Ms. Ungleesh
This story is about the days when sex determination of fetuses by ultra-sound scanning was rampant in India and was not yet outlawed.
It was very common in North India, especially in the smaller mofussil towns, for families to use the services of ultrasound scanning centres to determine the sex of their unborn child. A female child would cause untold anxiety to wedded couples as it would mean that they had to make intense preparations for saving up substantial amounts of money and wealth to pay as dowry to get their daughters wedded. Male babies caused no such anxieties and were considered the harbingers of wealth and prosperity, besides being assured agents to lead its parents to heaven and salvation after their deaths – something which only male children could do.
In such circumstances female fetuses were rampantly aborted all over the Indian subcontinent leading to a rather unhealthy and precarious male:female sex ratios that finally led the Indian Government to ban the usage of sex determination of unborn babies.
It was under such circumstances that Ms. Ungleesh was born. Although the name, to those who are familiar with Hindu names, strongly suggests a male gender, it is actually the name of a girl. A rather uncommon name though! But how she came to be named so is a story of extraordinary and surprising awareness for a fetus within the womb of an anxious mother.
It is said that when the mother went to an ultrasound clinic for scanning, and while she was being scanned in the abdomen, the fetus had positioned its hand with its finger projecting strategically in such a position that the doctor had no doubts whatsoever that the fetus was indeed a male. The photograph of the scan was also provided and the doctor confidently showed the proud parents the evidences of the baby being a boy. The parents returned home mighty pleased with themselves and pleased with the good fortune that had blessed them with a future boy. Being devotees of Shiva they had decided to select a name that would reflect the potencies of Shiva.
When the delivery actually did happen, it turned out to everybody’s surprise that the child was in fact a baby girl. The parents were shocked beyond their wildest expectations. How had the doctor been misled? On a careful scrutiny of the images they did realize that the fetus had fooled all of them by a clever use of a finger. Astounded by the remarkable awareness even when in the womb, they had no doubt that it was one of the potencies of Shiva that in fact had manifested as the baby girl. And the proud parents named the baby after the crucial feature of the baby’s body that had protected the child and evidently with the grace of Shiva. Hence the girl came to be given the name Ungleesh (Ungli – finger) – a seemingly masculine name for the charade she had played in great awareness despite being just a fetus in a womb.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
When a Venkatachalaiah Died !
My father who is 92 years old has been frequenting the Jayanagar Shopping Complex daily for the past 30 years just to spend a few happy moments with other elderly folks who come there for similar reasons. He says it is the fourth batch of elderies that are current there now – the other three batches having expired gradually, one following the other. Perhaps in his group he is one of the senior-most who is strong enough to walk up to the complex unaided. He sits there with others and chats up the political and social scene of Bangalore
The news of death among one of their group is fairly common occurrence. It so happened that one day somebody brought the news to the group that ‘Venkatachalaiah expired!’ So the group pooled in their funds and bought quite a big heap of flowers to be showered on the deceased.
As the group of elders headed towards Mr. Venkatachalaiah’s house and as they were in its vicinity, they found the said Venkatachalaiah coming out of the house and heading towards the Shopping Complex. They confronted the man with the news that he was supposed to be dead, and it was then that it struck them that it must be some other Venkatachalaiah. They felt relieved and the whole group including Venkatachalaiah headed back to the Shopping Complex. And upon arriving there, the heap of flowers was divided between the whole group, and of course, Venkatachalaiah got a portion too. The flowers were meant to be offered to God during the following day’s regular worship.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A Funny Incident In An Office
A FUNNY INCIDENT
A friend of mine is a small scale industrialist and is a Managing Director of his business. He has quite a few accountants and other clerks to run his business, and one of his assistants was a follower of Jainism.
It so happened that on a particularly tiring day of work when he could not apply his mind to the job in a meticulous manner due to being preoccupied with some personal concerns, the assistant approached this friend of mine for a seemingly small error and said:
“Ek chotti si galati maine
My friend excused the error and said “Try and be a bit more careful!”
About an hour later the assistant again came to my friend and pleaded:
“Ek aur chotti si galati
My friend said “It’s o.k.! Like I said earlier, be a bit more careful!”
When the assistant came to my friend later in the day for the third time saying:
“Arre Saab! Ek chotti si galati
My friend interrupted him and said:
“Suno Mere Bhai! If the sculptor who carved out the Gomateshwara sculpture instead of carving the sex organ hanging down, had carved it erect and perpendicular to the body and said ‘Chotti si galati
He further said “Aisi chotti si galatiyan mat kiya karo!!”
