Walk to the Waterfall

I was sixteen years old and super excited. I had taken my board exams and was about to embark on my first solo trip to visit various cousins and relatives. So it was double the excitement- meeting cousins and my first solo trip. Something about first solo trips is different – like taking off on a voyage into the unknown.

There was no cell phone connectivity then. You were left to tackle the whole wide world on your own. Even in a crowded Indian train, you felt alone. This added to the thrill.

A couple of weeks into the holidays, I landed in Ranchi. I would be staying with my “mausi", my mother’s sister, and cousins of all ages. Mausi was very strict but to me she was very sweet and kind. She had an uncanny resemblance to my mother though of smaller built.

After a few days, my cousin Sunil proposed a day trip to Jonha falls. I had never seen a real waterfall before and so we quickly made our plans. We packed everything that we would need - food, towel, a carry bag (this would be required for our wet clothes on the return journey. Money for the trip was provided by Mausi and supplemented by two of the elder cousins. Of course, they were not informed about the other financiers; else this source would have been compromised.

Early in the morning, we left for the station. We cajoled our third cousin to drop us off at the station, thus saving on some expenditure. He would have refused but for me.

We took the local passenger train to Jonha. This train was not very crowded at Ranchi, but moved at a slow pace and stopped at all the stations on the way, and sometimes in the middle of nowhere too! This train was in no hurry.

Probably it was allowing us time to absorb the scenery. At every station, more people got on than got off, so by the time we would reach Jonha, there would be a reasonable crowd. Reasonable by Indian standards, of course!!!!

This was the only train that would stop at Jonha and would also bring us back to Ranchi on the return journey in the evening. The train soon left the city behind and we were in the hills.

The train snaked through the forests, which were quite dense. The dense foliage did not allow too many open patches. The forest was dense enough to hide quite a few species of wildlife and actually did. The air was so fresh and pure so difficult to imagine in today's smog filled cities. The silence of outside was competing with the sound of the wheels on the track and the chatter of people inside. In those times, one did not feel irritated by the slow pace of the train and the unscheduled stops.

The local Adivasi population dominated the crowd in the train and we were often stared at and smiled at. These were simple people and the staring was not offensive while the smiles were genuine. One aged lady asked us something in the local language which we could not understand and this resulted in a lot of mirth for the others. We were also enjoying the “jhal muri” and tea sold by the vendors. The only other thing available was a local sweet -"khobi ki lai".

We reached Jonha station about a couple of hours later. It was a small station with a small building, a low platform, and not much else. We hung around for the train to leave. Watching a train coming into a station or leaving is so fascinating!

Once the train was out of sight, we asked the station master how to reach the falls. He waved in the general direction and informed us that it was a fifteen-minute walk. The road outside the station would take us near the falls and then we would have to take a dirt track to reach there.

We started. The place seemed cut off from the rest of the world. We hardly met anybody and the few that we met were apparently locals for they would suddenly disappear in one of the narrow dirt tracks, which led off the road to nowhere!

After walking for about half an hour (remember, it was supposed to be a fifteen-minute walk!) we reached what appeared to be a local settlement. There were about ten houses and a general-purpose shop which also doubled as a tea stall. We were not sure that we had missed the track to the falls. Our enquiry revealed that we were on the right path and we would have to walk for another fifteen minutes before we reached. However, we were clear that these fifteen minutes could well be another half an hour or another hour too! Exact measurement of time and distance meant so little in the laid-back attitude of the people here. We had a cup of tea before moving on. Time had lost its relevance. It was only here and now.

As we moved on, we were struck by the silence. The silence was absolute, only broken by the occasional cry of a bird and by the sound of our shoes on the road. Another thing that struck us was the cleanliness of the Adivasi village and the entire area in general after the dirt and filth of the towns. The mud houses were polished with a semi-liquid mixture of mud and cow dung. The area in front of the house was cleaned with a broom made of thin tree branches.

