G came today morning full of the news that our neighbour D had told our other neighbour K that there was a wild hen sitting on nine eggs near the stream that runs at the bottom of the orchard.
And matters would have stayed there if G had not gone to our spring to check on the water flow. He discovered that someone had been cutting grass on our land, and left a broody bird pitifully exposed.
He approached and she flew away, leaving nine eggs.
So clearly D had once more 'accidentally' strayed over to our orchard to cut grass. This is a regular source of mild irritation, but now I am incensed because he cut all around the nest, even after he must have seen the bird. I went to see the nest and saw a fairly fed-up Red Spurfowl.
Now she is very vulnerable. Leaving her as is means that she will be preyed upon by any one of a number of animals. Trying to protect her means that we scare her. Opting for the latter as the least of two bad choices, we piled some brush around the nest and left it.
Will keep fingers crossed now- nothing more I can do. At least this was with the excuse of harvesting grass for fodder. But I am so tired of the casual eco-vandalism that happens under the notion of 'tidying up'. We have lovely stands of wild roses in the area,which provide shelter and food for insects and birds. These are regularly chopped down because they 'look untidy'. Same with the berries. I try to safeguard the orchard, but there is nothing I can do about beyond it.
It began when Gangadi and I went to a meeting of the spring conservation committee in Mauna. The women participated in it, but then complained to us.
'We always come to your meetings', they said. 'You never come to ours.'
'Call us and we will'. Ganga and I rashly promised
'Midnight tomorrow then. We are chasing boars.'
'Ah'
And so it is that one evening the two of us caught the last bus down to Mauna.
That was the most raucous all-night party I've attended since my wicked college days. Actually, even those days were tame.
The people of Mauna had divided themselves into 5 groups. Earlier in the night, around 11pm, the groups formed, going from house to house and gaining members. They all met at the school where there was dancing and singing.
And then they diverged again to patrol the village shouting, singing, beating tin canisters, ringing bells and lighting small fires.
Finally, around 1, the groups settled down for an hour or so in different fields for gossip and singing before moving back home.
I saw a totally different side to the women. Was it the faux anonymity offered by the darkness, or are they always like this outside the meetings? They were joyful, boisterous and full of fun. The three men in our group were subject to ribald jokes. They would dance - and wonderfully- whenever the mood struck them.
We were in bed at 3am and lamenting the fact that we needed to catch the 8am bus. When we woke and staggered out, we were met by the women again. They had finished milking, cleaning the cowsheds, getting fodder, cooking and were now off to the fields- in high spirits.
Shona Bhaloo gets to play with her best-friend-in-all-the-world on three occasions. When her human family decides to visit Jhumroo's human family, when her humans decide to go out of town and offload her onto Jhumroo's humans, and when Shona decides that she misses Jhumroo.
Sho and Jhum, legs intertwined and giddy with joy
Most days she is my faithful shadow as I go about my day. Sometimes though, a sudden urge to meet Jhumroo enters that adorable head and she's gone. If I don't catch sight of her for 10 mins, I call G at Chatola. 'Oh yes', he says 'she was here. She met me and now has gone to Sonapani.
And then I grumble, put on my shoes, and trudge off to bring her back. I won't grumble now; the last time I went to collect my little runaway, something magical happened.
I was on the last stretch- a concrete road. I crested a small slope and in front of me were two yellow-throated martens. They were maybe about 20 feet away, and in the middle of the road. I froze of course, but one of them immediately dropped off the road into the forest. The other stayed where it was.For nearly a minute we stayed that way. Then incredibly, the marten began to walk towards me. Hesitatingly, slowly, with many stops, it came till it had cut the distance between us by more than half. I was not carrying my camera. But even if I was, I could not have taken a snap- I could barely remember to breathe.
Soon, I saw what it was approaching me for. A few feet away was a dead snake. The marten reached it, picked up the snake so that it wouldn't drag and walked off- not into the forest, but along the road. I gave it a couple of minutes head start and walked on myself.
Incredibly, that was not the end of my marten experience. A little further on, a stonewall runs past the road. For nearly 50 metres, the marten walked on the top of the wall while I walked along the road. Every now and then, we would stop and look at each other, then walk on.I can't explain this behaviour. It wasn't defensive, wasn't scared- just curious.
I had posted earlier about how my mum is good at making friends wherever she is. And she had given me a tip - to offer food, which also means offering time, space, security, and companionship.
And so every morning, I keep food out for the birdies that visit our terrace. Watching them is pleasurable and their antics a great source of merriment. Mian and I had begun to identify some regulars- the babbler that sat in the bowl and refused to share, the aggressive bulbul that even the mynahs were scared of. The time a squirrel came to the birdfeed was the highlight of the week for us.
