Brian on the Brahmaputra

by David Fletcher

  ‘Forty thousand,’ he replied immediately.

  ‘Forty thousand!’ shrieked Lynn. ‘Did you say forty thousand?’

  ‘Well, it may be a little more now. You know how it is.’

  There then followed a classic stunned silence. All the Nature-seekers knew their destination was an island in the Sundarbans, and clearly all of them had developed a vague mental picture of this island. It would be green, hot, small, and isolated – just like most of the other islands Nature-seekers tended to visit. And it would have a few villages on it maybe, in which would live a few people. But just a few. No way would there be forty thousand of them. Hell, that was as many people as lived in Droitwich. And Nature-seekers never went there…

  Then it struck Brian. He had just about realised that the Sundarbans easily dwarfed the Norfolk Broads, but he now realised just how pygmy this English attraction was in comparison to this vast expanse of mangroves and water. This place was truly gigantic, and it was a place made up of islands many of which were large enough on their own to accommodate the whole of the English Broads if not most of the rest of Norfolk as well. They were certainly large enough to accommodate thousands of people – and a handful of visiting Nature-seekers. And these Nature-seekers would need more than a small tin boat to explore them. They would need a much bigger boat, one with plenty of room, one with shelter and with refreshment facilities – and one with loos. In fact, just like the one they were on now. How fortunate they were.

  Fortunate also that they had arrived at Bali Island at high tide. This seemed to make the master’s job of bringing his boat into the landing-stage that much easier, a landing-stage that looked a little like a low Mayan mound. It was more of the ubiquitous embankment, but this time surfaced in sloping paving stones with a very creditable imitation of a Mayan staircase running up its centre. As the Nature-seekers disembarked their craft and climbed this staircase, it became apparent that the top of the embankment was paved with bricks and that it provided a view of the rice fields beyond – and of a few simple homes. This was mud and cow dung territory again. And by the looks of it, a territory with a fairly desperate degree of poverty. There was no ugliness here, just order and elegance. Brian was delighted, although he suspected that the locals might have settled for a little less charm and a little more wealth.

  The party of visitors now followed Sujan along the embankment for about two hundred yards until he stopped at a set of steps leading down its land-side to a simple wooden gate. This, he explained, with an almost straight face, was the entrance to their camp and the gate was to keep the tigers out. It would, of course, not. Brian could have stepped over it with a bit of an effort; a tiger would not even have noticed it. Everybody laughed, but Brian was more intent on those steps than the gate. Looking here, from the top of the embankment, down into the grounds of their camp on one side and to the waters of the Bay of Bengal on the other, it was quite clear that there was no difference whatsoever in their levels. If this embankment failed during the night they would need floats on their beds.

  But that was unlikely. Indeed Brian quickly convinced himself that such an event was in the realms not just of the unlikely but of the highly unlikely, and he now turned his attention to his immediate surroundings. Everyone was now in the camp, being greeted by its manager and having a good look round. It wasn’t a very large place. There was a central, open-sided dining room built of bamboo, mud and thatch, and on the other side of a small concrete-lined pond, three small huts of similar construction, albeit closed-sided and with solar panels. Beyond the dining room was a concrete water tower, a kitchen and the manager’s and guides’ accommodation, and on its far side was a large oblong-shaped lagoon crossed by a bamboo bridge. This was the route to two further huts and not much else. The Nature-seekers therefore filled the camp completely: two to a hut and ten to a dining room. Brian had wanted it no other way, and whilst it was exactly what he had expected, he was still relieved. He would have detested the idea of any “strangers” spoiling the integrity of his group – and providing all sorts of concerns at meal times. As it was there was no such warping of his karma, and he was able to sit down for his first lunch on Bali Island confident in the knowledge that everybody around the single long table was of a sufficiently known status to provide just company and no serious concerns whatsoever.