We finally reached a sign board directing us towards the falls. We took the dirt track and moved away from the road into the Forest. The sound of water was audible but appeared to come from a distance. However, we reached the falls soon and then understood why the sound appeared to come from a distance- we were at the top end of the fall and the water fell from here to about a hundred or so feet.

There was nobody else and we soon understood why. It was summer and the water in the falls was a mere trickle of its volume during the rainy season. However, we soon located a small natural pool near the edge of the fall with a natural rock barrier, which would prevent us from being swept over the edge.

We stripped off and jumped into the pool. The water was unbelievably cool and a God send after our long walk. The absence of other people sent us into a make believe world. It was as if we were the only two people living and the beauty of the place was exclusively ours to savor. It was as close to nature as I have ever felt. There was not a single man made structure in sight which completed this vision.

After the initial eagerness to jump into the water, we lost the need for activity. We spent time lazing in the pool, enjoying the view of the open landscape over the edge, having a relaxed snooze on the warm stone ledge and doing the same things all over again. We tried shouting out our names with the hope of getting an echo, but it did not happen.

Later we climbed down a rather precarious path to see the falls from below. The view was great, and we could only imagine what a grand sight it would be in a couple of months when the monsoon set in.

We had a relaxed lunch of “puris", “sabzi" and “achaar" which we had brought with us. The water to quench our thirst, we enjoyed directly standing under the falls. It was clean and pure. People say that water is tasteless, but I don’t quite agree. The water was definitely tasty.

At about three in the afternoon, we had our last dip, wiped ourselves with our towel, dressed and started back. The forest seemed darker and quieter. And cooler.

The colours of the leaves appeared different. We stopped again at the tea stall and surprisingly, the return journey appeared to be much shorter. The day had been enjoyable and we were feeling a little tired and happy.

As we reached the station, it was clear that we were well in time for the train. There were a few local people already waiting for it. Enquiries revealed that the train would be late (it usually was!) and it would arrive when it would arrive.

The people appeared to be used to this waiting for things to happen. Their eyes betrayed their resignation to having to wait – for trains, for rations, for medical help, for “development", for leaders, for employment which would make a better life available to them.

They did not realize that they were better off without the development which would destroy their way of life. Of course, their expectation of health care, education and opportunities were to be respected. Unfortunately, when “development” came, it also came with a lot of subtle exploitation.

To wait, since there were no chairs or benches, we spread our towel on the ground and sat down. Fortunately, the station-master was good enough to offer us tea (maybe because we were obviously city folks) and chatted with us for a while. Life would have been lonely for him in this back of beyond and he was probably happy to have someone to talk to, to relate to.

After about an hour and a quarter, we came to know the train was approaching and soon it thundered in. We got into one of the compartments and since there were no seats vacant, in the spirit of great Indians, we took our place at the open door of the compartment.

The train did not start for quite some time and there was some speculation about the reasons for this. Probably, the station-master was having a chat with the engine driver. We noticed that someone had left a towel on the platform. We saw some people climb down from the compartments. Some were trying to figure out the reasons for the delay. We were also curious but everybody had a different explanation.

All of a sudden, there was a jerk and the train started moving. People on the platform clambered on unhurriedly as if they were used to this, and they probably were. The light was fading, and we cast longing eyes towards the Forest and the beauty of the landscape. We did not want to leave, but that was just idle longing.

The train pulled out of the station, and soon we were passing through the forests again. The forests looked different. Darker, more sinister! Not a sign of human habitation. The jungle seemed to be spreading its influence. The animals were probably waking up and preparing to take over. The night was theirs.

Then it struck us. The towel on the platform- it was ours. In our hurry to get onto the train, we had completely forgotten about it after sitting on it for well over an hour.

Probably, and inadvertently, we had planted the seeds of “development" in the land.

Some Adivasi would find it and become the first person in the village to use a thick, factory woven towel!