Amarkantak Diaries: Post #3

 Post #3 of my Narmada adventure saga back in 1999

For those unfamiliar with near-absolute darkness, the human eye is an astonishing device.  At threshold sensitivity, the pupil can detect the presence of about 100-150 photons of blue-green light in an open space.  Less than 10 photons are enough in a closed 10’x10’ room; when our daughter was small, I used to treat her to “acclimatization magic” at bedtime.  She would close her eyes before I turned out the lights, and then she would open them and squeal with delight as her pupils dilated to detect the few photons that defined my outline.  

Twilight was already turning to night as I walked down the single, sturdy, richly forested road that served to connect the highway with Amarkantak.  After the surfeit of sights and sounds in the train for a full day and the roar and whine of the truck engine thereafter, the solitude and serenity felt like a benediction. Yet, the absolute isolation was disconcerting.  Also, it was a new moon night – the first day of the Sharad Navratri period – and the stars, too, were obscured by clouds.  

I had a small flashlight with me but years of jungle craft training with my father in childhood had taught me that torches are notorious for draining their batteries and must be used sparingly.  Instead, I breathed a silent prayer and used my senses consciously, turning on the flashlight just for a second every now and then to ensure I did not go off the paved area.  Mercifully, I was walking upwind and slightly uphill, so the scent of any animal in my path would hopefully reach me before it smelled me.  I could hear cicadas and occasional night birds; a group of golden jackals were launching into their evening chorus in the distance, and the whispering winds in the trees sounded welcoming to my weary ears.  

Slow but steady progress took me to the gate of a bauxite mining settlement, more than halfway to the temple town.  Shared-service tempos plied from there into town, carrying a random mix of goods and people as required.  Disembarking at the town bus stand, I was surprised to find it almost completely deserted, save a single horse-drawn carriage (tonga) driven by Shambhu, a lad who was yet to sprout facial hair.  After a quick negotiation where I made it clear that I was willing to walk the balance half a mile to my lodgings if his rates remained usurious, Shambhu reluctantly agreed to a package deal for this transit and for sightseeing over the next couple of days.    

The tonga drew up at the MP State Tourism Resort, which exists to this day, albeit significantly modernized since then.  https://mpstdc.com/accommodation/Amarkantak/MPT-Holiday-Homes-Amarkantak

I had arrived.  This was not the end, but the beginning of the real journey.   

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