Backwoods of India

Contributor: Rachit Sharma

On this misty, blue evening when I ponder about those showers of sunshine, those waterfalls gallantly painting the mountains and leaving deathless traces, those falling crystals which shy away from the troupe of the trees, feigning to be a snake in the woods, I'm tempted to go back again. 

Lying in the swirls of monotonous busyness all I wait is for that email, text, call or knock on the door that says pack your bags and leave! This 'leave', 'Go' , 'Fly' is freedom for me. An unknown land was there on the map this time, I took out my muddied, saggy rug sack that smells of places. Placed some exhilaration, anticipation and love in the bag with some doubts and questions in the side pockets I dashed out of the house.

The itinerary was wonderful and train just being half-a-day late made it all more beautiful. I can well retrace, may not express the scenic splendor of the early morning through the window, I had not seen such heavy jungles on mountains that shine red. And there I see this red ball crawling in the sky, immersing in the woods and emerging out of the heap of land. Gradually civilization came into being, Ranchi junction knocked at the window. Unlike villages, the mainland of the cities is homogeneous and not so interesting, there, people come to your rescue. I was very well acquainted with this chatty rickshaw wala who introduced me to the city, halted to a popular tea shop to get me a malai tea and with all his expertise showed me how to hold the cup. He entirely empathised with my ignorance to the city. 

This sojourn was special as I had my birthday very next day of my arrival, cellphone did not stop buzzing but I preferred to find solace on a hill top in the very early morning. On the top of the 'Tagore Hill' I marvelled at the mightiness of the sun, inspiring me to illuminate the power. I could very well distinguish the two faces of Ranchi. One was developing, industrious, walking the swanky road and the other was the one I loved. On my way back I devoured meetha samosas ( which i never tried before) and masala chai, I held the cup the way rickshaw wale bhaiya had told me to. There were locals at the tea shop who struck a conversation and ended up talking about Ranchi, Modi, Jharkhand elections and PK. The day had a great start. Alot of my family members and friends were concerned about me being alone with no cake, no party. I was amazed but then happiness is a choice, I chose to be deliriously happy. I will count this day as one of the best birthdays I had. 

My journey towards the purpose started the very next day when I left Ranchi for the hinterlands (read: heartlands) of Jharkhand. My destination was a remote village called Bishunpur which was some 130 kms away from Ranchi. I boarded a passenger train which unlike the local trains in cities was quiet and passive. It dropped me to another district called 'Lohardaga' from where I took a local bus. There are hardly two buses which go to Bishunpur and no bus enters there after five in the evening. I was racing against time, although I successfully boarded the train, I was clueless where the conductor had adjusted my luggage in this violet bus with half a million passengers. This bus which is popularly called 'Shalu Bus' worked as a time machine and with each mile forward it took me back in the times, when I reached Bishunpur I was some decades behind the present. 

Mallargiri, a true art. That was one of those times when I was surrounded by artists and trying to have a hands on experience of a stunning art. It was difficult to take your eyes off from the intense dedication of the men of Mallar tribesmen. Every pot that was coming from the heat had a different story to tell. This beautiful process that I was observing involved immense toil of a man, fuming belligerence of the fire and a mild touch of nature. I was awestruck to see those measuring bowls coming out of that furnace stronger with a layer of metallic silver all over it as if it was always meant to swallow the mud. 

Everytime I used to look at the sky in the morning I encounter the mighty mountains standing erect and nurturing the mortals who worship them. In the night when I could roll my eyes up to it, I see radiating diamonds with twinkling smiles, expressing their felicity for being over this land of stark beauty. 

In my discovery of this beautiful jungle village I realised that people here are exceptionally wonderful. I always had an interesting fear with me all the time. People had cautioned us not to venture out in the village even in the day time as the danger of the Maoists persists. Some seventy very active Maoists had come to the village to stay for a while. I used to love the amazement with which people used to tell about them. They asked us not to talk to them much in case we bump into them. I was elated to acknowledge their presence. There used to be some fires in the night, elections were also on head. All in all it was a crazy atmosphere which culminated into a state bandh by some Maoist party.

These journeys undoubtedly taught me more than books, the experiences that I gathered are the guides, my mentors. These places are the different chapters which are showing me a hidden strength in my inner self. Altogether they are helping me unlearn and relearn and believe me there couldn't be better fun than that. 

I have never believed in the universality of things or ideas. But again, universe itself has created a uniformity in making kids. They remain the magnificent source of inspiration everywhere. When I peeped into the eyes of the tribal kids there, I saw a great deal of confusion. But certainly the will and skills that these children possessed were beyond my reckoning. I tried to replace their affirmation to everything with untameable curiosity. I wish they could ask me more questions, I worked on my own inability to evoke curiosity. A day when I was telling them about different occupations and i found out that alot of them want to be engineers but haven't even seen water tanks or a three-four storeys building. In a village which is hotbed of maoism, half of them wanted to be soldiers, now when I contemplate about this I fear what they really meant by soldiers. And then there was Rohtesh who told me that he wanted to be a 'Insaan', that moment I told myself to go back and relearn about life all over again. He knew life way better than me. I asked the class to stand up and applaud. I in a corner was ruminating about the depth of this little, bald guy's answer. 

These supremely talented kids have been looking after their amazing culture. Everytime I used to look at them I used to wonder about the rich and beautiful heritage of culture that they are carrying on their shoulders unwittingly. Little guys garbed in traditional white lungis and girls draped in white sarees with red borders showcased a performance, traces of which I will keep in my heart for a long time to come. Those 'mandhara' and 'nagera' were larger than those kids but plated perfectly on the rhythm, a melodious song gave me jitters. It was heart warming to listen their prayers during dawn and dusk. It used to start and end the day on a very high note. 

One fine day I left those dense jungles and came back to my concrete ones. Now that I'm here I'm afraid, one day development will do the same to Bishunpur as it has done to my city. I'm happy that this journey has surpassed all my previous experiences.