Jabalpur to Kanha Via Mandla - Road To Tiger Heaven

The Journey on Road to Mandla

The jerks and bumps are unbearable and the ride long. These are the travails of a bus journey  to Kanha.  Who cares? I am going to the tiger heaven.

Mandla Fields

Jabalpur to Mandla Road is being built since ages, and I am used to the rough patches that arrive intermittently but with a stressful certainty. The sight of broken culverts, rocks and gravel and piles of sand alert you in advance as to what is about to come. The terrible jerks. OOf!

The crowd inside is bone crushing, and my lungs heave as bodies pile up on me whenever the bus vacillates on the rough patches. The beautiful landscape is a solace as the bus moves forward painstakingly on a non existing road. 

Banzar River

I sit tight on a badly designed seat that could challenge the best of the designers to rectify. You can see the cushion rotting, brittle, yellowed by age as it peers through the jagged edges.  

The whole picture is that of absurdity since the rattle is called a luxury bus. 

It stops every now and then to pick roadside passengers, some in small groups. The conductor pushes them all inside to the back where there is no space. They are duped easily, the rustic rural populace. 

"Go back there are empty seats behind" his standard speak every time he loads the bus. There are none, the travellers are mercilessly cramped up in the little suffocating passage between the rows of the seats - two on left and three rows on the right. 

Kanha Village

I am lucky for being on seat with kids beside who barely occupy much. In summers it gets worse with heat insulated between those on board and windows too small to let fresh air in. Anyway it gets too dusty hence people keep the windows closed most of the time. 

When I look outside, I see no work going on. The idle machinery - caterpillars and road rollers tell a sad story of indefinite delays in Government managed projects. This means more such horrible experience till the highway is eventually complete. The finished patches in between are like a breath of fresh air and future travel seems promising on the cement structure that will let ply the vehicles to and forth. Bus rolls smoothly as if on a rink...too difficult to believe.  Then the next patch awakens you out of the reviere. 

Mandla Village

The journey over unfinished patches is an absolute shock, and tests my body whence catapulted towards the roof and back onto the seat. Thanks to a long association with this road to Mandla, I have gained expertise in twisting and turning on time, and using these very acrobatic skills I always land back safely on the seat - me and my laptop and yes the baggage. But nobody is perfect many a times my goggles and hat are thrown astray and crushed under the unruly impending feet. They are all around. 

The bus stops for few minutes for refreshment at a market place called Narayanganj a small filthy town still living in the past. I go for tea and samosa from the roadside cart making sure they are hot. It is a hurried affair, the small shops well some of them selling eatables pass on adulterated stuff since there would be no fight back by unsatisfied customers due to lack of time. The toilet facilities are non existent, I hope they build some along with this new highway.     

After a hot cup of tea and samosas, I feel bit relaxed and this gives space to my cramped feet. In fact the stop is good to unwind my whole body ....crushed as it is.    

The bus journey ahead is as terrible and throws you into throes of convulsions. The twists and turns are more severe, and after frequent stoppages the bus is jam packed. The luxury bus I mean. There is no more halts worth their time only pick ups now and if you are feeling like it hold on tight.  The smell of edible lingers on for a long time in the cramped space of the rattle and an occasional burp  from the passenger smells like a bad fart! 

The journey is nevertheless amusing with wide variety of crowd that has mingled inside in perfect harmony. In India it is the crowded places that open up the region's culture. You learn how people carry on in adversity unbearable. I do not experience the World when I travel to Kanha National Park in a luxury SUV! All I experience is sleep and little shop talk with my clients...those which land at Jabalpur Airport. 

Mandla Township

After what seems an eternity full of bone breaking experience I land, lock, stock and barrel in one mutilated piece after three hours and run to the next bus. Sometimes the connecting bus to Kanha is late, and I get time to freshen up and for a cuppa chai!

Courtyard House Kanha

The journey to Kanha from Mandla onwards appears to be luxurious whence compared with the earlier one. Yet it is a painfully slow journey with innumerable halts. Eventually I reach Mocha township in the buffer from where I am picked up to take me to Courtyard House Kanha wildlife resort at Patpara Village. This is a high end property and I will get the much needed rest. I freelance here as a naturalist in the tiger heaven and love my work immensely. 

