by Reece Willis
Without any signs of a tiger, we were returned to the dorms and I spent the rest of the morning relaxing with the twins and updating my journal. As the midday sun worked its way around the mountains into early afternoon I decided to stretch my legs. Five minutes into my stroll I heard Dinesh call out, ‘Mr Sam, this is my brother Deepak, may we be joining you?’ Deepak looked maybe two years younger than Dinesh and slightly slimmer.
‘Of course,’ I replied.
A short way along a dirt track we discovered a watch tower and observed five elephants bathing in the shallow water of the river and being cleaned by their respective keepers. We climbed down the ladder to investigate and as we approached, I asked one of the mahouts if we would be allowed to join them. He was more than happy and invited us in.
‘Dinesh, you go ahead with Deepak, I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ I ran the way I came, back to the table where David was slouched snoring and Imogen was reading a book. ‘You guys, come quick, I promise you won’t be disappointed.’ Curious of the excitement in my voice, they jogged beside me to the river.
‘Oh, my word, how splendid,’ Imogen said as she saw Dinesh and Deepak splashing each other. ‘Thank you so much for coming to get us, Sam.’ She kissed me gently on the cheek, making me blush, and ran off to the river bank, throwing her socks and sandals to one side.
I waded in knee deep to join them and was handed a flat rough stone the size of my palm to scrub an elephant with. The mahout showed me the correct way to rub, instructing me to be firm on the elephant’s tough grey skin to avoid the danger of tickling him. As I scrubbed, I noticed patches of depigmentation on the elephant’s ears and bristles of hair on his back, chin and about the wrinkles of his beautiful wise eyes. I was warned not to stand too close to his feet and to keep clear of his whipping tail.
An hour later and the elephants stood slowly, leaving their bath one by one. The last blew an impressive jet of water from its trunk before climbing the muddy bank. I took a final photograph of the mahouts and their grand elephants standing in a line with the river and mountains behind.
‘That was incredible, Sam, thanks,’ David said, as the five of us made our way towards the dormitories. ‘A wonderful tale to tell our grandchildren.’
‘You’ve got to find someone who’ll put up with you first, so you could be in for a long wait,’ Imogen teased, nudging him in the arm.
After changing out of our wet clothes we set out again, this time for a ride on the back of an elephant in search of an elusive tiger. It was the same elephant I washed earlier. We climbed aboard the wooden howdah, which had a red cushion in the centre and a foot platform either side. As the elephant strode forward we heard a shout from behind, ‘Please be waiting for me, I am still wanting to find tiger.’ Dinesh’s little legs ran as fast as they could to catch up with us. He was lifted onto the howdah the same way we were; holding the creature’s ears and raised by the trunk. He climbed into the arms of the mahout and was seated next to David.
We moved off through the long grass avoiding tall termite mounds as birds of varying colours flew in the early evening sky. Steadily we rocked from side to side looking out to the rich grasslands. An hour passed, the sun began its descent and we turned to go back without the slightest glimpse of striped fur. It was hard not to be disappointed, but as we came to terms with not seeing a tiger the elephant was brought to a halt and the mahout whispered, ‘Tiger.’ Our stomachs filled with butterflies as our eyes scanned the grass. ‘There!’ the mahout pointed.
We followed his finger to the most majestic of tigers; a beautiful female, lying still and keeping a cautious eye on us. We were told to keep as quiet as possible which was difficult for Dinesh who struggled to contain his delight. Excited myself, I leant out to take a photograph and my foot slipped from the platform, sending me lurching forward. The tiger jumped to her feet, snarling and showing her sharp teeth. Imogen grabbed the top of my shirt just in time and wrenched me back to the cushion.
‘Phew, you gave me a real fright there. Now that’s two you owe me,’ she said.
Still shaking, I put the camera away, hiding my embarrassment under the cloak of the darkening sky.
After a hearty meal, David, Imogen and I stood talking whilst admiring a gecko on a rock. We were joined by a smartly dressed Indian man, ‘Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice your guitar when you arrived yesterday, do you play?’
‘Yes, why do you ask?’ I replied.
