Woodland Odyssey
Get lost in the woods and you’ll find yourself
So goes the quote. I only found trees, bushes and shrubs; not to mention the weird animal calls, the rustling of trees high above and the occasional snake slithering on the ground, its skin glinting from sunlight cascading through the trees. Still, a good quote as far as quotes go, but in reality:
It all started on a bright morning in a cozy resort, a sudden impulse to go exploring through what was supposed to be a straightforward trek. But as I wrestled through the shrubbery, the occasional thorn pricking my hands and feet, I realised it was perhaps the third time I had come around in circles; a large twig I had stuck on the ground serving as my marker. By now, I had begun doubting my ability to wade through the forest and the word ‘exploring’ only gave rise to feelings of borderline frustration. Mind you, this wasn’t the first time.
Getting lost in the forest can make you reflect on a lot of things. The day had started out well enough. An early riser, I awoke well before sunrise, walked around the resort premises I was staying at as part of an educational workshop. A sumptuous breakfast and coffee, specially prepared for me right from the kitchen; there are several perks for being an early riser.
Treks are done only in groups with a guide, so I was told. But with much time on my hands and the scheduled group trek being four days away, I had decided to go solo — group treks usually turn out to be elaborate jokes. Hence getting lost in the forest made me question my decision — only question — for regret was still a ‘distant ship smoke!’
Brushing off my thoughts, I decided to leave the marker right where it was, my gaze shifting from shrub to shrub, all of which looked the same. I broke a larger branch off one of the shrubs, a makeshift staff with which I could determine whether there was a drop amidst the undergrowth. The staff seems to hit only more plants on the way and the hard ground seems completely overgrown. I occasionally find solid ground, the broken leaves, my only guide.
A joke occurs to me at this point. There is a popular meme about 60’s kids, 80’s kids, and 90’s about how only people of that generation are acquainted with certain facets in the evolution of the previous century. I muse about the generation which used to determine a way through the forest like I was; a savage lost in the wilds.
Wading through a several bushes, I come across some damp soil where I get my first welcome clue. A set of footprints lead away from the forest. I trace the line of prints, one overlapping the other in a single file figuring them to be that of a drove of bullocks. I realise that I am not too far from civilisation after all and I head in the opposite direction reach my intended destination — the Nandi peak.
A peak that is inundated with tourists, where people hang out every weekend, where couples go to do their hunky-dory activities, only this time I am climbing from the isolated end — through the forest. I chance upon my good luck with more reflection.
I had started out in the intended path. A short spell of rain had rendered the path invisible because of which I took a detour. A couple of hundred metres away, I had veered myself off the path of an oncoming cattle drove, a mighty portion of which I patted as a friendly gesture. However, I remember the lack of a cattle herder puzzling me, but then I’ve seen stranger things in my life.
Fighting through the bushes, the wind howling, the leaves rustling, and more uncertainty in my mind, I chance upon a clearing. I momentarily breathe a sigh of relief of having made some progress, for clearings are indicative of a path regularly used. My relief is abruptly cut short as I hear some furious rustling of the bushes at the end of it, followed by a low-pitch growl of a cornered animal ready to fight.
A momentary fear grips me about me encountering a pack of wild dogs. But I figure that the staff I fashioned for myself should be enough to instill fear. Strangely I decide to stay put — to quote Akerfeldt “defy the forgotten moral where the victim is the prey.”
I bang the staff on the ground and it makes a loud thud on the mud, I bang the staff on the stone once again and it makes a loud thwacking noise. Suddenly the growling stops and I hear a whimper. I realise that the animal is probably alone but still I would like to know if I am confronting a danger or if I am the danger myself. And so I keep my staff aside and move slowly towards the bush. The rustling intensifies and out leaps the animal that has been the scourge of my fear.
A four-legged canine runs up to me and greets me, licking me all over my legs, leaping up on the hind legs, running all around me in joy. I am taken by surprise and I am still wary of other animals in the vicinity. After a minute or two, when the dog seems comfortable around my presence, I realise that she too was just was lost just as I was.
Being in the middle of the forest didn’t help her much, for her whimpers told me that she was happy to see a human, probably a more familiar animal than a wild one — despite holding a weird staff.
One thing about myself — from childhood, I have had great affinity for dogs. Strays, pets, and ferocious ones usually find themselves a friend in me.
I greet the dog as a welcome sign, scratch under her chin, above her head, and massage a bit on the back. I look behind me to scope for routes once again and all I can see is the upper portion of a mountain right opposite to the one I am climbing; an indication that I am at a considerable height with no direct way down.
