I had already begun to regret my decision to opt for a RSTC bus instead of the early morning train. It was around 1 pm and I was standing at a bus terminus of some off-the-map obscure village named Uniyara waiting for a bus known simply as hari rang ki gari — it seemed nobody has ever bothered to know the number of this green-coloured bus and I thanked my stars for not being colour blind!
Finally after what seemed an eternity, the bus arrived and the sight almost gave me a heart attack — there were heads and arms and jholas jutting out from every window, the roof was layered with rainbow-coloured luggage and people, and I am sure even a needle would die of asphyxia if it wanted to get past that door. But then it is the only bus that can take me to my destination. I was already way behind my schedule and was not too keen to wait for 6 hours at this middle-of-nowhere bus stand for the next hari rang ki gari.
So, I gathered all my courage and took my backpack, hand luggage and a deep breath — ‘you got to do what you got to do’ I reminded myself.
But just as I started walking towards the ticket window a familiar voice stopped me: “Arey madam yeh ulti bus hay!” ‘Ulti bus?’ now what is that supposed to mean? I looked around and spotted the ever-smiling Prateik Babbar...erm... the conductor of my Jaipur-Uniyara bus grinning at me. ‘Madam yeh bus Sawai Madhopur se Tonk ja rahi hay. Apki wali Tonk se aayegi,’ he explained.
Ah right! But no sooner had I heaved a sigh of relief, another equally over-populated green bus arrived. “Madam chalo aap ki bus” and before I could react I saw ‘Prateik’ clutch my hand luggage and deftly manoeuvre through the crowd. As if in a trance I followed him and my bag and when I came to my senses, I and my backpack along with the hand luggage were inside the bus, sitting pretty on a window seat and were ALIVE.
This was my fifth trip to Rajasthan and what makes me fall in love with the place a bit more each time are its people — rugged and rustic yet simple and helpful.
And if you are a girl travelling alone in this part of the country, expect men to stand up and insist you sit on their seat, old uncles to draw out weird maps with trembling hands and insist you follow the route mentioned, women to get chatty and enquire about your age and marital status and insist you get married soon and bus conductors to take the responsibility to get you a window seat in a packed bus!
However, after a teeth-chattering two-hour ride when I finally reached my hotel in Sawai Madhopur, the last bus for the evening safari was leaving and the manager told me that since I had not called up the hotel to book my seat for the safari all I could do that day was to hire a jeep and go to the fort. And within 15 minutes the jeep along with a very cheery Rajendra Singh was at my disposal. Ranthambhore Fort lies in the middle of the forest and as my driver for the day was also a forest guide, we stopped and spotted some yawning crocodiles, curious deer, flying peacocks and self-obsessed monkeys and when we finally reached the majestic ruins of the fort, the sun had mellowed imparting a sombre look to the century-old stone walls and the birds had already begun singing a requiem for the dying day, and the vast forest overlooking the fort smelled of mist and gloom.
As we explored the multitudinous temples, mosques, palaces, cenotaphs and other ruins, Rajendra Singhji started narrating the tragic tale of Hammir Dev Chauhan — how the brave king of Ranthambhore fought and defeated Alauddin Khilji only to fall prey to the treachery of his own men. I felt as if I was caught in a time warp — maybe it was a cold evening like this when after a long war, Veer Hammir rode through the dense forest and reached his fort only to find all the women of his kingdom given up their lives in jauhar due to rumour spread by some of his own men regarding his death in the war and a heart-broken Hammir severed his head in front of Lord Shiva. Standing next to a pond of blood algae I could almost see blood oozing out from the severed head of Hammir and filling the ground. I shuddered. And at this point Rajendra Singhji’s voice trailed and I could see his eyes moisten.
As the last rays of sun bid adieu to Hammir’s beloved fort and winter chill wrapped its blanket over the forest I followed Singhji and trudged back to our jeep. The world suddenly seemed to have gone quiet as if to mourn the sad end of a king who survived great wars but succumbed to betrayals of his own men.
Next morning it was time to finally embark on the tiger trail! Ranthambhore has five zones for the tourists in the core area and tiger sightings are not rare. But unlike in summer, when tigers can be easily spotted near the watering holes, tracking one in the winter can be tricky. Moreover it was an extended holiday and picnickers had flocked from all corners. I was not so much worried about spotting a tiger as I simply love the whole experience of spending time in a forest (although I was quietly confident of spotting one as I have been pretty lucky with tigers so far) but I was dreading the noisy picnic crowd.
There are two modes of transport for safaris in Ranthambhore — the 6-seater Gypsies and the 20-seater Canters and the seats are randomly allotted by a lucky draw and I was certainly not lucky enough to get a Gypsy that morning. When I boarded the Canter the only thing I wished was to ride sans the loud picnicker and screaming kids — and I got both. Not only there were people cracking jokes and shouting at the top of their voices, but there was a few months old crying baby! And to my horror his parents actually changed his diaper and nonchalantly flung the soiled diaper into the forest even after being repeatedly told by the forest guard not to throw even a piece of paper outside.
I was fuming but before I could react the Canter stopped. And I looked out “There! T-6 with its kill!” shouted the forest guard. And behind the shrubs I discerned the striped beast sitting majestically and in front was the bloody remains of its morning feast! What a sight! Of course if we wait for some time it would get up! But then most of the people in the Canter had lost interest in the tiger by then. Some even remarked, “Arey isse achcha to zoo mein dekh lengey”. I was scared that they might start playing antakshari if we waited there any longer when the baby started crying and that woke up another baby whom I had so far mistaken as a bundle of shawls and sweaters. This time it was too much for both the driver and the forest guard and they abandoned the plan of waiting for the tiger to get up. Because if things went as they were going, the tiger might not only get up but pounce on us!
So we made a move and a few dozens of deer, antelope, peacocks, wild boars, and monkeys later we spotted a sloth bear — one animal that is even more difficult to find in this forest than a tiger. So the Canter stopped and the bear started walking towards us munching leaves. I was keeping my fingers crossed that it would come close enough but more than that I was hoping that the babies doesn’t start screaming or the crowd does not try to pull any trick on the bear. Sloth bears can turn extremely violent if provoked. The forest guide was trying his best to keep the noise level low. Suddenly an affectionate voice: “nosey dikhao beta” ah of course I forgot the moms! Surely how can a doting mother give a damn about a sloth bear when her child has finally managed to identify his nose! And that was followed by ‘papa bolo papa’ and also the surreal ‘doggy kahan hay doggy’ (doggie? in the middle of the forest? WHY? I was almost suicidal by then). Of course after so much love the child started crying at the top of his voice shocking the sloth bear who made a face and walked away. For the first time in my life I absolutely hated kids and noses and doggies and was glad that the safari was over.
International travel channels have given this national park a ‘hip’ tag and thanks to the Canters, safaris have become affordable and as a result Ranthambhore has become to Delhites what Digha is to Kolkatans — a picnic spot. Tourism department is reaping good profit but what suffers is what a national park aims to protect — its wildlife.
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