To be absolutely honest, when uncle (D’s father) called me
up to inform me about the upcoming weekend trip, I could not hide my scepticism
and lack of exuberance. Seriously, Ajodhya hills? However as D was leaving
Calcutta in less than one month’s time, I thought it was our last chance to do
some crazy sh*t together, well, of course until we met again.
Our train was scheduled to leave by 11 o’ clock at night
from Howrah station. The short journey from D’s place to Howrah was a dramatic
and memorable one. The EM Bypass-Park Circus connecting flyover had been
inaugurated for public vehicles on that very day and every one tried to take
the ‘superfast’ flyover route from Bypass as well as from the Park Circus end. Result? We
were stuck on the flyover for about 40 minutes. We had already started late and
auntie began to freak out and at one point we thought she might actually get
out from the rear seat and ask to drive the car herself. However, thanks to our
driver, when we finally reached at our destination it was reading 10.43 pm in
big, bold red on the station clock. Although both D and my heart did skip a
beat on the way when we saw the speedometer of the car was showing 100 while we were crossing (read flying past)
the Red Road.
No matter how posh and comfortable you feel on a flight,
train journey is always way more charming and fun; especially a whole night
train journey. I could not help reminiscing about my West Sikkim trip with D.
(Not this D, the other D. The evil one) That was the best train journey of my
life till date, despite the crazy snoring noise that I had to put up with.
We reached Purulia junction at around 6 am next morning. We could
feel the slight chill of October morning in the air. The warm ray of the sun felt
like heaven, although I knew this might not be the case as the day would grow
older. Purulia is famous for its crazy dry, hot climate.
Our guide was waiting outside with the car. Our destination
was Baghmundi hill which is about 59 km away from Purulia town. Purulia is
small but a very crowded town with a total population of 113,806 as per the 2001
census data. And the station area is most congested with myriad of roadside
shops and maze of rickshaws and bicycles. Soon we left the town behind and the
car picked up the speed. We were running via the NH 32 and as far as we could
see, it was green everywhere. And right where the green fields touched the
widespread horizon, the hills raised their heads high above the sky. This part
of West Bengal is basically a part of Chhota Nagpur Plateau and hence it
consists of hills with a total elevation of 2,805 ft.
We pre-booked the PPSP hostel which is run by the WBSEDCL. The
place was neat but the lack of maintenance was visible at places. The moment we
switched on the AC, it woke up from a long hibernation with a violent start
spitting rat poop on the bed. D and I occupied the last room along the hallway
as we needed privacy to do our own evil deeds. Dear men, do not get too
imaginative. It was nothing like that, not even remotely. When we hang out
together, it both looks and sounds like two cool dudes having a blast, except
the shopping talk and the selfie marathon.
After freshening up and satisfying the hungry rats that had
been practising for the Olympics in our stomachs since we got off the train, we
went out on our day trip to Ajodhya hills.
Here, people might wonder why it is named after the ancient
capital city of the mythological Ikhsvaku dynasty. The legend says, during
their banishment period, Rama and his wife Sita came to this place and stayed
here for some time. The area around Baghmundi forms the lowest step of Chhota
Nagpur Plateau. The highest peak of Ajodhya hills is Gorgaburu. Dear reader,
remember my Kiriburu trip? This might not come as a big surprise that Ajodhya
hills region is nothing but another extended part of Eastern Ghats range and
hence the geography as well as the demography seem to be very similar with
those of the Kiriburu region.
The biggest attraction of Ajodhya hills are the dams. Our guide
said most of these dams were created by storing rain water. However I highly
doubt the accuracy of this statement.
The first dam we visited had two parts, namely, the upper
dam and the lower dam. Now for the rest of the day I asked several people what
the name of the dam was. Upper and lower
dam of what? But sadly every time I got the same reply. Just upper dam and
lower dam. The dam is owned by the Purulia Pumping Storage Project, the same
people who owned our guest house.
The upper dam |
It was the first week of October, the entire place was blissfully
devoid of tourists. We were the only tourists there and I could not feel
any more happier about it. I hate my fellow tourists wherever I go. It’s a weird
pet peeve that I have.
The lower dam |
The day started to become hotter and every time we were
stepping out of the car, we could feel the scorching heat on our exposed body
parts.
