Friday, April 30, 2010

The Noah's Way

Some hilarious satires on religion are locked up and lost in past issues of various magazines. I plead with the Reader's Digest to permit me to use this short piece which appeared in its issue in 1976.

THE NOAH'S WAY

(From Reader’s Digest 1976)



And the Lord said unto Noah, “Where is the ark which I have commanded thee to build?”

And Noah said unto the Lord, “Verily, I have had three carpenters off ill. The gopher-wood supplier hath let me down – yea, even though the gopher-wood hath been on order for nigh upon 12 months. What can I do, O Lord?”

And God said unto Noah, “I want that ark finished even after seven days and seven nights.”

And Noah said, “It will be so.”

And it was not so.

And the Lord said unto Noah, “What seemeth to be the trouble this time?”

And Noah said unto the Lord, “Mine subcontractor hath gone bankrupt. The pitch which thou commandest me to put on the outside and the inside of the ark hath not arrived. The plumber hath gone on strike. Shem, my son who helpeth me on the ark side of the business, hath formed a pop group with his brothers, Ham and Japeth. Lord! I am undone!”

And the Lord grew angry and said, “And what about the animals, the male and the female of every sort to come to thee to keep their seed alive upon the face of the earth?”

And Noah said, “They have been delivered unto the wrong address but should arriveth on Friday.”

And the Lord said “How about the unicorns and the fowls of the air by sevens?”

And Noah wrung his hands and wept, saying “Lord, unicorns are a discontinued line; thou canst not get them for love or money. And the fowls of the air are sold only in half dozens. Lord! Lord! Thou knowest how it is!”

And the Lord in His wisdom said, “Noah, My son, I knowest! Why else do you think I have caused a flood to descend upon the earth?”

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Arctic Fever ! Part 6 (Final Part)

First Published in 'Deccan Herald', Sunday, November 11, 2001 (Reproduced with permission)


It could only be an impoverished mind that could think of such a trite alteration. But the force of it was stark. I opened my eyes and sat up with a start and noticed that Karsten was already squatting on the sleeping bag, with the pistol in his hand. He peered into my eyes inquiringly. He immediately seemed to sense that I had arrived at a morbid realisation of the purpose of the whole game. There was a cold silence for a brief moment.

"Did you get the whole puzzle?" He enquired gravely.

"What puzzle? I think I got the solution to the last word you had given me. "I said in a tone as placid as my wits could muster.

The threatening stillness of the universe was being gently punctuated by the rain drops falling on the fabric of the tent. In my sharpened sensitivity I seemed to hear the ever so faint hum of the helicopter at an awfully far off distance.

"The word?" he asked almost benevolently.

" Is it ICY?" I asked despairingly.

" It is icy!" He declared with malevolent satisfaction.

By now the drone of the helicopter to me was audibly perceptible, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

"Now for the next word...", he trailed off and stared absorbedly for a moment at vacant space. I realised that he too had heard the drone of the approaching helicopter. I could judge by the sound that it was still hopelessly far off.

"Come on now! Hurry! Limb ... Give me a word for that !"

"Why are you in such a hurry?" I tried to play on. I contrived to buy some precious time by pretending to have wrongly heard the word clue he had given me. "Anyway there are many words for limp. Hobble, Totter, Stagger..."

"Stop it!" He cut me short savagely.

The helicopter was quite close to our camp by now. Karsten suddenly got up and rushed out of the tent. I remained motionless on the sleeping bag. I heard him take a few short steps. Within moments he rushed back and coldly stared at me from the entrance. Our eyes locked each other for a brief moment. His whole face was tense and he clenched his jaws tightly. He then withdrew and ran a few paces down the valley. I heard the loud report of the pistol above the din of the approaching helicopter. Karsten Allärt had blown his brains out!


