Dating : The rusty forest department jeep made all kinds of grumbling noises as it huddled through the…

The forest guard

The rusty forest department jeep made all kinds of grumbling noises as it huddled through the muddy forest lanes. There were trees as far as the eyes could see. Mahogani, Mahua, Palm and teak. Teak especially fetched a good price. I looked up at the sky sometimes just to remind myself of the world outside. The landscape was reasonably plain, the area was inhabited only by the wild animals according to the forest department records. We had all the tribals registered with us. Being a forest guard for so long should have gotten me used to wildlife and loneliness, but it had not. Sometimes when it got dark and I was still away from my base, my mind would draw these scary images of ghosts and bandits in dark…

Every time I was convinced there were no ghosts, or at least no ghosts that would come my way, there was another story that came my way to plant the seeds of doubt. None of these stories were first hand but that did not affect there effectiveness. The content and the stylistic rendition were handed over from one narrator to another very effectively. The description was always very vivid, the suspense was built with mysterious incidents of death, lunacy or just the blood dripping from a tree. The narration usually had a very high degree of conviction and often colored by desperation to believe in the supernatural.

Just recently, I was at the Jhagua village, when I was greeted by this old man called langda baba, who villagers believed to be over 120 years old. He always had several tales up his sleeve. This time it was about a woman had gone missing a few weeks back. Search parties were sent to the forest and all the nearby villages, but she was untraceable. After 5 days, some kids found a strong stench coming from a well, found her dead body in an unused well, which was covered with twigs, grass, and spider webs. How the body reached the bottom of the well without disturbing this screen was mysterious. It also provided the food for various stories to evolve. Of all those, the story by the langda baba, the lame old man, as that old man was known, survived. The story had a lover and ghost; all the ingredients for a good Bollywood movie.

The Jeep hit a ditch in the road; I woke up from my reverie. These roads looked unfamiliar; I must have missed a turn. I knew these forest roads pretty well, and it was unusual for me to get lost. I slowed down…and started looking around for clues. After about what seemed like a long time, I saw an old man walking…Since it was getting dark I decided to spend the night at his village, which was close by.

One of the advantages of being a forest guard is that people in villages treat you with respect. I was called upon by the mukhia or the chief of the village. A couple of people led me to his place. There were a few others who accompanied us. After the standard greetings, I was offered a wooden cot to sit in the front yard of the chief’s house. The chief offered me a chillum to smoke. There were about 5 or 6 people sitting around us. The chief indulged me into some small talk. This was the first time I was in this village and meeting any of these people. They told me about the previous forest guard, whom I had replaced about a year ago, how he used to frequent their village and drink Tadi with them. I was sleepy and I kept nodding and smiling, hoping they will let me retire…Suddenly, I looked around, the chief’s mud house, which was decorated with colors and flowers was in front of me. Somehow, I felt that there is a pond behind the house, I still don’t know why I felt that way…and also that there was a big old tree next to that pond…I knew that this was my first visit and also that I had never heard about this place before in my life.

Inadvertently, I asked the chief if there were a pond and an old tree behind his house…he was surprised, he asked me how did I know…I had no idea.

“Is there a tunnel from the back room in the house, that opens up below the tree”, I muttered hesitantly.

The chief’s eyes were now frozen, he was shocked.

I asked him if someone had drowned in that pond many years back, someone young…

By then the chief was in tears, he called his wife and they started to chat loudly in their dialect which I couldn’t understand. There were other younger men and women, who joined in.

I took a bite of the rice cake they had served before and sipped some tea, as I was trying to rack my brains to think if I had ever been to this place before. And I was certain that I had never been to even within miles of this village, ever…Then why did this place look familiar?

There was a melee of people going back and forth from the house and all around me. Then a group of what might have been 10–15 older women came out of the house and started walking towards me, all dressed in red saris, with big bindis on their forehead. They were aged probably between 50 to 90. A really old and wrinkled lady came close to me with difficulty, stared at me intently and then startled me by touching my feet. And then one by one, each of them touched my feet.

I was told they believed I was one of their ancestors…

I was respectfully shown to the guest room in the adjacent building. I was not sure if my senses were right. I hit the bed and slept like a log. In the morning, I was given a royal send-off with my Jeep full of all kinds of vegetables, fruits and, grains that lasted a long time.