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Fear In The Mountains
Published in Deccan Herald, Magazine Section, July 12, 1987. Reproduced by Permission.
In the month of March 1975, I was carrying out geological traverses in the Kameng District of NEFA Himalaya. I had started out from Delhi
We shared a room in a tiny Border Roads rest house constructed mainly from wood and asbestos sheets. The rest house was rather isolated and lonely, being about two km from Jamiri village which was upstream of the Tenga River Tenga River
The sides of the valley were rather steep but that did not prevent the growth of a dense mixed jungle on either side of the river. There was no electric supply anywhere nearby, and during the night one could see more stars than a city-dweller could imagine. In the stillness of the night one could hear even the beating of one’s heart above the soft murmur of the river.
After a tiresome journey one day, Haiyath Singh and I returned to the rest house around five in the evening and refreshed ourselves with some biscuits and a cup of tea. Later, I suggested that we go and get some cigarettes. The shop was situated downstream and we had to walk two km in a direction opposite the village. When we left the rest-house it was already dusk and one could barely see ten metres ahead. We had walked some distance from the rest-house when our attention was attracted by the sound of a bell. It was ringing intermittently and softly. Ding-Dong… Ding-Dong… it went and rang again after a gap of a few seconds. We could not discern which side of the river it was coming from.
As we stood trying to locate the sound, we noticed a tiny red spark rise up, apparently from the river, on the other bank, become brighter and fall back into the river. This was curious. So we stood still for another half a minute when we saw the spark rise again and fall back. Except for the ringing of the bell intermittently, and the soft gurgle of the flowing river, the silence hung so heavily that one could cut it with a knife.
“Saab, woh Kaali bhooth hai”, said Haiyath Singh in a soft whisper.
When I turned to look at him, I noticed that his eyes were crystallized with fright. I could understand the cause for his fears, as he was from a remote village in the Almora District of Kumaon, where numerous superstitions are rife regarding ghosts and evil spirits. We started walking away from the place towards the cigarette shop, and all the while I busied myself in allaying his fears about ghosts. He persisted in relating various ghost stories of Kumaon and especially of the ‘Kali bhooth’ which was known to chase people, particularly young virgins, and set them ablaze.
We reached the shop, purchased some cheap cigarettes that were available, and on our way back, the sound of the bell and the spark rising and falling were still there.
We reached the rest-house and Haiyath Singh proceeded to cook dinner, which consisted of a few chapathis and dal. All the while he kept insisting that his ghost stories were true. I could see that he was working himself up to a frenzy. We dined around 8 pm, and by nine, having nothing much to do, put out the candle and lay on our beds.
In the silence of the night and in total darkness, still wide awake, I could not help my thoughts racing back to Bangalore – thoughts of Central College, of beautiful young girls, and specially of the pretty girl I had left behind. While I was enjoying my reverie, I began to hear the sound of the same bell faintly but distinctly and it was certainly far off. More than the sound of the bell what had troubled me was the spark of fire rising and falling, for which I had no conceivable explanation.
“Saab!” groaned Haiyath Singh.
“Kya bhai”, I asked
“Aap ko neend aayee?”
I kept silent, and in a while, he rose up and lit the candle. In the feeble glow of the candle light, I could see that his face was contorted with fear. The light cast eerie shadows on the wall, and in the stillness of the cold Himalayan night, the intermittent sound of the bell was disconcerting. The grave expression on Haiyath Singh’s face was not very assuaging either. Then there was that inexplicable spark of fire. And those gruesome ghost stories.
The bell was getting closer and closer and in a few minutes it sounded just outside our rest-house. Haiyath Singh threw up. I was disconcerted. I decided to settle the matter once and for all. Lighting up a torch, I crept out of a door which opened to the rear of the rest house, avoiding the front door, and trudged slowly around the building towards the barbed-wire fence, from which direction the sound was coming. I shone the torch in the direction of the sound, but could not see anything from the distance. I stood still for a while, and when matters seemed pretty safe, I mustered up enough courage to take a few steps in the direction of the bell, the sound of which was now mixed with the rustling of leaves.
In a few steps all was clear. There stood a brown horse munching away merrily. And around its neck was tied a bell. I could not help smiling. I walked back to the room and reported the matter to Haiyath Singh. He still would not believe what I was saying, so I was forced to drag him out the front door to show him the horse. I am still not convinced his mind was set at rest after seeing the horse, for when he woke up the next morning, he was complaining of a headache. I was still troubled about the spark and decided to investigate it the next day.