                                           The Great Greenland Ice Cap seen in the distance 
                                              (estimated to be about 10 km thick at places)

During a brief stop at Copenhagen on my way to India, I made enquiries about Karsten . His violent suicide had shocked his friends. They could never visualise him as suicide prone. I had no heart to explain to them that things could have been worse: a murder and a suicide. Things were not too good with Karsten before he left for Greenland. Apparently his girlfriend of many years had left for Cambridge to pursue her studies in veterinary sciences a year before. Upon reaching England she had neither written him a single letter nor had she responded to any of his. There had been no fight or any disagreement and they had parted very cordially. He had confessed to his friends that he was deeply troubled at things having been left hanging and him not being given the reason for the break. Worse still, he was not very sure in his mind whether there was a final break at all. He was feeling lonesome. He had told me so while trekking one day.

xxx

                                                 CONCLUDED

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Arctic Fever - Part 5 (Continued ...)

First Published in Deccan Herald, November 11, 2001 (Reproduced by permission ...)


I thought it was time I went back to the puzzle. What else could expert weaver suggest other than a spider. Perhaps it could be 'spied her'. I told him.

"It's just one word." he said helpfully.

Then I switched over to Weaver birds. Did they have some other name? I racked my brains and soon felt tired.

"I give up. Better give me the answer."

"No! Don't give up so easily." he seemed to plead, "I really want you to get the answer."

I asked for time and said that I would try later and picked up a book to read. I read till dinner time, and after dinner, I prepared for the evening roll-call.

To my dismay I found that the radio had broken down and could neither transmit nor receive messages. The drop must have damaged it. I tried jiggling all the switches and knobs but nothing worked. It meant that our separation from the outside world was complete. The dense fog that enveloped our camp and the treacherous precipices that surrounded us precluded the possibility of the helicopter reaching us through the fog. I felt terri¬bly unhappy as I would be missing the only source of entertainment and human contact and the dry British humour that other teams in Greenland were frequently indulging in while answering their calls. Karsten did not seem too upset by the loss as he rarely answered the roll-call.

"That gives me more time to solve your puzzle", I told Karsten as I got busy with it. I followed many wrong leads before I got close to the answer and all through he was stubborn enough not to offer any help.

"It's lace!!", I finally exclaimed.

"Very good." he said dryly, "Tomorrow if the same weather continues you can finish off all the words and get the quote."

The same weather continued. That night the temperature dipped considerably and it had been snowing. It was still snowing when I woke up in the morning. Karsten was already awake but was lying in the sleeping bag staring vacantly upwards. Having got out of the bed I put on a warm water proof jacket and went out. There was a dense fog and the whole surroundings were depressingly grey, wet and freezing. I recalled that the base would be missing our call for the second time that morning.

After breakfast and coffee, which Karsten also shared, we rushed back to the warmth of our sleeping bags. I tried reading a book, but the light inside was too dim. Karsten as usual picked up the pistol, cocked it and peeped into the dark barrel.

"I'll write the next clue on a piece of paper" he said laying the pistol down. He picked up my field diary and tore off a sheet, scribbled something and handed it over. It read :

"I see my way as birds their trackless way,
When taken in a pair it talks about today."

His clues were getting more convoluted and ridiculous. I lay thinking about him and slowly dozed off.

I might have slept for ten minutes, when in my sleep, a concept just an idea formed and took shape in very concrete words.

"Death lays his icy hands on kings."

For some reason I woke up with a shiver and saw that Karsten too was fast asleep. I tried to recollect why at all I was frightened, but in vain. I even tried remembering if there were any other ideas leading up to the sentence that had formed in my mind while dozing, but no! There didn't seem to be any. Could this be an intuitive leap of my mind wrought by a heightened awareness of my surroundings? I picked up the sheet of paper on which he had scribbled and realised that the first two words did indeed add up to ICY, but I could not be sure about that. The other word that was already known was LACE, and suddenly I realised that once before he had mixed up a similar pronunciation.

My mind raced in all directions to avert a possible threat to my life. I toyed with the idea of hiding the bullets, and later even the pistol. Then I reconsidered. It was possible that he would get furious and attack me at once. There was nowhere I could escape to and no place to shelter. I really regretted not asking for a replacement when I had a chance. The inspirations that were providing me the answers to his puzzles were becoming terribly dangerous. There was only one hope: to delay my giving him the solutions to his puzzles, each one of them mortally dangerous to me, till help arrived. With no radio contact between our camp and the base, help would surely come with the sun.