The sudden appearance of another animal triggers my chain of thoughts once again. Among many other things in life, I am a gamer. The sudden appearance of a dog harkens my mind to all the role-playing games I play, where I chance upon new characters in varying adversities and join forces to overcome insurmountable odds, or in this case, the mountain.
Both of us start scoping the ground in front of us. I realise that this dog fancies herself as a tracker. My confidence is suddenly boosted because even though I am reasonably calm in any situation, I have a pro with me to navigate the thickets. Even though I have a few bruises at this point, I am no longer deterred.
The dog, in her excitement, leads the way, her fur acting as armour against the myriad of thorns in our way. At this point, I slow down deliberately. I then patiently cut through some of the undergrowth to make way for her, and she happily wags her tail, taking the lead once again.
We spot several other snakes along the way, she growls at their sight while wagging her tail, essentially a warning for me to stay put. A few minutes after our meeting and she’s already protecting me; “Aren’t I privileged?” I think.
I only possess a half-litre water bottle and a packet of Goodday biscuits for the journey. Seen as how we’re both lost, I decide to share some of the biscuits I have with her. She happily gobbles them; she’s probably been hungry awhile. I attempt offering some of the water I possess using a broken coconut I found along the way, but she refuses.
On my companion’s part, every time she comes across a puddle — and there are quite a few because of rain the previous day — she laps up a few sips occasionally from the ground.
We cut through the thickets furiously and stop along the way several times to catch our breaths. Our ascent is fruitful and we finally come across a large and steep clearing and towards the left I spot the staircase which I was supposed to catch earlier. I had hoped given it was a path to the mountain, there would be fellow travelers but alas, there is not a soul in sight.
My four-legged lady looks a little daunted given the sheer steepness of the mountain. I try telling her to go, even pat her and point her in the direction of the staircase but she is not ready to leave my side. I, for one, am grateful for the company, for the humans I enquired begged off. While I am happy having a professional tracker by my side, I am wary of taxing her too much.
I continue my ascent albeit slowly considering her energy levels. She takes breaks quite often, wandering off path, sniffing something along the way and going off on its trail. There are stone hollows formed on the side of the rocky interface from imperfect chipping which make for excellent water storages for my companion.
Her fatigued face seems to have regained significant composure, and the twinkle is back in her eyes. I get a look of understanding from her, telling me she is ready to lead once again, but I don’t let her. I have heard it is never a good idea to make dogs climb stairs and so I too veer off path, choosing to walk on the rock instead, which eases our advance considerably.
However, the rocky path fatigues me slightly and I am mindful of the fact that I have to ride back on my motorcycle into the city with a possible pillion joining me. My water bottle is almost empty and at this point I am concerned whether I too should find a proper hollow which houses relatively clean water.
I question my choice of walking on the rocks for a moment. But I cannot bring myself to disappoint such a willing companion. A dog accompanying me reminds me of a story from the Mahabharatha — the great Indian mythological epic — where King Yudhishtira is accompanied by a dog in his long walk to the heavens, stretching across mountains, forests and terrains. The dog remains a faithful companion throughout the journey, as has mine.
The stairs lead the way to a rough path, which has monkeys on both sides, who grunt in agitation after sighting a human and a dog. A few more paces leads to a well-paved path and my hope soars as I anticipate the hilltop.
I come across a temple on the way, where a lonely priest is performing cleaning duties. I ask if I could have some water to drink and also my water bottle filled and he happily obliges.
The priest smiles at my companion and questions if she is my own dog, and I tell him that she is not, and that we found one another in the forest and she accompanied me all the way. The priest being well acquainted with the Mahabharatha, draws out the analogy of Yudhishtira and his long walk to the heavens. I assure him I am no king, nor am I something so virtuous.
We speak briefly about one another and my companion moves ahead and beckons me to accompany. The brief conversation in our mother tongue, especially with someone more fluent than I, delights me. I exchange greetings once again and we depart.
The path ahead is well paved and we encounter no difficulty on the way. We carry on for about a kilometre with the same view on the left and a similar path throughout. As we reach the top, I am impressed with the view across all directions and my companion finds a cool spot beneath a tree and lays down. I find myself sitting beside her, feeding her all the remaining biscuits, all of which she gobbles up quickly.
Strangely, the view no longer holds my attention. I am in high spirits, not the view, but for the fact that what started as a precarious trek turned into an adventure. I lay down on the grass and my mind goes blank for a few minutes. I must have dozed off for I feel my companion licking my hands, wondering if I’ll ever wake up. I look at the time and realise that I did doze off for three minutes. Lucky that I didn’t carry my wallet with me.
We get back up, and stretch, the triumph of our ascent evident in our eyes. With our moods jubilant, we begin our descent. The steep path aids our strides, our steps falling one in front of the other in a swift rhythm, as if someone tuned the radio to a heavy metal station from our symphony of ascent.