Bus ride anyone? 
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Uday is naturalist, a writer and loves to blog on travel and wildlife.
He provides SEO Service and Website Contents in English.
He Teaches Internet Marketing in Jabalpur in Summer
Contact: pateluday90@hotmail.com
09755089323

Romantic Indian Train Journey

It is a journey through the hinterlands

It is a magical treat of panoramic excellence

A romantic passage of days and nights

An unforgettable experience that stirs the mind

Every remembrance will draw a sigh

As nostalgia grasps one on the high

As Indian Train chugs along

Through the diverse furlong

On the rails with iron wheels

A blissful thrill is what one feels

Tooting horn all the way

The mighty engine does not sway

It keeps to ground and hugs the rail

Completes the journey without fail

As Indian Train chugs along

Through the breezy wind with aplomb

A kaleidoscope of vivid colors unfold

At sunrise and sunset from blue to gold

Keep your breath on the hold and fix your eyes on the fold

It is an exotic visual delight

It extols the nature's  creative might

Of hills desert and rivers serene

The rail journey is colorful indeed

See the towering Himalayas rise

A lofty abode of sages wise

Feel the flow of mighty Ganges on the train

Through the upheaval of tortured plains

Along the banks with holy cities

Past green fields and hamlets busy

Through the rolling meadows and forests green

Marvelous scapes on the journey seen

A rail journey is not only a visual delight

It garners lots of spiritual insights

Indian Railway - Garib Rath Express

The cool confines of the vestibule look inviting as I climb onto the rail with reservation status in RAC. Garib Rath which means Chariot of the poor is a long-distance rail that begins from Jabalpur City Station in Madhya Pradesh. The destination station is Mumbai, the commercial capital of India. The train stops at many stations on its journey towards Mumbai at the Arabian Sea. 

Garib Rath belongs to the express category which means fewer stoppages or is it? At the station, there is as much chaos as it is inside. Passengers are in a Hurry as always..there is much time, so I struggle to reach my seat, put my bag under it - in a constricted space and relax. The commotion continues, a journey that only offers the comfort of temperature control and nothing else. Five people to leave one passenger.   

The coaches are nice and clean and the toilets are hygienic. This by all means is a bounty. Indian rails contain the dirtiest toilets as at other public places. But there is a continuous effort from the department to maintain all things well. The problem lies in the sheer number of travelers.  

The windows are large enough and I love to watch my India. Beautiful India! The familiar landscape passes by, and I travel often on this route. But soon darkness takes over and I am confined to the inner reality of the coach. The stark reality of inner chaos is far apart from the magical scape outside. 

The rail offers cheaper fares than most temperature-controlled accommodations. It offers a chance to those not lucky enough to travel in AC. The cool comfort makes them extra chirpy and restless the commotion goes on well past sleeping hours. This is a characteristic of many travelers in India minus the upper class. Noise, spicy food, a large number of baggage, slippers, rugs, plastic bags, and mineral water all get cramped in a minimalist compartment. The situation is worsened by continuous to and fro of vendors selling tea, snacks, and, "Very Tasty Quality Food Sir! Garama Garm". The food, if you have no other source is all but palatable.         

In the cramped confinement, the World becomes oblivious and you feel like traveling in a spacecraft through the mysterious celestial space. But there is no vacuum here, it is literally a bazaar on the move. Perhaps we Indians are the most carefree travelers. In this confinement, I experience India from close. The emergence of clutter and chaos. Simply too many people! But within this extreme lies an amazing colorful tapestry, an admixture of diverse profiles that never cease to surprise me.

Travelers chomp all around..bananas, bhajiyas, samosa, chips Haldiram, the kids are very noisy and restless. As dinner time arrives people settle down for the big chomp. Family and friends gather around oblivious to the terribly constricted space. The passage is completely blocked by the time boxes open and the pungent aroma of spices fills the whole vestibule. The aroma lingers for hours in the AC compartment. The chomp is noisy and a fine example of gluttony...a train ride creates insatiable hunger, discomfort or not. By the time the chomp is over it is time to sleep or is it? The kids continue with their antics energized by loads of food...they become more troublesome. The women have a truckload of chatting to do. They are apologetic, this is a precious instance of complete freedom for them. I smile and mean to say carry on. The bed rolls begin to roll out as time proceeds, the event is as noisy as a frantic discussion of who will sleep where?

The Ticket Checker has not yet arrived, sitting with my laptop I try to ignore the milieu. I frequently check my Current Pnr status in hope of getting a birth to sleep. I am lucky now, and I have a confirmed birth in the next coach. My neighbors are upper-class English-speaking Indians. Tight-lipped, high society snobs by fate dipped into Garib Rath. The ambiance is dull, silent, and devoid of life...the silence is the only welcoming note.   

I take out my dinner, carefully wrapped in a foil, it is...spicy...pungent...aromatic..Blah! blah!. It is mind-bogglingly tasty, I have made it myself. The heavy aroma lingers in the air as I sit crossed legged chomping freshly made aloo ke sabji, oily Paratha, achar, and papad. Lots of nasty eyebrows are raised but I am at work, who cares. Aren't we all Indians? Live Life King Size!                                 