I lay still with my eyes closed as if in deep sleep but with my mind churning out wild thoughts. "Perhaps there's some way of knocking him out cold and binding up his hands. Then I would be safe! I had a hammer. I could even do it. Now! When he is asleep. Or maybe there's nothing to all this. No malignant designs! No evil intentions! Nothing! Then I'd be charged with criminal assault."

My thoughts were running wild thus when I suddenly realised that I needed no further clue! The puzzle for me was complete. The word 'Kings' would be substituted by the clue to the first word for which the solution I had arrived at a play on my own name! Yes that would be it :

'DEATH LAYS HIS ICY HANDS ON DEEPAK'

 
                                                        (To be Continued ... )

Monday, April 19, 2010

Arctic Fever - Part - 4 --- (Continued...)

First Published in Deccan Herald, November 11, 2001  (Reproduced by permission)


"Are you good at solving crossword puzzles?" he asked me after some time.

That was the first bit of conversation he had started from his side in the past many days. Hitherto he would respond with just a grunt or a nod to the most essential dialogue.

"I'm not too good at it."

"Never mind!" he said genially, " I'll give you a puzzle. Why don't you try your hand at it."

I readily agreed, for I wanted to do my best in bringing about a cheerful air. The burst of the gun had done him good. On my side I wanted to play safe and avoid all disagreements. Should I tell the pilot the day after tomorrow and ask the leader for a replacement? This was the pressing question that occupied my mind the most. What if the whole threat was imaginary? It would upset the whole schedule and cause untold inconvenience. It would also damage my reputation irreparably. Now he was showing signs of being friendly and I decided to co operate.

"What is the puzzle?" I asked him.

"It's a modified quotation from a poem." he said. "I'll give you a cryptic clue to each word not necessarily in the same order. All you have to do is decipher it."

"Sure!" I said sportingly, "give me the clues."

"Here's the first clue."He began, "It's a definite article with the summer sprite."

I had never tried my hand at crosswords. His clue couldn't help me to get on the right track for a long time. I gave 'Sunfairy' and 'Mistletoe' as answers, recalling old memories from my school textbook. He just laughed and said that I was way off the mark. I was still at it at dinner time when I suddenly had a flash. I recalled the name of Puck from Shakespeare and got the answer, which was a play of words on my name.

"It's my own name!" I told him beaming.

"Right!" he said, "I'll give you the next clue tomorrow." The rest of the day was spent in silence.

Next morning he offered to give me the clue for another word. I however declined and told him that it would disturb my work for the day. In the evening at the roll call over the radio, I conveyed to the base our plans for a camp shift the next day. After dining we crawled into our sleeping bags and while we were relaxing idly, he gave me the clue for a second word in the quote.

"A leading addend with an expert weaver gives the homonym."

I couldn't get the answer that day as I fell asleep in a short while. Next morning there was the usual hurried activ¬ity that accompanied camp shifts. I felt more confident with Karsten and dropped the idea of asking the expedition leader for a change of assistant as he seemed to be getting friendlier. "All this crossword exercise could be his way of generating a friendly air" I thought. For my part, I decided to play along and later develop some game of my own to reduce the impact of isolation where the other person becomes the sole target of one's frustrations. When the 'copter arrived, we loaded our belongings hurriedly and flew to a place about 15 miles to the northeast. While unloading the cargo there was a minor accident. The radio was a portable one and it came in a case with a sling attached to it so that it could be hung on the shoulder like a bag. The sling of the radio hooked on to a bolt in the helicopter's body and slipped off my hand and fell on the ground with a thud. These radios were rugged and the impact was too soft to cause concern. Later the helicopter flew off.

We had to hurry with the pitching of the tents, for the weather was turning bad. The föhn had been blowing fairly strong from the southeast since morning. I cross checked with the pocket barometer and found that the pressure had fallen. By two o'clock, low dense clouds were seen to the southeast in the lower part of the valley. Within an hour our camp was enveloped in thick fog and it started raining.