We left the rest-house early next evening and went and sat down at the spot. A little later, just before dark, we saw a fisherman arrive on the narrow eastern bank of the river. Haiyath Singh told me that it was the practice even in Kumaon, to cast the net in the river after dusk, when the fish cannot see clearly and are easily caught. He squatted hunched beside the river. A little later he lit up a beedi. Then the whole thing became clear. He would cup the lit beedi in his palm and when the hand was dropped beside him, the spark was concealed by his fingers. Whenever he lifted his hands to smoke, the spark became visible, appeared to rise from the river, would glow and fall back.
“Jo bhi hai, Saab! Kaali Bhooth ki kahani sach hai”, insisted Haiyath Singh.
xxx
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.
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?”
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.
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 ... )
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.
"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 ....)
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 ...)
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 ... )
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Kumara Parvata Trek - The Descent
We spent two hours at the peak. Both of us meditated for about forty minutes and attained a degree of tranquility. Later we lunched on the packets of pre-cooked pongal packets of MTR FOOD PRODUCTS. We quenched our thirsts with swigs of buttermilk. Later we headed to the Echo Point – a place where the echo is heard after roughly three seconds. I called out to Bhagya (my wife!) and heard someone calling out to her too!(got to be careful!) Later we set about for the search of Kumara Linga and were lucky to find two of them.
We took a few more photographs of the Shiva Linga and at 1:30 p.m. we decided to begin our descent on our way back to Girigadde.
I was aware that there would be tremendous pressure on the ankles, knees, calf and thigh muscles as I had the prior experience in the Himalayas. But here I was fatigued beyond my calculations as perhaps the slopes are steeper and further, the path is strewn with cobbles and rubbles. Quite often the scree on the hill slopes makes the descent quite perilous. I had to descend very slowly taking great care as to where I place my feet. Ascending the slope is tiring in one way – we run out of breath, but descending the slopes puts tremendous strain on the entire legs. I slipped quite frequently and fell down and landed on by bottom once.
The Forest Guard and his assistant had joined us some time back (they had ascended to clean the muck left behind by the trekkers) and greatly assisted me in the descent. Descending the Sesha Parvata and Batta Rasi peaks were quite exhausting to me. Perhaps youngsters who are much surer of their feet wouldn’t feel as much fatigued. Luckily we had kept diluting the buttermilk at the various sources of water that we had encountered both while ascending and descending. The diluted buttermilk refreshed me more than what plain water did. The reserves of buttermilk and water just ran out as we reached Girigadde at precisely 6:15 p.m.
Thrilled to see Bhattara Mane on our return from Kumara Parvata
The trek of about 10 km (5 km each way) from Girigadde to Kumara Parvata and back had taken us exactly 12 hours. We were truly glad to see Bhattara Mane from above, and on entering it, I felt that one main objective was attained.
I was aware that there would be tremendous pressure on the ankles, knees, calf and thigh muscles as I had the prior experience in the Himalayas. But here I was fatigued beyond my calculations as perhaps the slopes are steeper and further, the path is strewn with cobbles and rubbles. Quite often the scree on the hill slopes makes the descent quite perilous. I had to descend very slowly taking great care as to where I place my feet. Ascending the slope is tiring in one way – we run out of breath, but descending the slopes puts tremendous strain on the entire legs. I slipped quite frequently and fell down and landed on by bottom once.
The Forest Guard and his assistant had joined us some time back (they had ascended to clean the muck left behind by the trekkers) and greatly assisted me in the descent. Descending the Sesha Parvata and Batta Rasi peaks were quite exhausting to me. Perhaps youngsters who are much surer of their feet wouldn’t feel as much fatigued. Luckily we had kept diluting the buttermilk at the various sources of water that we had encountered both while ascending and descending. The diluted buttermilk refreshed me more than what plain water did. The reserves of buttermilk and water just ran out as we reached Girigadde at precisely 6:15 p.m.
Thrilled to see Bhattara Mane on our return from Kumara Parvata
The trek of about 10 km (5 km each way) from Girigadde to Kumara Parvata and back had taken us exactly 12 hours. We were truly glad to see Bhattara Mane from above, and on entering it, I felt that one main objective was attained.
Kumara Parvata Trek (March 25-27, 2010) Continued...
