Turbulent Sohra

Sunday Deccan Herald travel section carried an edited version of this piece here

We stand on the southern edge of the plateau, looking down on Bangladesh from a height of over 800 m, as if from the parapet of a gigantic fort. The plains of Sylhet stretch out in front of us, a vast canvas in shades of green, streaked with the silver of winding streams and wetlands, in colors muted by the afternoon haze.

For a few moments, we watch a Khasi boy and girl patiently dangling improvised fishing rods into a placid pool framed by rocks. The overflow from the pool falls over the edge, heading for the plains.

    

View from Khoh Ramhah

In the near distance, a mountain stream that has just reached the flats forms a vast sandy delta, emerging from it further on as a meandering river and forking into two. The right fork of the river soon skirts the town of Companygunj, now lost in the haze. Directly below us, a road cuts through thick jungle heading for the border village of Shella.

Satiated with the visual feast, we make our way to our guesthouse in the town now called Sohra, but certainly better known by its former name, Cherrapunjee. Sohra has regained its original Khasi name a few years ago on popular local demand, but it will be some time before it gains the same recognition as Cherrapunji.

Our arrival on the Sohra plateau this morning is announced by a dramatic change in the landscape. Lush green hills rifted with deep valleys give way to a vast undulating grassy plain with scant tree cover. We stop where the road nears the edge of the plateau to marvel at the sheer granite cliffs lined with waterfalls plunging into the depths.

Pappan Paul our cab driver is keen to get started on the tourist circuit - the Ramakrishna Mission, the limestone caves, eco parks, waterfalls. The faster we can get through the circuit, the earlier he will be able to get to bed in Shillong.

Pappan turns out to be an interesting character. After a chance encounter three days back in Shillong, he has become our guide and driver. Pappan is a Bengali but speaks Khasi and Hindi fluently and knows all the locals at every roadside stop. We learn from him that his mother lives in the border village of Shella and that he has relatives in Bangladesh. He has been into Bangladesh – apparently without a passport - to attend a marriage in the family, “many years back”, he is quick to add.

Rat-hole mine on the road to Nohkalikai

 A visit to the Nohkalikai falls is the highlight of the morning. As we drive through a deserted part of the plateau, we pass a ‘rat hole’ coalmine – a small tunnel dug into the side of a hillock to access the coal-bearing seam. The tunnel is not high enough to allow the average person to stand erect. A lone man working the mine runs into the tunnel bent behind a wheelbarrow and disappears from sight. There are piles of coal and red earth outside.

Getting closer to the western edge of the plateau, the weather turns turbulent. Clouds have suddenly appeared, blotting out the blue sky. We seem to be out of luck as thick fog completely hides the rock face where the water falls. A plaque describing the falls reads like English but is actually Khasi in English script. An English translation on the other side acquaints us with the legend of Nohkalikai. Likai, a young woman, leaps from this cliff, grief stricken on learning that her husband has killed her daughter of an earlier marriage. ‘Noh ka Likai’ in Khasi means the ‘Leap of Likai’.

The Moors at the Nohkalikai viewpoint

We take a long walk along the edge of the plateau, in rolling hills covered with sparse grass.  The landscape is reminiscent of the English Moors, with the fog constantly shifting the limits of visibility. The fog lifts briefly and Nohkalikai is visible plunging over the opposite rock face. Cloud and fog far from dampening have actually accentuated the beauty of these surroundings.

Our guesthouse is the former residence of a well to do Khasi family, as we gather from the tasteful furnishings, photographs on the walls and the old artifacts on display. We decide to take a walk around town before it gets dark. The streets have a newly washed look. We walk past an imposing building – the St John Bosco Shrine – to chance upon a beautiful open country of low hills and shallow valleys with clumps of trees amidst the heather. A cemetery spreads out from one of the valleys in this picturesque setting.

Open country behind the Don Bosco shrine

I am curious about the how a Khasi village named Sohra came to be called Cherrapunjee in the colonial period. History, as I discover later, records a story something like this.

After annexing present day Assam in the early nineteenth century, the East India Company sent its Political agent David Scott to open a direct route from the Bramhaputra valley to its outposts in Sylhet. The road selected by Scott passed naturally through Sohra, for Sohra was already connected to Companygunj in the Sylhet plains through a thriving trade in export of limestone mined in the hills. It was not long before the British dug in their heels and established a settlement in the punjee ( the Bangla term for Khasi villages) of Churra (as the British pronounced the name), morphing the name eventually to Cherrapunjee. Scott died soon and was buried in Cherrapunjee. Cherrapunjee remained the colonial capital of the northeast region until 1866 when it yielded this place to Shillong.