    When the weather went bad, dark and gloomy with snow

Bad weather was the last thing that I desired under the circumstances. I had an ominous feeling that even a day's confinement with him inside the tent would catalyse animus and spell disaster. Karsten again retrieved the pistol and resumed polishing it.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Arctic Fever - PART 3 (Continued ...)

First Published in Deccan Herald, Sunday November 11th, 2001 (Reproduced by permission)


He scowled and crawled back into his sleeping bag.



                          Karsten electing to walk ahead to prevent me from putting a wrong foot

That was very unlike Karsten. He was quite considerate to others feelings and while trekking, would always elect to stay ahead in order to prevent me from putting a wrong foot. The past few days, however, he trailed behind me and seemed to be lost in thought as if some urgent matter had kept him preoccupied. I had even remarked to him about it, but he hadn't volunteered any information.

"I'm just feeling lonesome!" he had said.

When he awoke, he sulked for a while and I had to humour him a bit. Evenings found us in each other's uneasy presence. That was what had happened in the past days of bad weather. Both of us had revealed most of our secrets and it was as if we had suddenly become poor: literally bankrupt stark naked in each other's fault finding gaze. He gradually started reacting adversely to disagreements in the various discussions that we resumed and any contradiction of his ideas on my part seemed to enrage him. As time progressed he became positively demanding and was not gratified by my silent nods or perfunctory approval. He demanded a whacking support.

"Listen, Karsten!" I told him finally, "I'd rather not have any discussions."

That precipitated a disaster. He withdrew into a shell and resisted all attempts to draw him out. The next day out of boredom, as I presumed, he fished out the pistol and busied himself polishing it. He had started with the butt and had given it a glittering shine. Later he polished the barrel and the magazine and then the whole pistol. The roll call over the radio in the evening, to me assumed a metaphysical importance for it gave me an opportunity to listen to other voices and affirm, so to speak, that the world I had left behind in some remote past still existed and that I would one day get back to it.

After work the next evening, he again set down to polish the pistol. It was unnecessary: the pistol was as clean as it could ever be. As he went on with the polishing, his face lit up with a strange sense of satisfaction. He viewed the pistol from various angles successively and smiled to himself. He pointed it towards himself, brought it close to one eye and peeped into the menacing darkness of the barrel.

He again busied himself with the pistol for the third day, cocking the hammer of the empty pistol and setting it off. A strange sense of insecurity began creeping over me. At first I thought of telling him that his preoccupation with the pistol could be dangerous, but our relationship over the past few days was not too good. I also realised that if I showed him I was worried he might pursue what he was doing with greater vigour. I considered informing the expedition leader over the radio, but it was too premature. There was nothing definite that indicated danger. Perhaps it was only my imagination. I decided that the wisest thing to do was never to reveal my fears. The second day we would be shifting camp and perhaps I could send word through the pilot.

The next morning, while I was preparing breakfast in the adjacent tent, I overheard ever so faintly the box of bullets being opened. I decided to investigate, but not too obvi¬ously. I called Karsten over for breakfast and when he was fully into it, I found an excuse to go back there. To my horror I found a small tin of bullets opened with two of them removed. I left for the field with a strange feeling in my gut. As always, he trailed behind me by about four or five paces. Each step that day was an effort and within a short time I was fatigued. All through there was a funny feeling just below the nape of my neck. Fortunately the traverse ended without harm. While I rested on the mattress, Karsten told me that he would go out for a walk and would return shortly.

Ten minutes later, I heard the report of a gun. God! Had he shot himself ? I rushed out of the tent and stood wondering in which direction he had gone. There was another blast in a short time some distance away. I then realised that he was firing without purpose. Heaving a sigh of relief, I retreated into the tent and threw myself down on the mattress. Soon I heard his footsteps and he came into the tent and relaxed.

 
                                                            (To be continued ....)

Friday, April 16, 2010

Arctic Fever ! PART-2 (Continued ...)

First Published in Deccan Herald, Sunday November 11th. 2001.  Reproduced by permission.

Without answering him I picked up the alpine tent and we got down to work. It took us three hours to set up the camp. Two tents, one for living in and the other one for cooking had to be erected and the flaps weighed down on all sides by boulders gathered from around. The telescopic aluminum rods gave us some trouble. The radio aerial had to be set, the air mattresses blown and the two camp stoves assembled and filled with kerosene. After dinner we spread ourselves on the rocky ground in mild sunshine and talked of many things.