KUMARA PARVATA TREK (Continued)
It was quite late by the time we dined on the night of the 25th March - around 10.00 p.m. Later Mahalinga Bhat, Narayana Bhat and Nagaraj got into an animated conversation of various piquant stories from Indian myths even as I tried to doze off on a foam mattress. The day was tiring and my body craved for sleep but these guys kept on plodding me to pay attention even as I tried to doze off. Finally I declared that I was feeling too sleepy and that I was signing off for the day. The others too decided to follow suit and it was around 11:30 p.m. when we fell off asleep.
We had declared that we intended to have an early breakfast and leave on the trek for the Pushpagiri peak by 6:30 a.m. so Mahalinga Bhat was up by four in the morning to heat up the water for our baths and to prepare breakfast. He had made what is called Neeru Dosa and coconut chutney. They were truly delicious and we gorged on them. Precisely at 6:30 we set out to the Forest Office having equipped ourselves with the necessary food item like biscuits packets, lime juice bottles, cold freshly churned buttermilk and four packets of MTR ready-made Pongal. After the necessary formalities and payments and a chat with the Forest Guard and his assistants we were on our way to Kumara Parvata.
At a short distance from the Forest Office we encounter another viewing platform and beyond that starts the main climb. A Maharajah of an erstwhile Coorg Kingdom had constructed a shelter of stone for his rest and relaxation on his visits to the hill. This landmark is known as Kallu Mantapa (Shelter of stone) to the trekkers on this route. It is at a point approximately half-way between Bhattara Mane and Kumara Parvata. That would mean that it is 2.5 km from Girigadde. There is a water source in the vicinity. We arrived here at 10:00 a.m. and rested for a while and drank water and refilled the bottles. After sufficient rest we resumed the trek.
The next part of the trek involves the climbing of a hill called Battarasi. The name derives from the fact that it resembles a mound of paddy (paddy = batta; rasi= mound).(See photo on the right)
As you tackle this hill there comes into view a taller one called Sesha Parvata (1399 m Lat:12°39'40" Long: 75°40'20") The name again derives from the fact that if you view it from the southern side, it appears like a hooded snake. By the time a person of my age and fitness reaches this place he is usually quite exhausted so I suggested to Nagaraj that we rest. We had arrived at the top of Sesh Parvata at 10:30 a.m. Nagaraj advised that we postpone our rest to a point further on as at the present spot the Sun was bearing down upon us quite intensely and a little beyond there was a wooded region where again water is available. So we proceeded ahead.
After Sesha Parvata the road descends somewhat and there is a shady wooded region that comforts the trekker. You enter the wood and after proceeding for a while you encounter a sheer rocky face at a steep angle. At the foot of the rocky face and on the right there is a water source. The water is very cold and moistens the bottle. We sat around for quite a while here and quenched our thirsts. After sufficient rest we set about for the final climb.
As I said, the first part of the final climb involves scaling of the rocky face. I did not find the ascent too tough even though Nagaraj had expressed the opinion that it could be dangerous. I could tackle it with easy confidence and having done that we executed the final tiring climb to Kumara Parvat.
We arrived at the peak at 11:30 a.m. At the peak the land is a flat table-land and one can find the Survey of India Triangulation point marked by a conical shaped heap of boulders. Some Bajarang Dal activists had stuck a flag on the mound. To the south of the Triangulation point and perhaps 30 meters from it is the temple. The Survey of India toposheet gives its height as 1712 m (5650 ft). It lies in the SOI Toposheet Number 48P/10 (12°39'40"N:75°41'15"E) and lies in the Coorg district of Karnataka. Legend has it that when Subramanya slew Taarakasura, the Devas from the heavens showered a profusion of flowers, and ever since, some variety of flower or the other blossoms throughout the year at this peak. The peak is hence also called Pushpagiri (pushpa = flower; giri = peak)
Triangulation Point of Survey of India.
Height 1712 m
Toposheet : 48P/10
Degree Sheet 48P
Lat:12° 39' 40" N
Long:75° 41'15" E
Location: Kumara Parvata or
Pushpagiri
The temple, obviously quite ancient, has been constructed out of a pile of elliptical rounded boulders. There are three chambers, of which the main one is roofed with a stone slab and the chamber appears like a dark cave. Here you find a Shiva Linga and various articles of pooja like a brass bell, dhoop sticks, match box, oil etc. The entrance is very small and constricted and a man of my size would find it difficult to crawl through.