And then one day, he came to me bursting with suppressed excitement. 'You've got to see this'. I went obediently, expecting to see another squirrel.
Not quite.
I don't really have the heart to shoo monkeys away. Poor things, they get chased away from everywhere, denied access to everything, and then labeled as criminals. But at the same time, I am a wee bit scared of them. So I stopped putting cooked food out.
And now they've started bringing their own packed lunches.
In Dharali, the visitor sees shaggy black cattle everywhere. These are yak-cow crossbreeds, which are called dzo elsewhere, and joey here. They are wonderfully well suited to the altitude and the climate, Most importantly, they are not at all picky when it comes to food and will find sustenance in twigs if need be. Sadly, this trait which allows them to survive in places where fodder is in short supply, is leading to their decline.
Several villagers are replacing the joeys with cattle because the joeys eat the apple twigs. While I understand the need of the villagers to protect the orchards, I wonder how the cattle will be fed. What effect this will have on a region where the pastures are already overgrazed? Will some sort of physical barrier to the orchards be a better alternative? Is increasing temperature (unsuitable for the joeys) also hastening their replacement with cows?
The first generation crossbreeds are already a rarity with only a couple of old bulls lumbering around. These are awe-inspiring, with their solidity, shaggy tails, massive horns, and 'nothing can stop me' attitude.
Most are 3rd /4th generation crossbreeds with very little of the yak in them. Like the little fellow here. I took a snap of him because he seems to have a map of India on his forehead. A map of India like the rest of the sub-continent draws it, anyway. I thought to flatter him by featuring him here, but he didn't seem too impressed with the idea. Sticking out a tongue to indicate disdain seems to be common among all children, irrespective of species.
The beauty and futility of life was in Yeats' mind when he wrote 'Easter 1916". On a smaller level, the same thought occurred to me when I saw this moth in the bathroom. I looked and looked and could not get enough of the intricacy of the wing pattern. The markings simulate a proud, angry, cruel face. The unveiling of the terrible beauty to the would-be predator is only a last resort, though. The shy moth prefers to hide and its colouring is marvelously suited for camouflage. As if to emphasize this gentleness, the wing edges are frilled.
Multiple levels of protection, multiple strategies to survive. All for a life spent in a desperate attempt to procreate and lasts a few days- if it is so lucky.
Meet Liz. Not too creative a choice of name, is it? Well, just to make matters worse, I have named them all Liz. Largely because I have better things to do than try and figure out the sex of each lizard I come across, I cant really distinguish between them, and they haven't been objecting too strenuously. (The quality of the snap is atrocious, and I apologise. The clutter in my drawer is also atrocious, and I do not apologise..)
But I like all the lizards. Partly for utilitarian reasons, of course. They do a great job of keeping the insect population down. But also, I have a little affinity towards them. They continually get into scrapes, and escape only because the universe seems to have a soft spot for them. Sounds familar? I thought so. And much as I hate to admit it, I also like them because they are pretty.
And after living in an apartment for so long, I love living in a place where the boundary between 'inside' and 'outside' is more of a suggestion than a law. And it helps that I am currently reading the splendid, observant, politically-incorrect-for-these-times EHA and his 'Zoo in the garden'.
I have described the coin collectors of Gadmukteshwar before. Here, I saw some adaptation in the drag-a-magnet technique. At Har-ki-Pauri, in the bathing channel, the waters are turbulent. This means that one cannot drag a magnet attached to a string, and needs to attach it to a stick instead. The turbulence and refraction make it difficult to spear a coin properly. And this is where ingenuity comes in. The coin-collectors use a pane of glass to overcome both these challenges. In the photo ,one can see the man use peer through the glass and raise his stick to 'spear' the coin.
I would hate to be a bird. It’s not just the lack of opposable thumbs that would get me down, the things that humans called me would depress me. What were people thinking when they named birds? Here are things that would vex me: Insult: imagine going through life as a Lesser Cormorant, knowing that no matter what you did, you would never grow out of the Lesser. But even that is better than the Intermediate Egret. An afterthought, that is what it is. Undistinguished. Defined not only by the existence of a Greater, but also of a Lesser. Identity Crises: The Pied Mynah is also the Pied Starling. Is it supposed to steal things like a starling, or merely have raucous parties like a mynah? Decisions, Decisions. Is it surprising that whenever I have seen it, it has been sitting alone and brooding? Personal Comments: being named after an exceptionally ugly part of one's anatomy. the Thick-knees and the Frogmouths have reason to complain, think you not?