As he talked on I could gather that Karsten held several strong intellectual opinions. He seemed to dislike the accurate mathematically structured way in which Science defined the world and craved for an emotional aesthetic. His fantasies were formally exquisite, though curiously dwelling on very devious schemes of cheating the public and the like; he confessed that he was too much of a chicken to actually carry them out.

The next eight days were hectic. We would leave camp at seven in the morning after answering the radio roll call and return only at six. The trekking was tough going in the rugged terrain. For Karsten the exercise was all the more strenuous because the whole thing amounted to pure labour. He couldn't grasp the importance of the work and the rocks didn't interest him. There was always a danger of slipping on the smooth rocks, or placing a foot on an unstable boulder. Concealed crevasses covered by snow posed a problem. He loved to talk and I couldn't join in, for I had to concentrate on the geological patterns on the ground.





                                              Field work in the rugged arctic terrain

On the ninth day a camp shift to an adjoining area twenty miles away became necessary. Both of us desired the change. The fringes of the Arctic were already becoming too familiar. The next camp offered no surprises and the same routine continued. Our conversations had for the last few days veered away from the 'theoretical', which had freshness when we were still unfamiliar. Later I initiated a new trend in our relationship by confessing trivial crimes and had sought him out as a confidant. It had always worked in the past whenever I was forced to spend any length of time with a stranger. Quite predictably he reassured me that I was not such a great wretch that I had made out to be and said that he was in fact quite disappointed.

He talked of his various misdeeds. He supposedly had a bull mastiff bitch procured as a gift from a neighbour who was emigrating abroad. He hadn't any interest in having pets but had acquired the dog with the sole intention of selling the pups and making money when she littered. His plans had gone awry as she grew up to be a sickly dog often vomiting on the carpet. He had almost decided to kill it and with that purpose, he had brought home a solution of gold cyanide from an electroplating plant.

"I dipped a slice of bread", he said, "in the cyanide solution and then I had second thoughts. I felt that I perhaps shouldn't do it. The slice, now soggy, could no longer hold on and dropped on the floor. Before I could stop her she gobbled up the slice and in seconds she lay dead!"

"God! That's horrid !"

He didn't think so. That encouraged me to come out with more serious transgressions of mine.

We had spent a fortnight and a day or two all by ourselves when the weather went bad. I had been forewarned about the bad weather that frequently occurred in Greenland, and it didn't belie my worst fears. There was a continuous downpour for the next four days; we were cooped up in the tent and forced to lay prone. In short we were thoroughly uncomfortable.






A reindeer surprised by our presence !




The strain and boredom was telling on our nerves. Sheer idleness aroused old frustrations and we started picking on each other. The food boxes labelled A, B and C and purportedly containing a slight variation in theme didn't prove very different: the difference was only semantic. I thoroughly enjoyed the orange concentrate and would pour out each day, half an ounce of the syrup into a flask that could be strapped on to my waist and dilute it with the near freezing water of the lakes. Karsten never partook of the bottle and I assumed that he didn't enjoy it.

The third day of the bad weather he ventured into the adjoining tent and came back in a few minutes with a frown.

"Where's the orange syrup? Hey!", He thundered.

"I think it's finished."

"That's very selfish of you!", he said sounding castigatory.

"What the hell!" I countered irritated. "It was lying there for the asking ! No one stopped you from using it!"

 
                                                                       (To be continued ...)

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Arctic Fever ! - Part I

Short story Published in DECCAN HERALD, Bangalore,  Sunday, November 11th, 2001 (Reproduced by permission)


                  J.H.JOHNSTRUP - that was the name of the cutter that was approaching the base camp and everyone was apprehensive: a feeling one gets when a routine is broken. It also happens at the end of a long train journey. We had chugged along the fjord for five hours and the visual impressions were so beautiful, so grand and yet so serene. None of us wanted the order changed so soon. We had left Godthåb at two o'clock that afternoon with Kangiussaq as our destination. All over Greenland there are absolutely uninhabited areas without traces of human activity. Yet the map of Greenland shows different names given to different areas of barren nothingness. Isukasia, Qôrqut, Ivisârtoq ... how these regions got their name, to me remains an enigma. So too with Kangiussaq.


