Quote:
Originally Posted by glidealong No words... just spellbound.. Man, you are lucky and blessed... I would count this as one of the unforgettable moments!!! |
Luck played its part too. Having said about 'luck', the same old team came together two weeks back to track down the Bungalow. An unexpected harthal (bandh) came up on 5th May and we came to know about it only around 7Am. After some frantic phone calls, we decided to leave for Bonacaud. The Fiesta who was under heavy suspension test on last two occasions had a wide grin on its face as we had a Scorpio. But then, the problem was due to bandh, no fuel pumps were functioning and yet, the thrill of exploring Bonacaud made us wander to different directions in Trivandrum in search of an open pump. Alas, we had a glow in our face when we spotted an open pump and a long que. Filled up the Scorpio with diesel worth Rs. 1000 and started the journey to Bonacaud around 11.30 Am.
But, around 16kms before Bonacaud, we ran into a road block made by the bandh supporters. But, we were determined to make it to Bonacaud and decided to drive back and and take deviation through a narrow road so that we could bypass the roadblock and get further up. But, rain-gods had other ideas as the remaining journey was under heavy rain, yet we pushed on on the hope that rain would subside. The rain had made the climb up the Bonacaud road heavily mist laden and this delayed us further.
Bonacaud - the place was green again thanks to the heavy summer showers which lasted for around 2 weeks. We didn't halt at the base as we were already late and the road up was tricky due to rain. Rain began to weaken slowly and yet the wind and fog was immense. Finally, we reached the point where we had stopped last time and found nothing much had changed.
3.45 Pm - The place had an eerie silence even-though sounds of the dripping rain water from leaves, wind, the sound from distant waterfall, birds and sound of wood-cracking were there. Wood-cracking sound had two probabilities - either some old twigs breaking up in wind or - the presence of Mr. Pachyderm somewhere further up the hill.
The ruins of the staff quarters were around us and we decided to explore the staff quarters further. It presented the sorry picture of once glorious past. The view from certain windows could be 'million dollar view', which those who lived there long back could enjoy everyday for free, whereas people like us had to pay through the nose at some resorts to see half the beauty for 24 hours. All of us were looking out through windows, rather staring to the past, imagining how life could have been there in the glory days. once a while, we were stirred back to reality by the wood-cracking sound that appeared to be nearing and the unmistakable sign that we were uninvited guests in Pachyderm's area.
Sky darkened again and this time, mist blew in through the open doors and windows. Around 4.30 Pm, the local tea-shop owner down the base rang into one of our mobile asking us to get down to base and the signs were impending for heavy rain and low visibility could be a problem. Better to heed to the words of a knowledgeable guy, we thought. The real 'Bungalow' can wait for next time. As we walked down to the Scorpio, a faint scent of Pachyderm waded through the still air. The light was so dim that it resembled 7pm.
9 months &4 attempts and we are yet to reach the Bungalow. I'm asking myself - is it worth to push on next time? Few placed had invited us over and over like Bonacaud and despite the fact that each time we had to withdraw due to inclement weather, something keeps luring us back. Who knows?
“My every move is detected
By the voices of the night
Every path I follow
Is like the path before
A road to nowhere
And nothing in store
A sinister evil
Is on the prowl
His arms like the vines
Of the great tree
Reaching for me”
- Anon
an evening amongst the ruins of the erstwhile staff quarters
Opening out the window, those who used to live here were treated to sights & sounds unimaginable to people like us. On a full moon day, they must've watched the glittering water in the catchment of the Peppara dam many miles downstream. They must've the music of the jungle at nights with the sound crickets, howling wind atop the mountain especially on rainy nights, trumpets of pachyderms, mixed with the distant growl of elusive leopard from the dense forest further up the mountain..and they were all cloaked in the mist. Mornings were different, as the mist lifted, the window used to give soothing sights of the clear streams, waterfalls, lush green tea plantations and the sounds were different too - sounds of birds, whirring of machines from the tea-factory down the mountain, sound of the lone transport bus going up and down once a while. Sights & sounds still exists, except the whirring of machines got occasional and the music of jungle is present even during daytime..but, no one to look out from this window
Winding up the trek late into the evening, we got back to the base and was having tea as night crawled in. That was when we saw the fallen tree with Witches Arms somewhere up the path.
errr..this is my area folks