Mynahs: the Pied, Bank, Common A Common Flameback, a Pied Kingfisher or two, Rose-ringed Parakeets, Indian Peafowl, cattle egrets, maybe a lesser/intermediate egret (I can’t distinguish between the two unless they are standing next to each other in a police lineup- and how often does that happen?), Little Cormorants, a Black-winged Stilt, some ducks, some Indian Pond Herons, and what I think was a black-shouldered kite. I also think I saw some fishing eagles and some Pariah Kites, but I cannot be sure. I did not see any dolphins, but we did not really go out of our way to see them. And bonus: in a field of mustard, I came across a herd of Nilgai! Some of them were sparring with each other; some were looking at this strange being looking at them.
Only, I cheated a little, and took the bus to Rajpur. The route then, is Rajpur-Jharipani-Barlow Ganj-Mussoorie.
Ok, now. Be warned, this is going to be a long post. When I was thinking of this trek, I could get very little information online. So here, in case any of you ever decide to do it, are all the details.
To take:
Water ,snacks (carrots and beets in my case)
I had the survey of India map (Open series, No. H44G03, available at their sales centre, and an absolute steal at Rs.50- if you have the discipline to stick to buying only the maps you need and not all the pretty maps available).
More useful than the map, I had a set of instructions written by the amazing M, who has made D’dun a far less lonesome place than it could have been.
I did NOT carry a bird book, instead opting to take detailed notes of whatever i saw. I did regret it sometimes- instant gratification of curiosity is a pleasurable thing- but i don’t think i totally missed out.
Here is how to do it.
07:15 am: I caught the bus to Mussoorie from well, the Mussoorie bus stand near the railway station. Since you only go till Rajpur, it is also possible to catch a city bus/vikram from Rajpur road/ Clock Tower. I needed to get down at the Christian Retreat, which the conductor did not know of, but promised to stop when I hollered. The centre is on your right, a little after Rajpur, when the bus starts climbing through forest. On the opposite side of the road, a little past the Retreat, is the Moravaiya High school. Right opposite the school a metalled road leads to Jharipani. Incidentally, this village is pronounced Zadipani, and not Jhareepani. I was the recipient of blank looks and then giggles when I asked some schoolboys if that was the right road to you-know-where. Go up that road, and turn left at a chai stall. From this point, by the way, there are no right turns. If you just keep going uphill and left-wards, you will be ok. This path is paved with concrete blocks. And I was here at
08:00 am: on this paved road, I walked for a few minutes past a small group of houses with a yappy Pomeranian, till I came to a pass. Now this is not one of the formidably Himalayan passes, but this is the only way to describe it. If you do this trek too, you will instantly recognise it. There are two chai stalls there, but before the chai stalls, there is a trail going- yes, that’s right- left. This is a slightly steep and loose path, overgrown by lantana, but you cannot miss it. A little after that, the road seems to fork, and I obediently turned left, but that path goes nowhere and is extremely overgrown. I stuck to the main path then, and carried on. This part of the trail is flat and open scrub- lantana and wild curry leaves being the only plants I could recognise. It gets steeper and hotter; by this time I had taken off several layers. Around this time, I started skirting the base of a hill, and this is a lovely place to see wildlife, more details about that later. I started climbing the hill now, and faced a slightly steep and slippery patch. At its top, someone has tied prayer flags to some cacti, and this marked the end of all steepness for the trial. And I was here at
08:45 am: and here I pretty much stopped looking at the time. The trail is very pretty. There are short, flat steps. The risers are of concrete and the treads of beaten earth. Here too, the shrubbery skulkers give way to woodland birds and the lantana and cacti are replaced by oak and wonderfully fragrant flowers. Go along this road then, stopping every now and then to look at the birds and sniff the flowers. Far too soon, though, the road becomes paved again, and forks. Here, choose the path that goes uphill and right, and then left again, and so reach Jharipani.
The paved path here is not tough, but hot and relentless. Bikes whizzing past me only added to my grumpiness, till I reached the little main street. This is tiny, with a few shops, one chaiwallah and the most absolutely sweet post office. Sadly, it was shut. But the next time I get there, I will buy some postcards to send home. I would have taken a snap, but was too self-conscious to do so. But picture a crumbly little house with red roofs that looks as if it has been built of cake and marzipan and you have seen it.
I had chai here (2 Rs. if you have change madam, otherwise never mind) and chatted with the chaiwallah. He saw me looking at my map, and suggested that I try google earth instead- and then was sceptical when I told him I like the look and feel of printed maps.
From here it is 3 km to Barlow Ganj, and all of it is along the metalled road. Most people only walk to Jharipani and then take a jeep/bus. But the walk is not bad-and if I ever find a trail that I can walk along rather than the road, it will be far more pleasant.