                                  Icebergs floating in Gothabsfjord (almost at the head of fjord)


                          View of an iceberg as we sail past it in our cutter - J.H. Johnstrup

The cutter rounded a bend in the fjord and the camp sprang into view. A large square dark green tent stood in the middle with a neat row of white alpine tents facing it. An orange and white helicopter was parked at the southern end of the camp. Behind the row of alpine tents was another large tent by the side of which stood a large radio aerial. The vessel anchored at a distance in the fjord, and we disembarked into a rubber dinghy which took us ashore. Some people were already in the base camp and we were introduced to them by the expedition leader Peter Appel. That was when I first met Karsten Allärt, my Danish assistant who was to be with me for the next three months.

Big faced Karsten was a tall man of twenty five with deep set eyes, prominent cheekbones and a strong square chin. He certainly appeared to be a man of character. His eyes smiled as he shook hands in an iron grip.

"A fine country, as we've heard from Brian ", he said by way of opening up the conversation, when I was introduced to him as a geologist from India.
"Yes!" I said, wishing neither to add nor subtract from the views he already held.
"Are you a Brahmin?" he asked, displaying his knowledge of India.

And in that one question I felt completely at home in Greenland and with him too. Though the rest of the evening was consumed in exchanging views about Indian castes, sacred cows, idol worship and other miscellany that crop up when an uninitiated westerner meets an Indian, the evening passed off very pleasantly and I was happy to have him as my assistant. He spoke fluent English and created an ambience of such camaraderie that, among members of the same sex, is seen only in India.

"The main problem in Greenland is one of keeping yourself dry, and as I've heard, that is not always easy ", he continued as we prepared to retire.

Karsten Allärt too was new to the Greenland environment. He was studying for a degree in liberal arts in Copenhagen and had come to Greenland as a part of his curriculum, to earn a few credits for his graduate level studies. He knew nothing of geology nor was it required of him. He had to assist me in erecting camps and collecting specimens and generally be around in case of mishaps, which could always happen in a rugged Arctic terrain. His main subjects were Danish literature and Sociology of which I knew even less.

"I think we'd better rest. Just call me Karsten henceforth as I'll call you Deepak ", he offered and wished me a good night.


                                 Helicopter takes off to drop parties of two investigators
                                    at various camps in different parts of Greenland.

There was a flurry the next morning as each party prepared to leave for their own camps. We would be away from the base for three months. Just the two of us, all by ourselves. Sheer isolation. Not a soul in sight anywhere within fifty kilometers. The only person we would be seeing every ten days or so was the pilot who would come to shift our camps and provide rations. Around two o'clock that afternoon we began loading the helicopter. Alpine tents, sleeping bags, pistols camp stoves and so on. There was a deafening din as the engine revved up and we took off. Upon landing the whole cargo was unloaded in a hurry amidst the roaring confusion of the engine. We were shouting hoarse instructions to each other. Frenzied movements and actions. Noise and wind from the rotor blades. Doors closed. Engine revved up further. Ear splitting commotion. The 'copter took off and manoeuvring a high saddle, disappeared. And then there was silence all over.

The silence that descended was ghoulish. I wanted the noise to go, but not the way it went. Not so suddenly. Neither did I want that kind of silence. A bird's twitter, or at least the rustle of a leaf. Yes! That kind of silence would have been better. The hectic activity of the past few days, the laughter, the clinking of wine glasses in restaurants, all of them still remained in my memory but seemed lost forever. All that could even have happened on some other planet.


"What in the world are you thinking of ?", Karsten asked, glancing at me.

I thanked him much for that bit of speech. I was reassured that I was not alone. I excitedly explained to him how I felt.

"How surprising! That was precisely my feeling", said Karsten.

Pleased to hear that the eerie sensation was not peculiar to me, I thought of how at that very moment of space and time in the universe there were two of us with the same feeling, and in the comprehension of our unique and total interdependence such as I had never experienced earlier, I regained vigour.