Back at the guesthouse, we enjoy a magnificent view of a granite cliff glinting in the setting sun from the balcony. That night, we enjoy a dinner of Chicken curry, vegetable and rice cooked in the Khasi way.

Bridges that grow stronger by the year

We have planned a second day in the Sohra area, this time in a resort near the village of Laitkynsew. The village lies down the road descending from the Sohra plateau to Shella and the Bangladesh border. The resort is run by David, a Tamilian from Madurai. The staff are all Khasi’s from the neighboring villages, well trained in hospitality. David and his charming daughter Angela are the perfect hosts – taking care of our every need and providing us all the information we need to enjoy our stay. After breakfasting on an excellent suji upma (yes, you read right) made by the Khasi cook, I am all charged up to take on the arduous trek to what has been billed as the ‘Double Decker living root bridge’. To top it all, David is also able to persuade C who had initially baulked at the thought of a 6-7 hrs trek to go with me.

Armed with long bamboo poles we set out with Batskem, a local schoolteacher, who will be our guide today. The walk starts down a gradually sloping path that soon becomes a steep stone stairway. At one place where the path turns sharply, the staircase looks as if it is suspended in space far above the green valley floor. We are accompanied by the sound of falling water, the ringing of crickets and the occasional cock crowing in a distant village. We pause to let a villager pass. Though small and compact of build, he is carrying a block of wood on his back, certainly taller and weighing much more than he does. Batskem explains that selling the wood from their land is one of the few sources of income for villagers in these parts.

Passing through a village at the end of the staircase, we encounter a beautiful red-faced bird with colors of blue, black and white - a Kalij pheasant. The bird quickly scampers into the safety of the undergrowth before turning around to stare at us. We are now near the bottom of a valley that carries several streams. The path is slippery and passes through thick tropical vegetation. The air is humid. We cross a fast flowing stream on a makeshift bridge of steel wire ropes that swings with each step and then reach another stream, this time carrying the waters from Nohkalikai, the waters aquamarine. Our guide informs us that a certain algae in the riverbed here is responsible for the color. After another scary rope bridge crossing, we arrive at Nongriat village. A helpful sign points the way to the Umshiang double decker root bridge.

The living root bridge at Nongriat

We investigate each layer of this remarkable bridge. A gigantic rubber tree rests on a bolder on one side of the stream. Secondary roots have been trained by the villagers to span the stream and have penetrated the sloping earth on the other side. The roots take the place of steel ropes. Rocks placed between roots have embedded themselves to form a solid footing for the bridge. In fact, we find that the root bridge is much more stable than the rope bridges we crossed earlier. By the side of the bridge is a natural pool and C decides that this is a perfect place to take a dip. Though we are near the village, our privacy is undisturbed. We eat our packed lunch and laze around until it is time to head back.

We stop by at a Nongriat villagers home to have tea and pick up some oranges from his field. I start counting the number of steps as the ascent begins on this ‘stairway to heaven’; it helps me to stay focussed on taking at least 20 to 30 steps before each pause. We pass betel wines, jackfruit, and Areca nut and Bay leaf trees. A passing cloud brings showers while the sun continues to shine and we take pleasure in getting wet. Looking over our shoulders, we spot a beautiful double rainbow, a rare treat. When we reach the top, I have counted 2040 steps!

Walking towards the resort, we come across a moving plaque in the village of Tyrna. The plaque records the “loving remembrance of 100 years of shifting of the village of Tyrna”. The old Tyrna village along with other villages built on these hillsides suffered irreparable damage in the great Assam earthquake of 1897, having its epicenter in present day Meghalaya not far from where we stand. It is believed to be one of the most powerful earthquakes to hit the Indian subcontinent.

The next morning, we take a farewell walk on Laitkynsew hill to see the Sylhet plains one last time. Our precious takeaway is a photo I take of a Khasi boy protectively closing his arms around his two younger sisters on seeing two strangers walking by.

Birds spotted in and around Udaipur

Brown Rock-chat

These birds were seen at Chittorgarh Fort (left) and near Pichola Lake, Udaipur, Rajasthan, in early March.

Indian Grey Hornbill

Black-winged Stilt, Lake Pichola

Red-wattled Lapwing, Lake Pichola

Bank Myna

Gentle flows the Kapila

Deccan Herald carried an edited version of the following piece on a few days spent in rural Karnataka in its Tuesday supplement, 'Spectrum'

I get up early and enjoy the morning air in the garden, cool, fresh, and invigorating, while waiting for my friends to step out. We walk down to the roundabout that marks the entrance to the town and then take the road heading out.

