The boy who roamed in Sal forests..
We were there for two days and I was already experiencing an acute sense of déjà vu. Think of mountain forests in Sikkim and the most probable picture in your mind would consist of lush, dripping wet vegetation, gurgling streams and mist covered hills. While three years of roaming has given me enough entry-level experience of the above topography, there still exists a different landscape which I have rarely explored.
On a visual scale, its quite different. Tall, mammoth trees dominated by that champion of the lowland forests, Sal, dry and brown soil carpeted by dry leaf litter, dry serpentine trails going into the depths of this dry landscape where even the general jungle smell was of the dry kind. The incessant wind only brought great applauds from the Sal, Panisaaj and Chilaune but no rain. Clear nights framed the moon against a background of dark sentinel like trees which only made the déjà vu even stronger.
We were in Sumbuk in South Sikkim, probably one of the driest parts of the state and clothed by lowland mixed-sal forests and adjoining the only bird sanctuary in the state, Kitam. It had been two days since we were going out with a very small group of semi-reluctant school boys and school drop-outs, trying to teach them the fine art of bird watching, grooming them for an unlikely future scenario where they might become bird-guides. On a satisfaction scale, the training was shaping out to be a disappointment with less than half of promised participation and organizers who had the faintest idea how to organize things.
However, neither me nor Basant were complaining. The outings gave us ample chances to explore this unfamiliar landscape, make enough noises while crunching the leaf litter and going down in the valley and yet come across birds we hardly got to see higher up. Compared to the high mountain forests where you hear a bird rather than seeing it nine out of ten times, this was really a walk in the park. Though we were planning to wrap the program sooner than expected, these few days were rich in the daily wanderings, evenings with whiskey and philosophical discussions and after-dinner walks.
It was a unique world indeed. Mornings started with out of place cries of peafowls (Peacocks are not native to Sikkim, a small group was introduced from UP long time back. Most of them found a stronghold in the present region.). We got to see brilliant, familiar yet long forgotten displays of peacocks in the roadside fields. People stared at us with an extreme laidback gaze sitting in their porches as we made our way down the blacktop which snaked its way down, dissecting the sal tracts. Surprises awaited us in the trail down the river valley with cackling hill mynas, fleeting glimpses of maroon orioles, flashing long tailed broadbills and yet many more. Evenings brought in strong winds which were unanimously greeted by the trees. Small swirls of dusts settled on the road after allowing the fallen leaves to perform weightless acrobatics. The after dinner walks were magical with the moon playing hide and seek between the canopy, all-drowning silence broken by the wind and screech of an owlet. The mountains on the other side of the great Rangeet, incidentally falling in West Bengal, were lit up by patches of intense forest fires which were burning incessantly, day and night.
The feeling I was getting in these two days was hard to put down in words. All of it seemed new to me, yet I was totally at home. Through the daily walks, sights, sounds and smells, I was experiencing a new kind of joy which surprised me by their suddenness and inexplicable nature. The happiness transcended to my “teaching” sessions where I probably spoke an extra paragraph each time, sometimes ignoring the tortured faces of the trainees. There was something missing, something to be deciphered, and something to be analyesd and felt happily familiar about. All of it was clear when I met the boy who roamed in sal forests.
He was someone who had come to Sikkim for the first time all the way from Delhi. He was completing his masters’ dissertation here, from some college in Delhi. ( My fragile memory failed me once again, sorry, Zahir.). Young, wide eyed and humble, Zahir was staying in one of the houses and collecting data about practically everything related flora and fauna. Though his topic was choice was strange (Something to do with the “quantification of biodiversity and ecotourism potential”) and seemed more apt for a PhD rather than a masters’ thesis, I was hardly cynical. He seemed so familiar and eager that I practically wanted to share most of my knowledge with him. On his part, he also took an instant liking to us and accompanied us in some of our daily outings.
Zahir was close to wrapping up his data collection part, having roamed around for the last two months. He got along really well with the locals and had found a fan following in a young boy named Biswajit. He was incidentally one of our trainees and definitely the most eager one. In our first outing with the trainees, we were literally shocked with this kid who knew many of the birds already and the places to spot them. Then we found out that for the last two months, Biswajit had accompanied Zahir in his daily roamings in the sal forest and that his knowledge came from his guru, whom he was practically hero-worshipping.