"Do you feel a sharp perception of the environment around you? My bones seem to be vibrating in resonance with savage Nature! I've never felt this before!" exclaimed Karsten.

                                                                          (To be continued  ... )

Monday, April 12, 2010

Thanksgiving for the trek !

People who venture to trek up from Gauri Kund to Kedarnath might have noticed and paid heed to one aspect : while many middle aged men in their early to mid forties choose to make the distance either on ponies or in palanquins, you often find bent and arthritic infirm old women doggedly walking along the path with grim determination on their faces. Where do they get the sudden unexplained resource of energy from? While the well-heeled true to the expression don sturdy trekking shoes bolstered with woolen stockings, their heads covered with scarves and balaclavas, you find these rustic devotees with none of these apparels – they just have their faith to take them there and bring them back safely.

Something like that only can explain my recent achievement of trekking up the Kumara Parvat / Pushpagiri peak. Anyone who has seen me recently at close quarters would definitely be aware of my utter lack of physical fitness and body-shape to undertake an arduous trek. For months I’ve not been going for walks, nor have I been exercising to keep up any semblance of fitness. I am quite overweight and in addition have a wheeze. In trying to keep pace with a friend during a walk recently, he noticed how I was gasping for breath and advised me that I should not be straining myself and perhaps should just rest adequately. So in spite of being aware that I was totally unsuited for it, I ventured up the peak spurred by a spiritual purpose, and ardently seeking the blessings of the Guru. Yet when the target was accomplished and I returned home with life and limb in tact and with only stiff legs, I felt like appropriating the credit totally to myself. Do I tend to forget how much of divine assistance I get when I do a task that is clearly beyond my capabilities? In fact do many others do a similar thing too? I quote from the book “Emotional Intelligence” by Daniel Goleman where a composer describes those moments when his work is at its best:

“You yourself are in an ecstatic state to such a point that you feel as though you almost don’t exist. I’ve experienced this time and again. My hand seems devoid of myself, and I have nothing to do with what is happening. I just sit there in a state of awe and wonderment. And it just flows out by itself”

“His description is remarkably similar to those of hundreds of diverse men and women – rock climbers, chess champions, surgeons, basketball players, engineers, managers, even filing clerks – when they tell of a time they outdid themselves in some favoured activity. Athletes know this state of grace as “the zone,” where excellence becomes effortless, crowd and competitors disappearing into a blissful steady absorption in the moment".

Anyway God, I don’t know about others, but I offer my thanks for the wonderful trek!

Friday, April 2, 2010

Confusion in the Naming of Kumara Parvata

WHAT I HAVE SAID IN THIS POST PERTAINS ONLY TO THE OLDER MAPS OF SOI


Having served in the Geological Survey of India (GSI), I am aware of the possibilities when map-makers could commit errors in the naming of some landmarks in areas with which the surveyors may not be very familiar. Survey of India (SOI) like the GSI has officers drawn from all over India, and quite often they may not be aware of the local legends and the local language. So quite often, there is a very real possibility that errors may be made while naming some landmarks.

Take the instance of the peak Kumara Parvata that lies in toposheet 48P/10. The name Kumara Parvata is a very ancient one and as I have said elsewhere in my blog, it figures even in the Skandha Puranas. There is a very ancient temple at the top of the peak, and in the rocky basement behind the temple you see very antique script carved out on the rocky basement and the purported impressions of the feet of Lord Subramanya.

The local legend which has come down through the ages has it that Lord Subramanya – the son of Shiva and Parvati slew the demon king Tarakaasura on this peak. At the precise point of time when Subramanya slew the demon king, the Devas from the heaven rained down a torrent of flowers on the peak and hence it is also called Pushpagiri (pushpa=flower; giri-peak). Ever since on Pushpagiri some variety of flower or the other blooms throughout the year.

In the present times the people of Coorg refer to the peak as Pushpagiri, whereas the people of South Kanara call it Kumara Parvata. Actually it is the same peak.