Our next stop was Bamni falls, the falls formed by the Bamni
River. Bamni is basically a distorted
form of the word Brahmani, the spouse
of a Brahman. D and I discussed
briefly and came to the conclusion that this was where some long forgotten Brahman pushed his poor wife or the Brahmani over the edge into the river
and hence it became Bamni Falls. Although we could not decide whether the Brahman was an evil one or he was just
too annoyed with his nagging wife. Very poor joke.
The trek |
The upper part of the falls is beautiful with remains of an
old dilapidated stone bridge scattered around. However it is the lower part
that is truly spectacular. We had to take a steep descent of about 1 km to
reach the lower part and it was totally worth it.
We were severely distracted by some dudes taking bath in the
waterfall below and prancing about in wet gamchas
tied loosely around their waists. I can bet their prancing became a little more
vivacious the moment they saw us lurking above holding cameras and taking
pictures. But I swear to Great Lord Padmasambhava that I did not take a single
picture of them. Although no harm in looking, right?
We had lunch (free
lunch) at the bungalow of Zilla Parishad Chairman Sristidhar Mahato in honour
of uncle who happens to be a journalist. The courtyard of the bungalow was vast
and picturesque with several farm animals like swans and rabbits roaming
around. There were many other guests (or officials on tour) having lunch in the
dining room and I pointed out to D that we were the most special as we were
served lunch in fancy plates whereas the others got plain steel ones.
After lunch we headed off to another dam. Fortunately this one
did have a name. This one is called the Murguma dam. An encounter between the
Maoist militants and the CRPF took place near the dam a few years ago. Again, D’s
face (the evil one) stirred up my memory. Oh but he is not a militant by the
way.
The place still bears the signs of the Maoist mayhem. On the
bank of the lake we saw the remains of a burnt down forest office and an
adventure club.
The remains of the adventure club |
Forest office |
The sun was already preparing to take his leave for the day
and the lake was emanating an unearthly, surreal glow in the melancholy, dim
light of the twilight. The village women
were coming home after long day’s work that probably had started before the
dawn. This part of Bengal has always been one of the important cards for the Bengal politicians. The Jangal Mahal. The Maoist movement. A-uncle was telling us about his conversation with an old, tribal man at the Bamni falls. Apparently every body gains from Jangal Mahal, But any ray of hope in the lives of the poor, tribal population of this place is yet to come. Their life is nothing but a sad, vicious cycle of poverty, militant turbulence and bags of empty promises from the politicians which only makes good headlines for the newspaper.
Chhou dance is the most popular dance form of Purulia. The dancers
dress up in heavily decorative costumes & masks and perform various
mythological dance dramas. These masks are very popular among the collectors and
are sold separately as artworks. The Charida village of Baghmundi is famous for
the workshops of Chhou masks and costumes. We stopped there for a while on our way
back to the guest house. D and I bought two masks to take back home. The artiste
guy kindly obliged to pose for us.
That night spent at the PPSP guest house was one of the
craziest nights of my life. D and I boozed and danced in our room until we were
completely exhausted and fell dead asleep. Next morning I realised I had slept
under the thick blanket that was meant to be used in winter. Alcohol makes some
of us crazy, some of us nostalgic, some of us flirtatious. Apparently it turns
me into the damn snow witch.
Next day we wanted to go out again but sadly, that did not happen. We were informed that no car was available for hire due to some competitive exam taking place in the town. Mind you reader, it’s a village and transportation is a luxury good there. Our train was supposed to leave in the evening and we had the whole day at our disposal with nothing to do but roam about the guest house taking random pictures.
Next day we wanted to go out again but sadly, that did not happen. We were informed that no car was available for hire due to some competitive exam taking place in the town. Mind you reader, it’s a village and transportation is a luxury good there. Our train was supposed to leave in the evening and we had the whole day at our disposal with nothing to do but roam about the guest house taking random pictures.
The view from the rooftop of the guest house |
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Picture says a thousand words |
Howrah station never sleeps. At 4 o’ clock in the morning,
it was very much animated with people arriving and departing the city. We had
to wait for quite some time to get a cab. We flew past the closed Arsalan shop,
unusually quiet Quest through the empty Gariahat crossing to a deserted
Santoshpur bridge and within 40 minutes we were home. The sky had started gearing
up to welcome the sun. Birds were announcing the arrival of the dawn. The city
would be fully awake in about half an hour. Supriti Ghosh’s melodious voice was
coming out of the radio.
Bajlo tomar alor
benu.....
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