‘I also play and have brought my guitar with me. Would you like a jam sir?’ The gecko made a quick escape.
‘Sure. Why not?’
Retrieving our instruments, we improvised to an accompaniment of birdsong and an audience of friends until the evening ended.
While the others slept, I slipped outside for a cigarette. On the pathway, illuminated by the moth filled light above me, a hairy black warthog stopped in its tracks, glowing eyes fixed upon the night intruder with suspicion. I looked back with respect and apprehension of its unpredictable nature as well as being conscious of where the door was should I need to make a quick escape. An owl hooted breaking the silence and the hog walked on, grunting, probably laughing at my inferiority.
The twins and I agreed to take another elephant ride at six in the morning but when we arrived there was only one space left. With my support, David convinced Imogen to go, agreeing to meet her when she returned. The restaurant was empty apart from the cook who served our fried eggs and toast. My stomach was still on the delicate side and the now familiar pains were returning, though I managed what I could.
‘What are your plans after Corbett?’ David asked as he tucked in.
‘Manali with any luck. I was told I might be able to get a bus from Dhikala.’
David peered over his glasses at me, ‘I’m pretty sure there’s not a bus direct to Manali from here. Dhikala is within the park itself – only one way in, one way out. You’ll need to go back to Ramnagar.’
Returning to Ramnagar didn’t sound so bad, ‘Do you know if it’s a direct route?’
‘Manali is quite a way, it could take you three to four days with a lot of bus rides and overnight stays. It’s that or back to Delhi and direct to Manali that way. We could’ve helped you out from Ramnagar, but we leave this afternoon.’ He stopped eating, ‘Are you okay? You look a bit pale.’
I was stunned into silence and sat back as I digested his words. Spending the best part of a week on buses was bad enough, but all the way back to Delhi was worse. Imogen came in a short while later and sat beside me. I asked her how her trip went, ‘We saw an amusing group of monkeys and some deer, but no tigers. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Sam. What’s wrong?’
David answered on my behalf, ‘I think I may have delivered some bad news about Sam’s onward travel plans.’
‘Oh, that’s so typical of you, David. Can you not think before you speak? What did you tell him?’ David didn’t answer, but looked down at the breadcrumbs on his plate. ‘David, what did you say?’
I was quick to let him off the hook, ‘It’s fine, honestly. I’ve planned my journey a little wrong that’s all. He was being rather helpful actually.’
‘Oh, well that’s something I guess. Did you know he once told our grandmother he didn’t like her new hat and went into great detail as to why? She didn’t leave the house for a week after that.’
David lifted his head to meet Imogen’s eyes, ‘Oh please, not that again. You always do this. Every time there are other people around you take great pleasure in telling stupid stories about how I did this and how I did that.’
‘Guys, guys,’ I interrupted. ‘You’re leaving soon, let’s not bicker, eh?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Imogen smiled and placed her hand on my arm. When she thought I wasn't looking she poked her tongue out at David who did the same back.
While the twins awaited their ride from the park, Imogen handed me three 35mm camera films, ‘Take these, we’re not going to need them now. You make the most of them and
show us the pictures of your trip one day.’ She leant forward and kissed me softly on the lips, ‘Take care Sam, I’ll never forget you.’
I gave David a manly handshake and wished them a safe trip. They left, waving from the bus until it was swallowed into the darkness of the forest. With my head down I walked away, kicking the dirt, not really knowing what to do next. They were such nice people and I’d enjoyed their company. Under different circumstances I thought maybe Imogen and I could have been more than friends. But for now, I was back on my own.
Wandering the riverside, I saw an elephant in the distance, howdah full, riding into the jungle and I smiled at my misadventure with the tiger. I climbed the watchtower and soaked up the endless view of the bare mountains in the early afternoon sun. A rhesus monkey sitting beneath a tree eating fruit from its tiny hands looked around and then up at me. Tilting to the right it raised its left arm in an arc and scratched its short red fur. It then straightened up and threw the fruit stone to one side.
‘Mr Sam, is that you?’ The monkey let out a high-pitched screech and scuttled away on all fours, rustling fallen leaves as it entered the cover of the jungle. ‘Mr Sam, it is Dinesh and Deepak. The elephants are back.’
