to shake us from our achy stupors and invite us back to the gentle unfolding of our own Odyssey.

~ by packerk on January 8, 2009.