(Photo on the right: The Temple)
Behind the temple, the rocky basement has the markings of two feet - where lord Subramanya is supposed to have unified with God (attained yoga) in a standing position. Beside the marking of the two feet there are faint traces of some script that reputedly reports the above divine Leela but has almost been rendered obscure by weathering and erosion.
Hence on the Girigadde - Kumara Parvata Trek one climbs (1712-868) = 844 m or 2785 feet
To be continued …
It was quite late by the time we dined on the night of the 25th March - around 10.00 p.m. Later Mahalinga Bhat, Narayana Bhat and Nagaraj got into an animated conversation of various piquant stories from Indian myths even as I tried to doze off on a foam mattress. The day was tiring and my body craved for sleep but these guys kept on plodding me to pay attention even as I tried to doze off. Finally I declared that I was feeling too sleepy and that I was signing off for the day. The others too decided to follow suit and it was around 11:30 p.m. when we fell off asleep.
We had declared that we intended to have an early breakfast and leave on the trek for the Pushpagiri peak by 6:30 a.m. so Mahalinga Bhat was up by four in the morning to heat up the water for our baths and to prepare breakfast. He had made what is called Neeru Dosa and coconut chutney. They were truly delicious and we gorged on them. Precisely at 6:30 we set out to the Forest Office having equipped ourselves with the necessary food item like biscuits packets, lime juice bottles, cold freshly churned buttermilk and four packets of MTR ready-made Pongal. After the necessary formalities and payments and a chat with the Forest Guard and his assistants we were on our way to Kumara Parvata.
 |
| KALLU MANTAPA (SHELTER OF STONE) |
 |
| BATTA RASI HILL |
As you tackle this hill there comes into view a taller one called Sesha Parvata (1399 m Lat:12°39'40" Long: 75°40'20") The name again derives from the fact that if you view it from the southern side, it appears like a hooded snake. By the time a person of my age and fitness reaches this place he is usually quite exhausted so I suggested to Nagaraj that we rest. We had arrived at the top of Sesh Parvata at 10:30 a.m. Nagaraj advised that we postpone our rest to a point further on as at the present spot the Sun was bearing down upon us quite intensely and a little beyond there was a wooded region where again water is available. So we proceeded ahead.
We arrived at the peak at 11:30 a.m. At the peak the land is a flat table-land and one can find the Survey of India Triangulation point marked by a conical shaped heap of boulders. Some Bajarang Dal activists had stuck a flag on the mound. To the south of the Triangulation point and perhaps 30 meters from it is the temple. The Survey of India toposheet gives its height as 1712 m (5650 ft). It lies in the SOI Toposheet Number 48P/10 (12°39'40"N:75°41'15"E) and lies in the Coorg district of Karnataka. Legend has it that when Subramanya slew Taarakasura, the Devas from the heavens showered a profusion of flowers, and ever since, some variety of flower or the other blossoms throughout the year at this peak. The peak is hence also called Pushpagiri (pushpa = flower; giri = peak)
Triangulation Point of Survey of India.
Height 1712 m
Toposheet : 48P/10
Degree Sheet 48P
Lat:12° 39' 40" N
Long:75° 41'15" E
Location: Kumara Parvata or
Pushpagiri
The temple, obviously quite ancient, has been constructed out of a pile of elliptical rounded boulders. There are three chambers, of which the main one is roofed with a stone slab and the chamber appears like a dark cave. Here you find a Shiva Linga and various articles of pooja like a brass bell, dhoop sticks, match box, oil etc. The entrance is very small and constricted and a man of my size would find it difficult to crawl through.
(Photo on the right: The Temple)
Behind the temple, the rocky basement has the markings of two feet - where lord Subramanya is supposed to have unified with God (attained yoga) in a standing position. Beside the marking of the two feet there are faint traces of some script that reputedly reports the above divine Leela but has almost been rendered obscure by weathering and erosion.