Sure enough, plodding into the water were the five elephants we washed yesterday. ‘Come,’ a mahout shouted and waved us in.
We splashed water on the elephants and began scrubbing. I reached down, took a handful of water and soaked Dinesh. His face lit up with a fit of giggles, ‘You will be getting it now Mr Sam,’ and he splashed me back.
Deepak shouted with glee, ‘Now I am getting you wet,’ and threw water at Dinesh.
‘Stop what you are doing right now,’ a voice boomed from behind us. We froze before slowly turning around. Towering above us on a hillside by the riverbank was a man dressed in a peaked cap and a khaki uniform. ‘You are to be leaving river at once and reporting with me to park keeper’s station immediately.’
It was reminiscent of being summoned to the headmaster’s office, an all-too-familiar occurrence. Dinesh and Deepak were sent to their mother. I was marched into a room adjacent to the canteen.
‘Sir, you cannot go into Ramnagar River,’ said the park keeper. ‘Elephants are very hazardous to health and river is frequented by crocodiles. You and your friends cannot play water games in there. There is a sign close by that clearly states, Ramnagar River is inhabited by crocodiles. Swimming is prohibited. Survivors will be prosecuted.’
‘I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me, I had no idea.’ I was glad he hadn’t caught us washing the elephants.
‘I will not be prosecuting on this occasion, but I will be fining you one hundred rupees.’
In the canteen, I sat at a busy table alone, not wishing to interact with anyone. Outside, one or two nightjars could be heard singing from afar and insects gathered wherever they could find light. I sat at a wooden table beneath an old tree and looked up at the empty branches. Ahead, the sky was dark blue with the black mountains beneath. Beside me was an empty chair and my heart wished my departed friends were still there.
After a breakfast of Bourbon biscuits, I went in search of the mahouts. I found them talking by their herd and gave them one hundred and fifty rupees to split between them, thanking them for the great time we had. I didn’t want to visit the next place. My shoulders dropped and I let out a sigh as I entered the park keeper’s office. Nobody could stay longer than three nights in Dhikala and my time was up. The same gentleman from last night was there, ‘Good morning sir,’ he smiled. ‘How can I be helping you?’
‘I would like to pay my exit fee please.’ I handed over seventy-five rupees.
‘Ah, many face I have seen like yours at this point. Jim Corbett Park is very enchanting, no?’
‘It is that.’
We chatted for a few minutes as I told him of the things I did during my stay, leaving out an elephant bath or two. ‘Why not join me for chai with my colleagues,’ he said, rising from his chair. We walked to a building opposite and inside there were nine men dressed in similar uniforms sitting at a long table, laughing and talking over cups of tea. The keeper introduced me, ‘Hello my friends, this is, er, your name sir?’ I whispered my name, ‘Thank you, this is Mr Sam.’
There was light laughter amongst the men and one of them said aloud, ‘Yes, the great crocodile splasher.’ The laughter increased.
‘My friend, please, pay no attention to them. They are hearing small story and making big joke about silly foreigner, I mean you, I mean somebody that looks nothing like you, sir.’ I chuckled and patted him on the shoulder in reassurance.
12
The mountains drifted out of view and the road opened to reveal small shacks on the roadside and growing numbers of people. We had arrived back in Ramnagar. Dinesh and Deepak were first to leave the vehicle with their mother who threw me a scornful stare. The boys ran ahead of her and banged on the side of the bus, ‘Mr Sam,’ Dinesh shouted, jumping up and down at the window, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Sam. We have wonderful time. I saw very big tiger and wash very big elepha…’ He turned to see his mother heading in his direction. He widened his grin and waved at me before replacing the happy face with a look of shame as his guardian shooed him away. Throwing a smile over his shoulder one last time, he winked and turned his head back to face the ground. I continued to look out the window until the family had melted into the crowd and then I moved into the aisle so I too could leave the bus.
The midday sun held no mercy and beat hard upon my head and neck. I went in search of the shaded area where I first met David and Imogen. In the back of my journal were the city names Sean had written: Rishikesh and Dehra Dun. I repacked the book and looked around, Rishikesh it was then. ‘Be brave and confident,’ I muttered and hurled myself into the chaotic arms of Ramnagar once again.