On our last day in Sumbuk, Zahir missed the morning trip as he had to enter some long pending data in his laptop. However, after we were back, had lunch and were about to go for another late afternoon stroll, he turned up. Together we went, left the road and climbed up on one of those leaf-covered trails which entered the upper part of the village. The afternoon suddenly turned deep grey and it seemed the entire landscape was waiting for something which was eluding it for a long long time. A greater flame-backed woodpecker gave out its shrill cry and perched on a Paanisaj close to us. Trying in vain to photograph it in the fading light, Basant suddenly felt the first drop making its way through the canopy. Within minutes, it started to rain hard with big drops hitting the leaf litter and the road below and bringing up strange wafts of vapour. The parched soil welcomed the downpour with intense smell of soaked earth which practically left me rooted to a spot trying to inhale some more.
The rain only got heavier in the meantime and we had to run down the trail and then along the road to our homestay. Zahir left us to drop again in after sometime when we had dried ourselves and were sitting in the verandah enjoying the rain and the power cut.
He wanted my suggestion about his future course and I encouraged him for further research and told him to come back to this part of the world to hone his skills.
On our farewell morning we did a drive and a walk down to the valley to two of our friends who had joined us from Gangtok the night before. After the cursory goodbyes were over and the trainess were given last words of wisdom, our vehicle came to life and after cruising for 500 meters , found Zahir hurriedly coming towards us. He wanted to give a final wave off like the others and we shook hands from inside the vehicle and I wished him all the best.
As the vehicle sped away from the boy who roamed in sal forests, I suddenly had a revelation. It was all clear, why he had seemed so familiar in a landscape which was even more familiar. He reminded me so much of an eager young boy who also roamed in sal forests some four years back in the foothills of Western Himalayas. The boy who was awestruck every moment by the splendor, sights and sounds of the world famous jungles made famous by Jim Corbett. The boy has been forced to grow up since then and accept certain painful things as ways of the world but still has not lost the sense of wonder. I saw myself in Zahir’s eyes and felt ever more alive. May he roam many many more sal forests in the years to come and absorb all he can from the great teachings that nature has to offer.
All the best, Zahir!
We were there for two days and I was already experiencing an acute sense of déjà vu. Think of mountain forests in Sikkim and the most probable picture in your mind would consist of lush, dripping wet vegetation, gurgling streams and mist covered hills. While three years of roaming has given me enough entry-level experience of the above topography, there still exists a different landscape which I have rarely explored.
On a visual scale, its quite different. Tall, mammoth trees dominated by that champion of the lowland forests, Sal, dry and brown soil carpeted by dry leaf litter, dry serpentine trails going into the depths of this dry landscape where even the general jungle smell was of the dry kind. The incessant wind only brought great applauds from the Sal, Panisaaj and Chilaune but no rain. Clear nights framed the moon against a background of dark sentinel like trees which only made the déjà vu even stronger.
We were in Sumbuk in South Sikkim, probably one of the driest parts of the state and clothed by lowland mixed-sal forests and adjoining the only bird sanctuary in the state, Kitam. It had been two days since we were going out with a very small group of semi-reluctant school boys and school drop-outs, trying to teach them the fine art of bird watching, grooming them for an unlikely future scenario where they might become bird-guides. On a satisfaction scale, the training was shaping out to be a disappointment with less than half of promised participation and organizers who had the faintest idea how to organize things.
However, neither me nor Basant were complaining. The outings gave us ample chances to explore this unfamiliar landscape, make enough noises while crunching the leaf litter and going down in the valley and yet come across birds we hardly got to see higher up. Compared to the high mountain forests where you hear a bird rather than seeing it nine out of ten times, this was really a walk in the park. Though we were planning to wrap the program sooner than expected, these few days were rich in the daily wanderings, evenings with whiskey and philosophical discussions and after-dinner walks.