My companion is excited at our pace and runs, nay gallops forward, in joy. She reacts as though the ground is helping her move fast, so she gallops a few paces and comes running back to me several times, as if she has suddenly unlocked the secret of spry movement. Her expression holds me with a questioning look of how I am unable to fathom our newfound powers.
Our descent is swift, and we encounter no problems along the way. We take a break at a makeshift fireplace made of stone, a place I had placed a mental marker on to stop by on our way down.
My companion however is charged up, from her rest and from all the biscuits she devoured. We sit beside the fireplace and she goes in search of water and I take a few more sips from my water bottle and the view in front of me puts me into a reflective mood.
I had no idea what would transpire when I woke up in the morning, and yet I realise I have never felt so good in a long, long time. I’ve only heard tales of stray animals performing wondrous feats but this is the day I got to see one. I try to think of some story, some correlation which I could draw my experience to but my memory and my mind fail me.
I suppose, the Yudhishtira tale could be a synonym but I, for one, feel no connection with those characters. Realisation dawns that this is perhaps because I do not get too attached to anything, neither who I am, nor what I do and certainly not what I have known. Correlation nor synonymy is immaterial, for I live neither in the past nor do I expect to be remembered in the future; merely content to savour a company while it lasts.
As if on cue, my companion appears beckoning me, for the time has come to leave. I get up and start climbing my way down. We pass all the places we came across, almost jogging along the way as the slope is very conducive for a swift descent. I again, avoid the stairs, but strangely I see my companion walking on the stairs, sniffing her way through.
We pass all the rest spots along the way, not stopping anywhere and I come across another clearing — a clearing I should have come but had strayed away, leading to all this trouble. A tribe of goats is grazing in the clearing and I see my companion run up to them in joy, and in the end of the tribe is a goatherd who welcomes her with open arms. After circling his feet a few times, jumping up and down on him, she runs back to me, wagging her tail.
The goatherd approaches and thanks me for bringing his dog back to him. I tell him not to thank me, for I should be thanking her for keeping me company in what was turning out to be a trek of surmounting despair. We chat a little bit about the goats, about his village, about his family. He is happy to share anecdotes about the jungle, about the correct path to the mountain and how resort-related treks are overrated, herder-type walks which don’t really teach you anything.
I nod my head in approval, but I am none the wiser intellectually. I have however reinforced in myself something far more precious; teamwork in action. Throughout my life, I have witnessed teamwork in play, when I jam, when I go on bike rides with others but almost never during my work assignments.
Conversely, my bike expeditions, solo travels and treks have turned out to be great teamwork activities, without planning, without any known company, where a contingency necessitates action. This trek was one such. Our conversation lasts for a few more minutes, and we sit near a stone bench that is part of the staircase, leading to and from the mountain.
I tell him of the adventure we had, and he tells me that he too came from the mountain, and that his dog got lost somewhere in between. He also tells me that it is not the first time that she has wandered off but she always finds her way home. I am not at all surprised.
Few more minutes of conversation and I ask to take leave and I bid permission to take a picture along with his dog, whose name the goatherd tells me is “Rani”. It takes some effort on my part to get the angle right but she finally acquiesces.
It is time for me to depart. As I walk up to leave, Rani comes running to me, in a bid to probably make me stay and speak some more with the goatherd, presumably because she thinks the goatherd too is lost.
I smile, kneel down and bump my forehead against hers. She seems to understand that I have to leave. The goatherd asks her to accompany me to the main road, but I decline. I do not wish to separate them once again. I tread my way through the bushes once again, this time on the ‘right’ path and a few minutes later I reach the gates of the resort I am lodged at.
The security guard has changed, who has been informed that someone from the resort i.e. me, has gone on a solo trek. He asks me how the trek was, in Hindi, not knowing I speak Kannada — the local language. I simply smile, nod and give him a thumbs up.
My gaze not fixed on anything, I walk directly towards my room, pass a colleague who mentions some work-related matter which barely registers. But then I stop and realise it wouldn’t do justice not to listen. I briefly contemplate narrating the incident but ponder as to who would believe such a thing. I choose not to but mention briefly about how a dog accompanied me all the way through my trek.
Our brief conversation past, I get a couple of invitations to jump into the pool, which I decline. A shower and a hot meal awaits and I am certainly famished. Someday, I may come to the same place again, and whether I would be part of a group trek or not, I will certainly go in search of the woods once again, hoping to catch up with another companion.
For now, Rani will remain a fond memory as I wade through the days, filled with activity, a gentle reminder of how language and species barriers can be transcended.
