When the Red corridor beckoned me for some adventure!

Contributor: Rachit Sharma

Face greased and tanned, feet almost ruined by red soil, I stumbled back home with memories which will keep my courage afloat for a very long time to come. My stint at a backpacking hostel had come to an end which provided me enough to fund my trip to Chhattisgarh. Chhattisgarh has some stealthy charm that always beckoned me, this time when I got an opportunity to explore a citizen journalism portal working in tribal villages; I did not let it go.

As usual the journey started with a high note as some of my dearest friends showed up to bid adieu at the New Delhi Railway Station but I knew this well being is short-lived as I had a confirmed seat till Allahabad and rest of the journey was yet to be sorted. Allahabad came

as an interesting junction or may be I tried playing it interesting to battle out the 1000 degree Celsius temperature which literally melted away my soul out of my body. The regal rickshaws of Allahabad with scintillating backseats do give a notional feel of a monarch and the roads decked with appetizing street food do give a feel of a hungry monarch. Before diving into sand at the banks of Sangam, I dived into the street food at ‘Railway Road’ and ‘Civil Lines’. Time flew rambling on random roads and realizing the existence of old architectural pillars holding the heads of ancient homes in narrow lanes, touched by numerous generations, murmuring stories of births, deaths, cries, riots, celebrations and silence, that’s the charm of

small cities.

I firmly believe that a little kindness can be a solution to half of world’s problems; at least it works in my world. But at that very moment in Allahabad I was anxious at see a 17 hours journey leeringly waving at me. I pulled out my useless cell phone and was randomly surfing when a BSF jawaan came and asked if my internet is working to which I nodded and helped him find his seat as he had lost his cell phone. He was generous enough to offer me the upper berth and settled on the lower seat himself. We shared home made sweets and stories, he was posted in Durg which was a little ahead of Raipur. When I woke up the next morning we had left the hot lands of Madhya Pradesh way behind and had entered Chhattisgarh, the sight of piles of coal graced on red soil first met my eyes, the scene was overly stereotypical. As Raipur came with a drizzle I packed my rucksack and went out to take on to the city. It started raining heavy and you know what a city does in rain, it bares its soul, bares it to be touched.

The journey from Raipur to its younger brother, Naya Raipur had constant green scenery filtered through the droplets lying on the windows of the bus. Naya Raipur is still in womb but proficiently galloping the green fields and placing a concrete carpet instead. The organization that I was about to explore had always inspired me to break the shackles which say communication or journalism to be specific can only be governed by elite groups. As there, I was about to acknowledge the power of communication which lies in sharing, where the message is more powerful than the medium. I was blessed to meet some adivasi (tribal) journalists who were skillful, ambitious and determined. ‘Maoism’ will always spurt out in our conversations and they would tell how they are governed by two governments and bear the

thud of both. Some of them who were educated would argue that the whole world squander billions of dollars on conventions for environment protection but when an adivasi raises his voice for ‘Jal’, ‘Jungle’, ‘Jameen’, he is labeled a terrorist instead of an

environmentalist. It was amusing to peek into their rich culture of music, art and literature. Especially the music, I was fortunate enough to listen to some of the most beautiful songs in Gondi (a popular language of Gondwana region) language. We extensively talked about ‘Gotuls’ which are amusingly seen as sex hostels by the outside world but in fact are community centers of villages in tribal region where people come together to discuss the concerning matters. ‘Gotul’ serves as a guest house for village people; it is home to tribal music and dance, also it provides sex education and involves premarital sex but this fact shouldn’t overshadow the belief of community building for which ‘Gotuls’ are established.

With a heavy bag of knowledge and awareness and a heavier heart I left CGnet Swara’s office. As I had still one day for my departure, I decided to plunge into Bastar. ‘Kanker’ which was about 120 kms from Naya Raipur was pinned down. The state transport isn’t operative in the region, so I boarded a fancy private bus which might be regulated by the state authorities. The bus passing through dense amazonian jungles of ‘Dhamtari’, ‘Charama’, and ‘Makri’ took me to the languid town of ‘Kanker’. ‘Kanker’ though a district wasn’t better off than a town. Reaching there I did some gupchup breakfast, no I didn’t eat secretly, panipuri is called ‘gupchup’ in Chhattisgarh. While roving on a road in the town I saw a hill far-away, there was a short slide of stairs I could see on that steep hill. A sudden surge went down my spine and I decide to follow the sight. After crossing the village scene I reached the hill. The weather was pleasant, rained had cleansed the whole environment; I too was spirited to reach the finish point which I reckoned to be a temple. I started gliding up the

stairs, cherishing the enigmatic beauty of these grey hills and the darkest shade of dense greenery on both sides of the stair way. A man coming down seemed puzzled seeing me there and asked what am I doing there. Realizing my casual outing he suggested me to go back and told me about the ‘Naxal’ threat. As if I unknowingly chose this place to

wander. He asked for some water and emptied my bottle, in exchange he unsolicitedly asked me to be scared and cautious. I carried on unaware of what I was going to encounter. My nerves started realizing that this path isn’t as it seems, the stairway was outrageously steep. The fatigue of last 10 days started coming across the eyes. I was sweating buckets of water, my bag was getting heavier with every step. I took my water bottle out, tried soak up the last few drops. The distance ahead was not known, I was not sure if I could descend back. I decided to give the unknown a chance and carried on. Now the dehydration had

crippled me, I took off my shirt, my bag and lied on the staircase. The pleasant weather was sickening me beyond bounds. There was no sound of men but some weird sounds from the jungle kept discouraging me. Now the pattern was set, I would trek some steps dragging my

rucksack and would lie down. It kept going without any hope. 

Nature was teaching me the value of water very hard way. It came down to such a point that I looked for potholes but all in vain. While lying at a spot looking at a shiny black, one and a half foot long lizard with shrill orange colour patches, I realized I won’t be able to move if this creature decides to come and say hello. I joked with myself that I will be laughing on this situation on my way back down. 

Going down from here was out of question at this point as I knew the distance I had traveled and could never reach the base conscious. I decided to carry on towards the unknown. Now my rucksack was dragging me, a hope came after I saw a gateway towards the jungle on the hill. I was so spaced out that I immersed in that jungle and reached the other edge of the hill. There was a board which read that some 800 years ago the king used to throw the culprits from this very point. This spooky situation was the last thing that I was expecting. I ran back to the gateway and started again following a tamed path. My situation was getting worse, I literally screamed for water, nobody answered. I was not sure if anyone would ever turn up in this god forsaken place. There was no option other than to pick myself and drag along the path. My helplessness knew no bounds, it was as if everything that I ever experienced, everything that I ever loved, everything that I had ever lived came down to this moment which refused to part ways. “Walk” I said to myself as nothing seemed inspiring enough to keep up my deceasing spirits.

The advice worked, trekking up and down on the hilly terrain I saw this little temple glimmering from a distance. As I walked ahead I met my savior. Surrounded by dense bushes and meticulously put rock beds, there was this enormous green pond. My nerves refused to believe. I still remember the taste of that algae water, it tasted like divinity. Each drop that went down the throat moistened my eyes. While coming down, I was jumping with joy, clicking pictures, savouring the landscape of ‘Bastar’ from the hill. You know when I reached the point on my way down where I had told myself that I’ll laugh at this crippled condition, I did!

Long Live the ‘Jal’, ‘Jungle’, ‘Jameen’!!