  The meal was simple. It was a relative of those enjoyed on the Sukapha: rice, vegetable curry, fish curry and some watery dahl. It was perfect. And even though the heat of the day was now intense, Brian had no trouble in finishing it. Or the beer he had with it. And he was now ready for the afternoon.

  This started in his and Sandra’s room, where a modicum of unpacking was achieved and where the controls to the lights and the ceiling fan were investigated. The fan was essential. The room was pretty small and without the fan on, pretty stifling. So was the bathroom. This was large-phone-booth size, and with only a very small window for ventilation it became very sweat-inducing very quickly. It also induced the arrival of a certain sort of insect into Brian’s holiday; on the wall behind its door were two mosquitoes! Yes, here were the first mosquitoes he had seen in India and the first he was now keen to deal with. He retreated into the bedroom of the cabin and took from the bedside table a red can. It was the can that claimed it brought death to cockroaches and was therefore not very good news for mosquitoes or indeed humans either. Brian would use it with care, a quick squirt into the bathroom, an even quicker closing of the bathroom door and then a rapid exit from the hut – and then from Bali Island itself. For conveniently, all the Nature-seekers were now required to board the boat again and set out for the Sundarbans Tiger Reserve’s “Office of the Reserve Officer” to register their presence in this sensitive and protected area. Albeit no one was interested in protecting mosquitoes.

  The trip to the Reserve Officer’s Office took about forty minutes. For most of this time their boat was skirting the island opposite Bali Island, which was indeed part of the much larger reserve area and which was therefore lacking in any sort of embankment work, houses or other constructions, and indeed any sign of humanity at all – other than a stretch of insubstantial netting along the mangroves on its shores. This apparently was to deter tigers. Whilst they were very welcome to go wherever they wanted to in the reserve itself, here or anywhere else where an island in the reserve faced a populated island across a channel, there was a very firm consensus that they should be discouraged from “paying a visit”. This netting was a deterrent, a low-tech attempt to dissuade them from swimming across the channel and into the lives of the locals. And as they could swim very well, this wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. Indeed, Sujan believed they could swim up to twenty kilometres, based on the recent observation of a Sundarbans tiger midway across a channel of this width and still going strong. This made Brian think of the less than one kilometre channel between this netted island and their own island of Bali – and that small wooden gate. Perhaps Sujan’s earlier comments shouldn’t have been regarded as entirely humorous, especially when one observed how often the netting petered out when it encountered the entrance to a creek on the island – which presumably would have made an ideal launch-point for any self-respecting swimming man-eater…

  Brian’s reservations (concerning the proximity of the reservation) stayed firmly in place when he then spotted the location of the Reserve Officer’s Office. This was on the bank of the next island along, across a channel between the two, and its single outstanding feature from the vantage point of the boat was its twelve-foot high chain-link fencing. There was a small landing-stage and a protected walkway leading into what could only be described as a caged area, where, unlike in normal cage situations, it was the humans on the inside and the animals outside. They clearly took these tigers very seriously indeed.

  Brian was now on the landing-stage – looking at oysters. The boat had been secured to its mooring and the Nature-seekers had been warned to mind their step on the slippery landing (it was now low tide and much
of the landing that had been underwater was now exposed) and to make sure they had a look at the oysters that lived on the landing’s concrete legs and that were now similarly exposed. Brian had his look and was suitably impressed. The legs were covered in oysters. There must have been thousands of them – which presumably meant they were either inedible or they fell within the protection of the reserve. More likely the latter, Brian decided. After all, who’s ever heard of inedible oysters?

  Inside the cage there was a little shrine, some faded posters on some notice boards to tell you what birds and animals you might see (other than tigers) and there were some nondescript buildings, one of which must have been the Office of the Reserve Officer. Brian didn’t know. One of the boat’s crew had disappeared with everyone’s passports and was now taking care of the registration – whilst Sujan took care of the party.