At the main chowk of Barlow Ganj (where the water tank is), I turned left and got on to another paved path that winds a little steeply upwards. This part of the walk was interesting for the buildings I passed. Lovely little cottages, concrete blocks, and a strange white building with green turrets- the path had them all. Here, the change in altitude is visible as the broadleaved forest of Jharipani is replaced by mixed oak and deodar.
After a while, i came to a city bus stop that said ‘Landour Bazaar’ and had an arrow pointing right. I took it, and it did get me to Landour, but added maybe two kilometres to my walk. From the bus stop, the mall road is within spitting distance- go there, have more chai, and then walk to Landour and Sister’s bazaar. As it was, I was a little tired after the last part of the trek and opted out of a planned coffee at Devdar woods, Sister’s bazaar. Something for next time. I am not sure of the exact time I reached Mussoorie, but I was having lunch at 12:30
But yes, then I lunched off a paratha, walked to the bus stop and was home by 2:30- in time to visit the library and the BSNL office. Not bad at all.
Birds! Oh, so many birds. Right at the beginning of the trek, when the path skirts the hill, there were several birds in the undergrowth. I am not sure if I could identify all of them, but especially common were the White Browed Shortwings. I also saw tits, and am reasonably sure some of them were the Green-backed Tits. As for the rest, I have an impression of greenish yellowness and of crests- the Black-lored Tit, perhaps? Red-vented bulbuls were there in plenty, and those I can confidently name. There were also a lot of olive-khaki clad little things. Warblers, certainly. But which ones? Immediately past the steep bit, there is a flat stretch. And here I saw two Kalij pheasants, a male and a female. On the wooded part of the trail, just when the ‘steps’ start, I saw the Slaty-headed Parakeet. I only saw one, but there were three of them across the valley calling out in turn- as if doing triangulation. A little later, I am fairly sure I saw the White-tailed Robin, male. Also saw a Velvet-fronted Nuthatch, very fleetingly as it flew across the path right in front of me. Near Jharipani, where the path becomes paved again, I saw three eagles, but I am really bad at identifying them. Reading my bird book has left me inclined to Bonelli’s Eagle, but I wouldn’t bet on it. just how bad I am at identifying raptors, you ask? Well, on this trek, I thought I saw a Changeable Hawk Eagle in its dark morph, and was pretty proud of having identifying it. And then it landed on a branch and cawed. The only way of excusing myself is by hoping it was a Large-Billed Crow. Let’s move on.. Yes, do let’s move on, because now we come to the best bit. Earlier on, where all the warblers and shortwings were, I heard a rustling in the shrubs by the path and was excited thinking that it was caused by a flock of quails. Till I saw sunlight glinting on what could only be fur. A moment later, a deer stepped out onto the path and paused for a moment. No spots, excitingly backlit by the sun, it was a dull brown with silvery tips and that lovely silvery haze around its ears. One quivering breath from each of us, and it was gone! Lovely.
So you have seen more dramatic photos of the Himalayas.For that matter, you have probably seen more dramatic photos of construction sites. but the composition is not the point. The point is that I Was There. I was there, sitting on top of a water tank and watching those mountains as if they would disappear if I turned away.
As i was walking back from the village I had visited (Attoo,Dewal Tahsil, Camoli Block, Uttarakhand),themiddle Himalayas were at their stunning best. The snowclad peaks loomed majestically, streams gurgled musically, bees buzzed busily, flowers preened valiantly as theytried to attract said bees, and strange animals rustled well, strangely. All wasted on me, though. I saw none of these things. I was on a quest. I was looking for a certain shrub, with erect and bushy form, with a slightly woody stem, with deeply palmate and serrated leaves- Cannabis sativa .
I had first come across it, growing by the bushel, during a reconnaissance survey along the Bhagirathi. The main shrub along the road to the village of Mukhwa is hash. I had then managed to pluck a few leaves and stow them in my wallet- for experimental purposes. Took them to my room in great anticipation and chewed. Sadly, I was so tired with all the walking of the day, that I could just register, “Ah, fibrous. Of course, hemp!” before I fell asleep.
The next time I came across this shrub was during my visit to Chamoli as an observer for the planning processes being implemented in the villages. There was just one bush growing next to the Pradhan’s house, and I was eyeing it hopefully. But the thing about being an observer is that one is in turn, continually observed. And the credibility of said observations suffers a beating when it may be considered that they were made under the influence. I know, I know. This is blatant marginalization and I shall launch a protest. But not today.
But where one bush grows, surely there must be more? Andthat is why, as I walked the 6km to my hotel, my eyes were roving like a pair of bees on a search-and-consume mission. It all came to naught. Have suspicions that that one bush has been planted there. But ah well, there are other field trips and I might even visit Mukhwa again.
