TWO SCENES

Two scenes, both in different jungles, will remain permanently etched in my mind for all the time that I live. There is nothing dramatic about any of these scenes. There was no movement in the first and no sound either; the second one at least has some sound bytes associated with it. I never take a camera with me and so there are no pictures either. Not that any camera could have captured how I saw the scenes and what my mind perceived. Only words can paint a picture and create an imagery that can carry the beauty across.

Oh! To Die Like That!

There are very few writers that I have loved reading as much as Hemingway. And there is one story by this great writer that I have never been able to shake off – The Snows of Kilimanjaro. It is a dark little story that left me feeling utterly desolate. It is about a failed writer who has had an injury in an African jungle and has developed gangrene and is dying because no medical attention is available. While dying he reminisces and all recollections revolve around scenes and events and feelings that he could have written about and did not, and could not. He passes into delirium and the hallucination is a white blaze that is the flat snow-laden peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. He dies without expression of his creative abilities. The story sort of presaged Hemingway’s own death. He committed suicide in a fit of depression because he was unable to express a feeling the way he wanted to. I could not shake this story off – it is just too bad to walk off the stage without having sung your song.

We were in Bandhavgarh National Forest and the year must have been 1997, the month December, probably the Christmas day. It was an evening trip and a very successful one at that. We had spotted a tiger walking upon a ridge at very close quarters and the view must have lasted for at least 10 minutes, may be more. A host of other animals were also spotted. All this had happened around 5 in the evening. We were tracing our steps back and heading back towards the gate so that we could reach it before sunset. The terrain was hilly. The sun was now just skimming the horizon and there was a reddish haze in the sky.

The jeep turned left and the road started rising steeply. At the top of the rise was a bamboo thicket and behind it was the dying sun invisible from where we were. As we climbed, the sun became visible behind the thick veil of the bamboo stems and leaves. Bamboo rarely grows singly. There are at least 50-60 plants growing clustered together. As they rise, they all bend away from each other giving the illusion of a huge vase that diverges from a narrow base. Bamboo flowers once in 10-12 years and dies immediately after flowering. This one had flowered and was now deep in the embrace of death. Leaves at different levels were in different stages of drying up. As we came abreast of it I asked the driver to stop. The setting orange ball was behind the tree and each leaf interpreted the light in a different hue. The top leaves reflected a different color and those in the middle a different one. Leaves at the same level reflected the same color but different shades of it. The colors had a glimmer from the slight moisture still left within the leaves and so there was sparkle to the entire spectacle that made it difficult to look at for a long time. It was as if the tree had burst out in a glory of creativity in its last effort at it. As if there were a thousand lyrics written all at once, a thousand shades brought into the same picture seamlessly, an expression that never was in its long life, only the stress of looming death had suddenly coalesced all the talent into creating a brilliant imagery. The tree was walking off the stage of life but not before choreographing a stunning death dance. Oh! To die like that!

Scene II: Tranquility

Kanha. God how I love this jungle! This was a morning trip in mid-May, the month that we associate with killer heat. It was cool in the jungle almost making us miss a sweater! It must have been around 8’O clock and the sun had risen 45o in the sky. We took a turn and a whole vista opened up before us. To our left was a vast glade. There were very few trees and the grass growing was a lighter shade of green. A huge tree had fallen across and was in an advanced stage of drying. Perched atop the thick main stem that was almost horizontal was a peacock. There was no other animal in the glade. In front of us, about 50 feet away and slightly to the right was an Amaltas (Cassia fistula linn.) that had a thick, rich yellow inflorescence against a green background of its leaves. The yellow was made richer by the slanting sun rays. There was just enough brightness to the sun so as to make the scene brilliant, to confer a glint to the slight dew on the grass. There was no heat as yet. There was an utter absence of any sound. And then the peacock sang its sonorous song – pheooon….. pheeeoooonnnn! The song set to the background of the bright yellow of Amaltas was about tranquility. We stayed there till the song lasted gulping down with our eyes the melody of the colors and with our ears the quietude of the song. I have never been to a more peaceful place than this in my entire life and never have felt so serene. I have tried to visit the same place again and have not relived the same scene ever.