  He was clearly keen to show them the Sundarbans reserve – in miniature. This was a concrete model of the Indian Sundarbans in their entirety sitting in a fifteen-foot concrete square. At the top of the square, which was painted blue on its base to represent the sea, were raised irregular blocks of white. These represented the Indian and Bangladeshi mainlands and the (non-reserve) populated islands off their shores. Below these white blocks, and representing the reserve proper, were island-shaped blocks in yellow, green and red, packed very closely together with blue channels running between them. It looked like a massive jigsaw where the jigsaw pieces had been moved just a little way apart – as there was a great deal more land in the Sundarbans reserve, and therefore more colourful blocks, than there was sea and therefore blue-painted channels. The yellow and green blocks were near the white blocks (one of which was Bali Island) and were the islands in the reserve which were “open” to visitors. That is to say one could sail around them and stop off at one of these cage arrangements wherever they were situated. The red blocks, which were in a majority, were towards the bottom of the square, well away from the white, and these represented those parts of the reserve that were completely out of bounds and where only scientists and professional naturalists were allowed. Brian was reassured at the size of their majority.

  It was now time to move on – still within the cage. This soon became an exercise in utilising any available shade (it was now simply scorching), seeing very little in terms of wildlife through the cage sides, and seeing just a canopy of various mangrove trees from the top of a lookout. There was, however, something to see at its base: a group of puzzled looking Indians who had gathered to see some whities. This Office of the Officer compound was also the site of the government-run “hostel” in the Sundarbans, where a dribble of visitors from Kolkata came to… well, Brian wasn’t sure why they came. Maybe to see tigers. But certainly not to enjoy the experience of the hostel itself. This was constructed out of brick, wood and corrugated iron and had the air of “condemned, dangerous, keep out” about it, and it really did look as though it might collapse at any moment. Thank God, thought Brian, for a mud and thatch hut with a ceiling-fan.

  Everybody was now clearly knackered, with barely enough energy left to cough. So it was decided to return to the boat and drift back to camp. This was a good decision. They were just in time for some late-afternoon tea (with a different variety of sweet biscuits) and well in time for their first view of a Sundarbans sunset. This was all pink and grey and completely fabulous. Brian and most of the others took endless photos of it, and Dennis and Derek’s video cameras were soon in danger of overheating.

  There was also a special sighting as the light was failing: an Irrawaddy river dolphin. It slipped out of the surface of the water. But only just. This new species of cetacean for the Nature-seekers was even more reserved than its Gangetic cousin and restricted itself to just the slightest emergence from the depths; a brief glimpse of the top of its shiny back as it broke the surface and that was it. Show over. Needless to say, even such a fleeting view was exciting. This chap was a rarity. And not just because he was a long way from the Irrawaddy. He was rare full stop. So rare that a full stop might be what his whole species would soon come to. So not just exciting but really upsetting as well.

  Indeed, it wasn’t until they were back in camp that Brian’s mood was restored to its normal good health. He and Sandra had returned to their hut and had examined their bathroom. And success! There, on the floor, were two dead mosquitoes – and no other live ones in sight. There was also an enormous dead cockroach, which could have been regarded as a bonus or as a bit of regrettable collateral damage. Brian’s view lent towards the latter, Sandra’s to the former. But they didn’t fall out about it. Instead they showered and changed as quickly as they could so that they could adjourn to the dining area and slake their sore throats as soon as possible.

  The agent of slaking was gin and soda. This wasn’t their agent of choice. But the camp only had a licence for beer. So the gin had been acquired in Kolkata by Sujan on their behalf – together with a supply of soda – as tonic, quite remarkably, could not be obtained there. No wonder, thought Brian, that the Empire hadn’t lasted; mosquitoes in bathrooms, no Imperial aerosols – and no easily digestible quinine. It was probably all a plot. It was also the ruination of good gin. Soda might be a happy companion for Campari, but when it came to the juniper juice, only tonic would do.