Road to Nagpur

The journey was in fact much extended right up to Pune. The Jabalpur beginning was as troublesome as  the ending at Nagpur. The journey begins in a rickety old bus paradoxically called luxury bus.

"Which Bus to Nagpur?"  

"Check Your Ticket!"

The bus has a characteristic scarred exterior with peals of paint with lost bindings. The interior does not look inviting either. Oh! Well one more weather beaten body inside.    

I twist and turn in order to avoid the ladder that leads to the sleeper bed on top. Eventually I manage to get into my seat, pull the lever and stretch myself maximum. The sun hits my face directly causing discomfort. The bus is warm and humid from inside, though it is October, but the parking is right under the sun. 

I wait in expectation for the bus to begin its journey onwards. The driver finally alights and begins chatting with the cleaner. The conductor is leaning out from the exit door. "Nagpur! Nagpur! Chalo Nagpur!

This is supposed to be a luxury bus, and only those with reserved tickets are allowed to embark. Who cares? "Nagpur" Nagpur!" 

Stuffed to the brim the contraption eventually moves forward. Amidst that sea of humanity, I try to close my eyes and relax for the seven hours tormenting journey onwards. The seat is not ergonomically designed, well  for a two hundred Rs fare one should not expect too much Luxuryyyyyyyyy. 

Throughout the journey I squirm like an acrobat to offer a comforting angle to my aching back and limbs. This does not work out much and discomfort continues. The bus traverses through picturesque surroundings of what where once dense forests. 

Its nothing new, the bad road condition, but the jerks break your bones and torment your muscles no end. You have to be careful so that you do not land on your neighbor. I peak from my window and see no sane piece of tar, only pot holes ravaged continuously by marauding wheels of buses and trucks. With each pounding the hole becomes larger and provides more space for the wheels. There are large stretches of road that contain nothing but loose sand and pebbles. There is no sign of any repair work throughout the National Highway. It is evident that proper ratio of material has not been used. The road is in utter state of neglect. Shameless! 

The extreme cataclysmic movement does not bother those in lofty seat as much, most of them are lulled by the rhythmic jerks that pass through the cross section like seismic waves. The unfortunate seat less travelers without a reserve ticket are engaged in constant maneuver to balance their bodies. And to save themselves from surrounding metal objects. Their journey is short hence they stand through. Years of discomforting travel has taught them how to hold one self  against life threatening thuds as the wheel falls into the pothole.   

In spite of the badly scarred road the driver pushes the accelerator to get the maximum thrust. The heat worsens as the sun rises and at each stop it is "Nagpur" "Chalo Nagpur". At each stop one lot disembarks  another alights to maintain the equilibrium. The inside smells of sweat, bad breath, oily snacks and garlic chutney all around. In India people eat throughout the journey, perhaps an instant source of energy that makes the body fight the hardship of travel better.            

The bus passes through small isolated hamlets that remain standstill, frozen back in time, centuries past, unconcerned with the changing pace of urbanity. The arid fields, rickety cows and goats are means of survival nothing exists beyond, most certainly the urban surroundings and its inhabitants. A lot which has discovered alien life and learned to ignore. The small towns on the way are engaged in a battle of survival between different eras, a conglomeration of rustic and modern structures. Noisy Baazars, loud blaring speakers and constant rant of the vendors characterize Indian townships. Stray cows, dogs and pigs are ubiquitous commensal  of man.   

The largest town half way through is Seoni made famous by Rudyard Kipling and his Jungle Book. Mowgli's Home, Pench National Park resides in the confines of Seoni and Chindware District close to the town.

The bus barely manages to drag itself uphill and the sharp turns make the ride more bumpy and troublesome.

The discomfort is compensated by the amazing scape of this National Park. The entrance to Pench is at Khawasa about 50 km from Seoni Township. At Khawasa the bus crosses over from MP to Maharashtra after a brief stop for tea, snacks, pan/bidi/cigarette and of course passenger exchange. "Nagpur" Nagpur!"    

We The People 

Roads in Maharashtra are better but not on this stretch, the journey lasts for another four hours exchange stops included. The passengers in seat wait eagerly for Nagpur to arrive. As decent law abiding citizens none has taken note of the road condition, a motley lot that represents all of us. A chalta hai lot that is voiceless and suffers in silence. The politician contractor nexus survives because of our silence since ages.

Perhaps the lot could teach those trying to turn turtles against the corrupt system. How not to confront? Chalta Hai Yaar hum bhi to khateein hain many would say.