 |
| Shiva Linga in the temple |
 |
| Footprints supposedly left by Lord Subramanya as he attained Yoga (unification with the Divine) |
Hence on the Girigadde - Kumara Parvata Trek one climbs (1712-868) = 844 m or 2785 feet
To be continued …
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Kumara Parvata Trek - The Human Angle - II
FOREST OFFICE – PUSHPAGIRI WILD LIFE SANCTUARY AT GIRIGADDE
Toposheet: 48P/10
Altitude: 868 m
Lat: 12 39'40"N : Long 75 41'15"E
As I was strenuously trudging up the hill, I met the Forest Guard K. Jayaraju of the Pushpagiri Wild Life Range which has its main office at Somwarpet. This poor soul has been stationed here for the past 12 years. He seems to have got accustomed to the tough conditions of service that he has to face. In the first place the staff, for their provisions, has to trudge down to Subramanya and back up again - a total distance of about 10 km that involves about 2000 ft of descent and climbing. Further, since there is no school in the vicinity, it is necessary that they leave their families behind. In the event of a sudden serious illness, there is no transport available to take them below. He has one or two assistants, but still, life can be lonesome. Once a week, he and his staff have to clear the entire stretch of the trekking route from Subramanya to Kumara Parvata as clean as possible and as free of rounded cobbles that can cause trekkers to slip and fall and hurt themselves. Anyone who has ventured up the hill will know of the severe physical effort involved in the whole exercise of firstly maintaining themselves at such a place, and secondly, in trying to keep the environment of the sanctuary clean – that too having to reckon with Indians.
It is here that Indian trekkers can be, and are very effectively, ruthless. I saw the Forest Guard Jayraju pick up several sachets of pan masala packets, small slivers of silvery foils of peppermints, chocolates, empty cigarette packets, dozens of plastic mineral water bottles, whisky and rum bottles (sadly empty, of course!), beer cans and paper plates and plastic cups. The least the trekkers can do is to save them in a plastic bag and carry it back with them. It was disheartening to see all this garbage and debris strewn all around and at important scenic spots. Trekkers! Please have a heart for others! Try and emulate the westerners who spare no effort in conscientiously avoiding littering and consciously participate in the preservation of the environment.
The Forest Office at Girigadde is well maintained and neat. They have even cultivated and maintained a neat garden with many fruit trees like guava and plantains and many flowering plants. The staff is quite courteous. A sum of Rs. 100/- is charged per head, for those who intend to trek upwards from Girigadde towards Pushpagiri or Kumara Parvata. A single person is not allowed to enter, and the lowest unit is a group of two persons. Cameras are charged extra.
Among other aesthetic efforts that this office has undertaken is that it has built two viewing platforms at vantage locations with comfortable wooden benches. These places are well chosen and afford a spectacular view of the countryside. I have all praises for the efforts of the Forest Department.
(Photo left: Viewing Platform with wooden benches. Forest Guard Jayraju seen. Kumara Parvata the tallest peak seen in the background)
As a useful suggestion, I wish the department places about six to seven large garbage bins and trash cans at the peak and at the Kallu Mantapa and at the water source near it, and further in the woods at the saddle between the Sesha Parvata and Kumara Parvata where there is a flow of water. It is at these places that people seem to camp and dine and generally dirty up things.
Phone Number of the Forest Guard : 94494 75506.
To be Continued …
Toposheet: 48P/10
Altitude: 868 m
Lat: 12 39'40"N : Long 75 41'15"E
As I was strenuously trudging up the hill, I met the Forest Guard K. Jayaraju of the Pushpagiri Wild Life Range which has its main office at Somwarpet. This poor soul has been stationed here for the past 12 years. He seems to have got accustomed to the tough conditions of service that he has to face. In the first place the staff, for their provisions, has to trudge down to Subramanya and back up again - a total distance of about 10 km that involves about 2000 ft of descent and climbing. Further, since there is no school in the vicinity, it is necessary that they leave their families behind. In the event of a sudden serious illness, there is no transport available to take them below. He has one or two assistants, but still, life can be lonesome. Once a week, he and his staff have to clear the entire stretch of the trekking route from Subramanya to Kumara Parvata as clean as possible and as free of rounded cobbles that can cause trekkers to slip and fall and hurt themselves. Anyone who has ventured up the hill will know of the severe physical effort involved in the whole exercise of firstly maintaining themselves at such a place, and secondly, in trying to keep the environment of the sanctuary clean – that too having to reckon with Indians.
It is here that Indian trekkers can be, and are very effectively, ruthless. I saw the Forest Guard Jayraju pick up several sachets of pan masala packets, small slivers of silvery foils of peppermints, chocolates, empty cigarette packets, dozens of plastic mineral water bottles, whisky and rum bottles (sadly empty, of course!), beer cans and paper plates and plastic cups. The least the trekkers can do is to save them in a plastic bag and carry it back with them. It was disheartening to see all this garbage and debris strewn all around and at important scenic spots. Trekkers! Please have a heart for others! Try and emulate the westerners who spare no effort in conscientiously avoiding littering and consciously participate in the preservation of the environment.