The first corner I turned I saw a parked bus, the front concertinaed a quarter of the way in, diminishing the little confidence I'd raised. Further along a shabby tourist office offered a glimmer of hope and I struggled through the doorway with my holdall and guitar. The jovial salesman informed me that there were no buses from Ramnagar to Rishikesh and suggested instead that I take one to Naini Tal or Corbett National Park. He was on the verge of spilling out a convincing sales pitch, but I saved him the trouble. Outside in the heat again I felt defeated. A man passed by, stopped and walked back to me, ‘You are looking lost, Sir. Are you needing help?’
‘Thanks, I’m trying to get to Rishikesh, but apparently, it’s not possible from Ramnagar.’
‘My friend, you must not believe everything you are told. Some people will tell you certain things to suit their own agenda. Please, follow this road on right side and after few minutes you will find local bus parking. There you can get bus to town of Kashipur, maybe fifty kilometres away, then to Rishikesh.’
I thanked him and sure enough, after walking two hundred yards or so, on the opposite side of a busy road was a bus station of sorts. Getting across to it was not going to be easy. Timing would be critical. A bus hurtled towards me from the right and then a truck from the left. A car from the left and then another, and then one from the right. A lorry approached from the left and was overtaken by a car. It whizzed past dictating to anything in its path to get out of the way for it had no intention of slowing down. ‘Beep, beep. Beep, beep,” was all I could hear above the engines. I spotted a gap and took my chance. I didn’t pause to think, I just ran as quickly as I could and despite one near miss I made it to safety.
At the end of a lane of dust covered buses a group of people were gathered. I asked them for directions for the bus to Kashipur, but was met with vacant stares and misdirection. ‘Kashipur, Kashipur, Kashipur,’ someone shouted and a bus moved away. The conductor leant from the doorway yelling the town name over and over. I ran and climbed aboard as it pulled out on to the road. Squeezed between a young boy and an elderly man, I stood holding a handrail for two hours as the bus filled up more with each stop. I held great respect for those wh
o manoeuvred around me and my baggage; effortlessly finding an available nook or cranny that I was sure didn’t exist.
Kashipur was like Ramnagar but on a larger scale. The bus left me by the roadside and once again I had to find transport to my next destination. I wondered why the drop-off points were not at the bus stations in these towns, it would have made things so much easier. Searching for another bus was not my idea of fun and as I walked along with no clue as to whether I was even heading in the right direction, traffic skimmed dangerously close. I was beginning to feel sick again. Feverish chills clawed at my muscles and every sight, sound and smell threatened the act of vomiting.
Asking for directions was pointless. It was the familiar story of blank faces or quizzical looks. If there was a point to this whole trip it was lost to me. I couldn’t expect a David or Imogen to be around every corner and without them everything felt like an endless struggle. Cows, dogs and hairy black pigs roamed freely around me. Corrugated iron shacks and plastic sheeted homes held together with bamboo poles fringed the roadside. I looked left and right in hope of spotting something that resembled a bus station, but saw nothing. A crippled man pulled himself along on a makeshift skateboard using his one useful arm, the other missing at the shoulder. ‘Baba, baba, baksheesh baba,’ he cried. His disfigurements made me look away in shock as I gave him a few coins. He rolled off and I stared down at my fully working legs with a new-found appreciation.
There were no smiling faces, no jolly rickshaw wallahs and no gleeful children running up and asking which country I was from, just the glum faces of people in a rush to get to their destinations. If only I could get to mine. A long strange looking auto-rickshaw with eight seats drew up beside me. The driver said he was willing to take me to the bus station, but I would have to cover the cost of four passengers. I couldn’t take the risk of him taking me all over town hiking up the fare even further, so I walked on. Of the few businesses I did see, they appeared only to cater for local needs – open fronted motor repair shops with tyres stacked outside; stonemasons – workers chipping and chiselling away at marble and sandstone slabs; sculptors – rows of white gods awaiting decoration. Kashipur was certainly not built for tourism.