Jharkhand: The Temple and the Forests

                                                 

Driven by Shubha, our car zoomed through the empty lanes of Kolkata at 6:30 AM, and soared along the Second Hugli bridge. After crossing Howrah, it rushed past the agricultural fields, most of which were fallow at that time of the year. Date palms dotted them. Shallow irrigation channels flowed along their edges. Soon we found ourselves walled by the impenetrable sal forests, and after a few more hours shadowed by a range of densely wooded hills. When we checked into our hotel in Ranchi, it was around 6:00 pm.

The Chinnamasta Temple at Rajarappa would ring a bell for those who love reading Feluda stories. We woke up early the next day as we intended to reach the temple by noon. From the car parking to the main shrine, it was a terrible walk on barefoot. The lanes were slippery, wet and constricted. We struggled to maintain our grip on the puja paraphernalia occupying both our hands while keeping an eye on Nirjhorini lest she fell behind. As there wasn't much space inside the temple, only a few people could trickle in at a time, resulting in a long queue. We had to stoop to enter the abode of the Goddess and once inside, it was again a struggle to ensure that Nirjhorini didn't get separated from us in the darkness. As most of us know, Chinnamasta is the representation of the Mother Goddess who drinks her own blood from her severed head. But no such gruesome sight awaited us as the idol was covered entirely by a velvety red cloth. Stepping outside the main shrine, we cracked coconuts against a rocky pedestal and lighted incense, sensing the fumes scenting the breeze blowing in from the confluence of Bhairavi and Damodar. Those who wanted to sacrifice goats were led to a demarcated area. We returned to our car along the same wet lane, our discomfort enhanced by the drops of blood from the slaughtered goats.

A few kilometers away from the temple, we wolfed down our late lunch at a dhaba. When we crossed the road outside the eatery and got into our car, the sun was about to set. Our ears yearned for the roar of waterfalls. We decided to visit them the next day before taking the route to Palamau.

                                     

Different branches of the same river dashed down the slope to mingle at the plunge pool. It looked like some sprightly girls in white saris were racing each other to the same finishing line. This was Dassam falls. Another falls we visited was Johna - several separate strands of water descended in parallel down a steep slope made up of rectangular chunks of rock which reminded us of the walls in ancient temples. Following the turns of the highway that winded its way among the towering trees like a bit of loose string, we reached our lodge in Palamau at 11:00PM. Unaccustomed to such a low temperature, we scrambled to get under the blanket soon after dropping our luggage on the floor of the spartan room and cleansing our hands and feet in the attached washroom, which thankfully had a geyser. Early in the morning, we queued up for the forest safari in the Palamau Tiger Reserve. I had the great fortune of spotting a tiger in the wild at Kaziranga. This time the majestic beast eluded us. Elephants too didn't appear on our way. But I believe in the saying that one should trip to the jungle to enjoy the ambiance. Sighting wildlife should be treated as a bonus. We caught a herd of deer frolicking among the bushes and a couple of bison ambling behind the trees. There were also monkeys - peering through the leaves and sprinting across the road.

The many adventure stories we have read, and films we have watched played in our mind as we approached the derelict Palamau Fort inside the forest. The chamber with its exposed brickwork, the steep stairway with no support and the seemingly bottomless well embraced by thick stemmed creepers were enough to make us wander into the past. After lingering here for a considerable time, we drove to our next destination. Series of steps going upwards or downwards(thankfully more upwards than downwards as this meant the journey back would be less grueling) took us to the Lodh falls, the highest waterfall in Jharkhand. Water ripped the rock facade, scooped out a deep, wide plunge pool and hustled down the hills as a sea-green river. 

We reached the sunset point at Netarhat just before the last fleck of purple faded from the sky. Spotting a tiny children's park, Nirjhorini made a dart for the swing. Given the huge number of tourists who had gathered to watch the sunset, their SUVs and our car had to brave a traffic congestion during the return journey, however incredulous the idea of a jam in the remote hills might seem. After checking into our hotel, we swung open the door of the balcony, imagining how the sun would greet us in the morning uncoiling its rays across the slopes, streams and meadows. For now, Nirjhorini flipped open her drawing book, took out her pencils and let the colors siege the blank pages. We nibbled at the snacks we had ordered, till it was time for dinner.

It was pitch dark when the alarm went off. Even as we hurried through our ablutions, the revelry grew louder outside. Large groups of tourists were trooping to the sunrise point, their chatter and excitement echoing in the night air and reaching us in our hotel room. We hastened to the roof when it was almost time for the dark curtains to part. First it was just a pink blush between two trees. Then a speck of gold pricking at the horizon. In a few moments it became a glowing orange curve. Little by little the round shape emerged like a fistful of light molding itself into a ball. Soon the light burst out from the crooks of the trees and the crevasses of the hills to pour upon us.

                                       

A couple of hours later we trudged down the steps of the hotel and shoved our luggage into the car. A long, tortuous path through the dense forests took us to the lower Ghagri Falls. Without our guide - a thirteen-year-old local boy - we could have been lost among the teak trees. The falls, like a white ray of light, blazed its way through the dominion of green. We tuned into the silence suffused only by the rasp of leaping water.

From Netarhat began our journey back to Kolkata. It was almost 2:00 AM when I blinked my groggy eyes and caught the lights from the Second Hugli bridge strung across the regal Hugli river. Subha had been driving non stop, battling drowsiness, darkness and a host of apprehensions fostered by the Maoist infested forests along the highway. Back in Kolkata, looking at the rows and rows of buildings stamped against the smoggy sky, the five days spent in the lap of nature seemed surreal. We slipped back into our daily lives, roused by the frenzied waterfalls, lifted by the dreamy hills and tinged by the stunning sunsets.