A few paces on, we come to a bridge that crosses a pretty river. We have not seen anyone else on the road, but there are the proverbial early birds for company – a black and white wagtail perched on the railing of the bridge, a snow-white egret, breeding plumes showing, wading close to the weeds on the riverbank. Crossing the river, the road 

cuts a straight path through fields. Day is yet to break and land, river, and sky appear in muted colors.

We walk through a vast flat expanse of green marked by strips of brown. It is mid March and green is the color of the just transplanted paddy, brown earth marking the borders. A light mist veils the line of trees near the skyline in the far distance, awaiting the heat of the sun to be dispelled. Occasionally, we pass a field that is flooded, reflecting mirror like, the trees standing beyond, in the dim and diffuse light.

Presently, we see a group of women and girls, in colorful dress drawn up to their knees, planting paddy. In the far distance, a farmer is walking his pair of bullocks harnessed to a plough. Paddy field birds abound - Cattle Egrets, Pond Heron’s, Black, and White Ibis. A flock of noisy Rosy Pastors has made a roadside tree with berries their temporary home. By and by, there is more activity on the road with farmers on cycles and the occasional motorized two-wheeler. The pale orange globe of the sun is just visible over the line of trees, as we retrace our path to the guesthouse.

We are in rural Karnataka, in the small town of Suttur, about 30 kms South East of Mysore. The river flowing by the town is the Kabini, more commonly called by the beautiful name Kapila in these parts. Suttur is chiefly known for the Mutt of Jagatguru Sri Shivarathreeshwara, a Veerashaiva saint and the annual jathra organized by the Mutt, and visited by lakhs of farmers. While the work that has brought us here is with the local Krishi Vigyan Kendra, the Mutt has graciously accommodated us in its beautiful guesthouse.

Last evening, after getting here, our first foray outside was to the ghat on the Kapila, just five minutes away. The walk took us through paddy fields with standing water stretching all the way close to the river. Stone steps then led down to the river and we sat down to enjoy the view. Swallows were lined up in a row on an overhead electricity line, biding their time to swoop down and catch flying insects. A flock of Cormorants, looking out into the flowing water, occupied a large boulder jutting out from the river. The Kapila had a gentle flow and looked ever so peaceful reflecting the setting sun that was forcing itself, though weakly, through the clouds.

This evening, having finished with our meetings, we take a walk on the road through the fields. The sun disappears and lights up the western sky in magnificent colors – with brush strokes of yellow orange red and every shade in between, while above us, the sky is still blue. The water in the paddy fields turns pink holding a mirror to the sky. Evenings and mornings are truly to be savored here.

Our stay in Suttur extends over several days and we get the time to explore. We visit the shrine of Shri Shivarathreshwara and enjoy a free lunch along with scores of others at the Dasoha Bhavana run by the Mutt.

Hathinaru Kere

Learning of our interest in birds, the manager of the guesthouse tells us about a lake nearby that attracts local and migratory birds. The kere (lake) is next to Hadinaru village, about 10 kms from Suttur on the Nanjangud road. After a pleasant afternoon drive, we come upon the lake, a sizable water body with an irregular shape, the far corners not even visible. 

A villager helpfully guides us away from the metal bund road, along a cart track towards the opposite shore where we can get a closer look at the birds. After covering some distance on the track, we get on to a small path and then eventually make our own way through the vegetation to get near the lake.

A large flock of what seem to be mainly Glossy Ibis – glistening black birds with slender curved bills - is standing in the shallow waters. I badly miss my binoculars. As we get closer, an awkward looking Grey Pelican senses our presence and starts to move away. Another few steps and the Ibis take flight filling the sky with wings.

Little reedy islands stick out of the lake. On one, there is a clutch of Cormorants looking inward, seemingly engaged in their own Panchayat. I can see large flocks gathered in the further reaches of the lake, but it is too late to walk any further. The sun is going down and we start making our way back.

Across the metal road from the bund, there is a canal and beyond that, fields in different shades of green, extending as far as the eye can see – restful for tired eyes. This is rich farmland, well irrigated. I turn towards the lake and spot a cluster of colorful birds resembling ducks - with a broad white stripe above the eye and blue in their wings. I later identify these as Garganey, winter visitors, which Salim Ali informs, fly all the way from Northern Europe, and other similar latitudes to escape the harsh winters.

The sun has now become a disc of fire behind a tree. We have barely sampled the rich variety of birds that the lake hosts and it is time to leave. In Hadinaru Kere, we have chanced upon a quiet haven for the serious bird watcher, free of the noise and bustle of tourists who throng its illustrious neighbor, Ranganathittu.