  Nevertheless, both Brian and Sandra managed with the soda surprisingly well. It was, after all, wet and cold and ideal for throats which were dry and bodies which were hot. It also left room for some beer, which was secured just in time to accompany the evening meal. This was curry as usual – but with the addition of a bowl of chips to supply some necessary ballast to the meal – and a bowl of salt – for tomorrow’s sweat. The day had been roasting. The Nature-seekers had been sweltering – profusely. And they would be again tomorrow. The salt was essential and it proved a popular choice.

  So too did an early night. Coaching, boating, coughing and sweating are together exhausting, especially for middle-aged people. By ten, the camp was in darkness, its occupants were in their beds, and for all Brian knew, a tiger was sniffing at the gate.

  Although he suspected it wasn’t.

  12.

  Brian awoke wanting a shower. No tigers had disturbed his night but the heat certainly had. He had slept on and off within a mosquito net, a device that may or may not have been necessary, but one that certainly added to the airless nature of the cabin. He was now lying on his bed slicked with sweat, and he longed for a sluice in the bathroom. Sandra had suffered similarly, and it was she who made it to the waterfall first. This wasn’t a problem. It just made Brian appreciate the water-borne relief even more when it came. Although the relief was short-lived. As soon as he started to dress, even though he did this under the fan with the power full on, the perspiration returned immediately. He needed to finish his toilet and exit the cabin as soon as possible. It was still only 5.30 in the morning and it had to be cooler outside.

  It was, but only marginally so. The Sundarbans, at this time of year at least, were clearly never cool. And how much hotter would it get?

  Brian thought about this as he consumed his breakfast, an Indian concoction with a plain omelette. It was completely delicious and soon extinguished any concerns he had about the heat. Or maybe it was the discussion at the breakfast table, the talk about noises in the night and the sighting of a snake in the lagoon – and the unguarded chit-chat in general that had now taken root in the group. There was a very good feeling in the air and everybody was clearly intent on enjoying themselves, but not on their own. This holiday had now turned into a properly “joint and several” expedition where all the members of the party were eager that their companions enjoyed it as much as they did themselves. It was a good way to start the day.

  This began in earnest at 6.30 when their boat cast off. They had boarded it via the Mayan steps at low tide. This had entailed a transit across their lower reaches and therefore an encounter with the dangers of slime. All had succeeded without mishap in this endeavour other th
an Lynn. She, as one of the last to make the transit, had taken it upon herself to demonstrate the perils of slippery surfaces to the rest of the group by losing her footing and descending onto her bum parts with an almost theatrical thud. Her bum parts, it has to be said, being significantly younger than those of most of the others in the party, were a little better designed for this opening gambit. But nevertheless, her gesture was still appreciated by all her companions. From now on, everybody would be more careful than ever as they tackled these treacherous landing-stage surfaces. And all thanks to Lynn. And to her bum. It said everything there was to say about how selfless people had now become in their desire to act for the group. To enhance the experience of all its members – to the point of protecting them from harm – even if this was at a cost to themselves. It made Brian feel really English for the first time since he’d been in India.

  The boat proceeded slowly. Brian doubted it could do otherwise. But this was fine. It gave all the Nature-seekers not just a great view of the Sundarbans and their ubiquitous mangroves, but it also gave them all the time they needed to attune themselves to the pace of this place, a pace that was somewhere between dead slow and stop. Nothing moved. The water was smooth. The mangroves were still. And even the breeze through the boat seemed hardly to stir. It was peaceful and then some more. They were sailing past some of the Sundarbans reserve proper where no people came and where little happened – in human terms. There was just the growth of the trees and the life of those creatures that lived off them and in them, and of these there were few. Mangrove forests are very different to tropical rain forests. Only a handful of animals can thrive within them and even the birds that can prosper here are limited, not just in their numbers but also in the number of their species. The Sundarbans, it was becoming apparent, were an experience but not a wildlife hotspot.