The Forest Office at Girigadde is well maintained and neat. They have even cultivated and maintained a neat garden with many fruit trees like guava and plantains and many flowering plants. The staff is quite courteous. A sum of Rs. 100/- is charged per head, for those who intend to trek upwards from Girigadde towards Pushpagiri or Kumara Parvata. A single person is not allowed to enter, and the lowest unit is a group of two persons. Cameras are charged extra.
(Photo left: Viewing Platform with wooden benches. Forest Guard Jayraju seen. Kumara Parvata the tallest peak seen in the background)
As a useful suggestion, I wish the department places about six to seven large garbage bins and trash cans at the peak and at the Kallu Mantapa and at the water source near it, and further in the woods at the saddle between the Sesha Parvata and Kumara Parvata where there is a flow of water. It is at these places that people seem to camp and dine and generally dirty up things.
Phone Number of the Forest Guard : 94494 75506.
To be Continued …
Kumara Parvata Trek - The Human Angle (25th - 27th March 2010)
KUMARA PARVATA TREK – THE HUMAN ANGLE
Location: Girigadde
Altitude: 868 m
Latitude: 12°39'40"N
Longitude: 75°41'15"E
It was around 2:30 p.m. that we lunched after refreshing ourselves by a cold water bath. The householders treated me like one of their family and served lunch for me together with all of them. Plantain leaves were spread on the floor and a 1.5 inch tall wooden plank about a foot and a half long and about a foot wide was provided for us to sit. Two varieties of rice were cooked – half boiled type (called locally as Kusablu Akki, which is semi polished) and the polished rice variety. I chose to taste the former and did in fact enjoy it. Adequate quantity of rice was served with French beans sambar. I found the cooking very tasty. Later we were served rice with curds which we relished with pickles. Thus after a sumptuous lunch, we rested at around 3:00 p.m.
The household (Bhattara Mane at Girigadde) is managed very efficiently by the elder brother Sri Mahalinga Bhat who is 52 years old (as of 2010). He is six to seven years younger than me, but having been wedded at 21 years, he has four children and about four or five grandchildren. He has not studied beyond high-school but is very worldly-wise and street-smart. He spoke to me of his younger days when he had led a nomadic life traveling from one town to another, working in restaurants for short periods just enough to earn money that would enable him to move to a different town. In this way he had worked at various jobs in different towns in the states of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Maharashtra and Karnataka. (Below: Mahalinga Bhat)
At a particular time in his life he came to settle down at Girigadde and to manage its affairs. He talks easily and befriends people and has a rustic sense of humour. His knowledge of various stories from Indian mythology is quite vast and uses it to pepper his conversation. It appears he is the second brother and has an elder brother and two younger brothers. One of the younger brothers works as a cook at the Subramanya Temple and looks after the affairs of the family at Subramanya. He is married and has children. The other younger brother Sri Narayana Bhatta (44 years as of 2010) too lives at Girigadde and often comes down the hills to Subramanya on various tasks of the family. Narayan is unmarried.
Mahalinga Bhat lost his wife two or three years ago. She died of diabetes. He seems to have taken her loss in his stride, and judging the way Mahalinga Bhat talks about various things, one gets the idea that he is scarcely perturbed by any calamity whatsoever that may visit him. I was amazed at the ease with which he would talk of his various misfortunes – as if they were things to be expected if one lives on earth for any respectable number of years.
Another interesting thing is that he is fondly taking care of his mother-in-law. Hers is another interesting story. She is a Tamilian and does not belong to the hills at all. Yet years ago, after she came to live at this place, she seems to have descended to the plains only two or three times, and not once in the past few years. Her body is totally bent due to aging, yet she moves about doing all the household work. It is Mahalinga Bhatt who largely cooks the food for visitors efficiently aided by his mother-in-law.
(Photo on right: Mahalinga Bhat's Mother-in-law)
They have 5 acres of land in which they grow arecanut, coconut, plantains, various vegetables and fruits. The household has over 30 to 40 cows and they supply 25 litres of milk to the various restaurants down below carrying it as head-load. Rice sacks of 25 kg are hauled up along with pulses and other condiments to be cooked for the visitors, and considering the effort that it takes, it appears that the money that they charge for board is perfectly reasonable. Tea, coffee and buttermilk are served gratis; as is the lodging too provided free. Inexperienced trekkers and spoilt people seek private rooms in such a place, and not finding it, feel disappointed and choose to abandon the trek and return to Subramanya!! Others are disappointed that they have to sleep without cots. They do not seem to realize that they are missing out on exotic experiences and I feel sorry for them. Liquor is neither served by the household nor is it permitted by them for others to consume it at the house.