The Survey of India seems to have made a minor error owing to a minor lack of understanding of these aspects. It appears that they have named a smaller peak enroute from Subramanya – Girigadde - Pushpagiri as Kumara Parvata. This peak is actually known as Sesha Parvata since past times, as it resembles the hood of a snake. You find that in the map this peak to have beeen incorrectly named as Kumara Parvata.

It is hoped that this error is rectified in future editions of the map in concordance with local legend, mythology and cultural history and ancient traditions of the people, and Pushpagiri is also shown as Kumara Parvata.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Kumara Parvata Trek - Final Descent

KUMARA PARVAT TREK – FINAL DESCENT

On arriving at Girigadde from Kumara Parvata I felt a sense of thrill of having accomplished a goal I had set out to achieve. A nice hot water bath refreshed me. After dinner as I sat with Nagaraj and Mahalinga Bhat and was telling them that I had a full sense of satisfaction of having accomplished a tough task without a calamity, Mahalinga Bhat reminded me that there was still a significant part that remained.

That remark brought me down to reality – there was still a descent of 2500’ to be accomplished safely. A major problem had arisen – due to the steepness and the slippery nature of the slope coming down from Kumara Parvata, I unconsciously was forced to exert more force on all my toes of both the feet. This resulted in blisters on the left big toe and the second toe. In fact, even the big toe of the right foot had developed blisters. The problem was that the shoes were too tight and was beginning to bite at the left big toe. My feet were truly aching. Then there was the problem of stiff calf muscles and thigh muscles. I crossed my fingers and prayed that these should not give much trouble.

 
(L to R:  Nagaraj,  Narayana & Mahalinga Bhat)
 
We had decided to leave a little late (around 8:30 a.m.) on the morning of Saturday from Girigadde on our way back to Subramanya. After a breakfast of cooked Avalakki (beaten rice or poha in Hindi), I took a final round of photographs of my hosts and my guide Nagaraj. I thanked everyone for their hospitality and we set out on our descent at 8:30 a.m.
The shoe-bite and blistered toes gave me severe trouble. One has to be extremely wary while placing their foot while descending. Hence a person out of touch with trekking finds it quite strenuous. I kept on taking rest at many places before we reached Bhimana Bande. We arrived there at 10:30 a.m. and soon heard the sounds of a fairly large group ascending but they were concealed by the foliage. In a few minutes they appeared and I graciously invited them to come and rest on the rock – for after all, I had ‘Just done it’!
 

The group of youths was from Bangalore but a few of them belonged to Shimoga, Belgaum and other parts of Karnataka. They seemed to be appreciative when I told them that I was close to sixty and had set out from Bangalore on the trek alone with only my Guru as a companion. They took a few photographs of us which they later mailed me. (Right). I wished them a safe trek and an enjoyable experience as we began our descent further down. I had spent almost an hour at the Bheemana Bande. We left the Bande at 11:30 and after a slow and painful and strenuous descent arrived at Subramanya at 1:15 p.m. 

We arrived back at Subramanya on Saturday. Nagaraj informed me that it was virtually impossible to get a hotel room on a weekend at that place. He graciously invited me home and pressed me to accept his hospitality. He didn’t see any point in my wasting Rs.500/- on a hotel room for a short stay there. He had actually called his wife on the cell-phone and had requested her to cook lunch for me too. That was an extremely generous gesture. Accordingly we proceeded to his house and were warmly welcomed by his wife and mother. After a brief rest, I washed myself and we had a tasty sumptuous lunch that was truly satisfying. After a brief nap we booked a bus ticket back to Bangalore for a bus that was to depart at 10:40 p.m. So we spent the evening from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. at his house watching the television. Having dined later at 8:30 p.m. I took leave of his mother and wife. Nagaraj was gracious to see me off at the bus stand. Having thanked him profusely for all the hospitality he provided at Subramanya I bid him an affectionate farewell.


The journey back to Bangalore was a comfortable one in an air-conditioned Volvo carriage of the Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation. The bus arrived at Bangalore at 5:30 a.m. and I was at home by 6:15 a.m. on Sunday the March 28th 2010.

Thus the Subramanya – Girigadde – Kumara Parvata (Pushpa Giri) Trek was completed with the warm blessings of the Guru.