It was a unique world indeed. Mornings started with out of place cries of peafowls (Peacocks are not native to Sikkim, a small group was introduced from UP long time back. Most of them found a stronghold in the present region.). We got to see brilliant, familiar yet long forgotten displays of peacocks in the roadside fields. People stared at us with an extreme laidback gaze sitting in their porches as we made our way down the blacktop which snaked its way down, dissecting the sal tracts. Surprises awaited us in the trail down the river valley with cackling hill mynas, fleeting glimpses of maroon orioles, flashing long tailed broadbills and yet many more. Evenings brought in strong winds which were unanimously greeted by the trees. Small swirls of dusts settled on the road after allowing the fallen leaves to perform weightless acrobatics. The after dinner walks were magical with the moon playing hide and seek between the canopy, all-drowning silence broken by the wind and screech of an owlet. The mountains on the other side of the great Rangeet, incidentally falling in West Bengal, were lit up by patches of intense forest fires which were burning incessantly, day and night.
The feeling I was getting in these two days was hard to put down in words. All of it seemed new to me, yet I was totally at home. Through the daily walks, sights, sounds and smells, I was experiencing a new kind of joy which surprised me by their suddenness and inexplicable nature. The happiness transcended to my “teaching” sessions where I probably spoke an extra paragraph each time, sometimes ignoring the tortured faces of the trainees. There was something missing, something to be deciphered, and something to be analyesd and felt happily familiar about. All of it was clear when I met the boy who roamed in sal forests.
He was someone who had come to Sikkim for the first time all the way from Delhi. He was completing his masters’ dissertation here, from some college in Delhi. ( My fragile memory failed me once again, sorry, Zahir.). Young, wide eyed and humble, Zahir was staying in one of the houses and collecting data about practically everything related flora and fauna. Though his topic was choice was strange (Something to do with the “quantification of biodiversity and ecotourism potential”) and seemed more apt for a PhD rather than a masters’ thesis, I was hardly cynical. He seemed so familiar and eager that I practically wanted to share most of my knowledge with him. On his part, he also took an instant liking to us and accompanied us in some of our daily outings.
Zahir was close to wrapping up his data collection part, having roamed around for the last two months. He got along really well with the locals and had found a fan following in a young boy named Biswajit. He was incidentally one of our trainees and definitely the most eager one. In our first outing with the trainees, we were literally shocked with this kid who knew many of the birds already and the places to spot them. Then we found out that for the last two months, Biswajit had accompanied Zahir in his daily roamings in the sal forest and that his knowledge came from his guru, whom he was practically hero-worshipping.
On our last day in Sumbuk, Zahir missed the morning trip as he had to enter some long pending data in his laptop. However, after we were back, had lunch and were about to go for another late afternoon stroll, he turned up. Together we went, left the road and climbed up on one of those leaf-covered trails which entered the upper part of the village. The afternoon suddenly turned deep grey and it seemed the entire landscape was waiting for something which was eluding it for a long long time. A greater flame-backed woodpecker gave out its shrill cry and perched on a Paanisaj close to us. Trying in vain to photograph it in the fading light, Basant suddenly felt the first drop making its way through the canopy. Within minutes, it started to rain hard with big drops hitting the leaf litter and the road below and bringing up strange wafts of vapour. The parched soil welcomed the downpour with intense smell of soaked earth which practically left me rooted to a spot trying to inhale some more.
The rain only got heavier in the meantime and we had to run down the trail and then along the road to our homestay. Zahir left us to drop again in after sometime when we had dried ourselves and were sitting in the verandah enjoying the rain and the power cut.
He wanted my suggestion about his future course and I encouraged him for further research and told him to come back to this part of the world to hone his skills.
On our farewell morning we did a drive and a walk down to the valley to two of our friends who had joined us from Gangtok the night before. After the cursory goodbyes were over and the trainess were given last words of wisdom, our vehicle came to life and after cruising for 500 meters , found Zahir hurriedly coming towards us. He wanted to give a final wave off like the others and we shook hands from inside the vehicle and I wished him all the best.
As the vehicle sped away from the boy who roamed in sal forests, I suddenly had a revelation. It was all clear, why he had seemed so familiar in a landscape which was even more familiar. He reminded me so much of an eager young boy who also roamed in sal forests some four years back in the foothills of Western Himalayas. The boy who was awestruck every moment by the splendor, sights and sounds of the world famous jungles made famous by Jim Corbett. The boy has been forced to grow up since then and accept certain painful things as ways of the world but still has not lost the sense of wonder. I saw myself in Zahir’s eyes and felt ever more alive. May he roam many many more sal forests in the years to come and absorb all he can from the great teachings that nature has to offer.
All the best, Zahir!
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