The family seems to be quite popular with a certain class of trekkers for different people seem to contribute different things for future visitors. Some kind soul has contributed two solar panels which light up the house with CFL lamps in various rooms for 5 to 6 hours. It cost Rs 45000/-. Others leave behind foam mattresses. The house is mobile enabled. (Try numbers 99486 47947, 99456 18495, 98405 27765). I did my own small bit by sending ten foam pillows by courier for future trekkers.
To be continued …
Location: Girigadde
Altitude: 868 m
Latitude: 12°39'40"N
Longitude: 75°41'15"E
It was around 2:30 p.m. that we lunched after refreshing ourselves by a cold water bath. The householders treated me like one of their family and served lunch for me together with all of them. Plantain leaves were spread on the floor and a 1.5 inch tall wooden plank about a foot and a half long and about a foot wide was provided for us to sit. Two varieties of rice were cooked – half boiled type (called locally as Kusablu Akki, which is semi polished) and the polished rice variety. I chose to taste the former and did in fact enjoy it. Adequate quantity of rice was served with French beans sambar. I found the cooking very tasty. Later we were served rice with curds which we relished with pickles. Thus after a sumptuous lunch, we rested at around 3:00 p.m.
The household (Bhattara Mane at Girigadde) is managed very efficiently by the elder brother Sri Mahalinga Bhat who is 52 years old (as of 2010). He is six to seven years younger than me, but having been wedded at 21 years, he has four children and about four or five grandchildren. He has not studied beyond high-school but is very worldly-wise and street-smart. He spoke to me of his younger days when he had led a nomadic life traveling from one town to another, working in restaurants for short periods just enough to earn money that would enable him to move to a different town. In this way he had worked at various jobs in different towns in the states of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Maharashtra and Karnataka. (Below: Mahalinga Bhat)
 |
| MAHALINGA BHAT |
At a particular time in his life he came to settle down at Girigadde and to manage its affairs. He talks easily and befriends people and has a rustic sense of humour. His knowledge of various stories from Indian mythology is quite vast and uses it to pepper his conversation. It appears he is the second brother and has an elder brother and two younger brothers. One of the younger brothers works as a cook at the Subramanya Temple and looks after the affairs of the family at Subramanya. He is married and has children. The other younger brother Sri Narayana Bhatta (44 years as of 2010) too lives at Girigadde and often comes down the hills to Subramanya on various tasks of the family. Narayan is unmarried.
Mahalinga Bhat lost his wife two or three years ago. She died of diabetes. He seems to have taken her loss in his stride, and judging the way Mahalinga Bhat talks about various things, one gets the idea that he is scarcely perturbed by any calamity whatsoever that may visit him. I was amazed at the ease with which he would talk of his various misfortunes – as if they were things to be expected if one lives on earth for any respectable number of years.
(Photo on right: Mahalinga Bhat's Mother-in-law)
They have 5 acres of land in which they grow arecanut, coconut, plantains, various vegetables and fruits. The household has over 30 to 40 cows and they supply 25 litres of milk to the various restaurants down below carrying it as head-load. Rice sacks of 25 kg are hauled up along with pulses and other condiments to be cooked for the visitors, and considering the effort that it takes, it appears that the money that they charge for board is perfectly reasonable. Tea, coffee and buttermilk are served gratis; as is the lodging too provided free. Inexperienced trekkers and spoilt people seek private rooms in such a place, and not finding it, feel disappointed and choose to abandon the trek and return to Subramanya!! Others are disappointed that they have to sleep without cots. They do not seem to realize that they are missing out on exotic experiences and I feel sorry for them. Liquor is neither served by the household nor is it permitted by them for others to consume it at the house.
The family seems to be quite popular with a certain class of trekkers for different people seem to contribute different things for future visitors. Some kind soul has contributed two solar panels which light up the house with CFL lamps in various rooms for 5 to 6 hours. It cost Rs 45000/-. Others leave behind foam mattresses. The house is mobile enabled. (Try numbers 99486 47947, 99456 18495, 98405 27765). I did my own small bit by sending ten foam pillows by courier for future trekkers.
To be continued …
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