Dewara Mara

On another day, we make a stop on the roadside near the town of Chikkahalli on our way to Mysore on the T. Narsipura road. Crossing a living fence, we enter a large plain field, in the middle of which stands this gigantic banyan tree, which the local residents refer to as the Dewara Mara (Gods Tree). The tree is believed to be over 200 years old and covers an area more than an acre. Dewara Mara has a pleasant symmetry about it, its trunks look stolid and its leaves glow with health, though old it maybe. I have seen other giant trees but none as beautiful as this.

Looking back on our trip to Suttur, I think of the many places that we could not visit – the ancient Shiva temple at Nanjangud, the confluence of the Kapila and Kaveri at Narasipura, the sands of Talakad with their buried treasures. And the many questions that we did not ask - like who decided to shorten the beautiful name Tirumakudalu to T in T. Narasipura. All this of course means that we will come to see the Kapila again.

Delhi birds: Yamuna Biodiversity Park

A visit to the Yamuna Biodiversity Park has been on my agenda for a long time - the opportunity finally came with an India Habitat Center organized guided walk. It is luckily a bright warm Sunday in what has turned out to be an unusually cold January.

A Northern Shoveller pair

There is a large group of perhaps 20 people - quite a few belonging to the Center for Science and Environment - who have gathered for the walk. We meet at the Gurudwara at Majnu ka Tila and then drive down to the park.

The park is not on the Yamuna river as I had expected it to be, though the river must be flowing not too far from the park boundary. Dr Sudhir Oswal, an experienced Delhi birder, leads the walk. It is a pleasant surprise for me to find Ranjit Lal whose books I have on my shelf among the walkers. Sudhir Oswal introduces him as his Guru.

As we enter the park, Sudhir explains to us how the park has been come up through the initiatives of Delhi University botanists. Ranjit Lal adds that the area of the park had the appearance of a battle tank

Tufted Ducks (?) 

testing ground before the work to rehabilitate the land started. What we witness is a green area, fairlywooded - as much as the Kamala Nehru ridge, perhaps - with many types of fruit trees and tall grass.

We walk along a path bordered by numerous baer trees filled with fruit until we come upon a large freshwater lake. The waters are not from the Yamuna, we are told. The lake was initially filled with pumped water and now gets recharged by the rains.

Cormorants

The lake has several types of water birds. Darters and Cormorants populate trees around the lake and on a small island in its midst. Common and Redcrested Pochards, Northern Shovellers, can be seen in the lake in fairly largenumbers. The cormorants occasionally take flight, pick up prey from the water and then return to their perches. Sudhir explains that these birds do not have waterproof wings - so they need to dry their wings after a dive into the water.

My take of the day is this brilliant White-Throated Kingfisher that patiently posed for us in a section of the park devoted to medicinal plants and was unruffled even with a large group close by.

The park has a second smaller water body with an island in the middle. This rakish Purple Heron sat secure on the island not moving an inch during the hour we must have spent walking around this lake. These are only some of the birds we saw - those on which I got to point my camera at.

Getting the chance to have a word with Ranjit Lal, I ask him  if he still walks in Kamla Nehru Ridge. I gather that he still walks there. The large population of monkeys has disturbed the nesting of birds ...."monkeys are as needlessly destructive as human beings" he remarks. 

Indian Silverbill

Birds in the Delhi University Campus

A Brown-Headed Barbet eating the Neem fruit - Jan 2012

An Indian Grey Hornbill at the same task on the same tree

A Koel on the same tree cutting a funny figure

On a cold December afternoon with the sun on its last legs, I spotted these Plumheaded Parakeet while walking my dog - they were kind enough to wait while I ran home and got my camera. The male is really the plumhead while the female (below) has a  pale grey head.

The two together ->

Plumhead again, some weeks later in January

Koel in my backyard on the Gulmohor tree

A pair - both males. Were into some sort of a fight, it seems. The one seen on the left kept up a persistent call and would keep hopping closer and closer to the other bird till the other took flight.

I have heard this Koel ( with crimson eyes) just outside our residence for long. Finally managed to catch him - mid April 2011

A Sunbird Sucking nectar from a hibiscus flower in our back yard.

A cottage in the hills - Oct 2011

Deccan Herald has published an edited version of this piece in its Sunday Travel section. The original is reproduced below.

I wake up to the song of a Whistling Thrush and open my eyes to see the faint light of dawn coming in through the large picture window that I have left partly uncovered. Time is of the essence. I do not want to miss the sun rising over the hills in the distance. In a few minutes, I step out of my cottage, warmly dressed, camera ready, with a hot cup of tea in my hand.

The October mountain air is cold, crisp, and clear and carries the faint scent of pine. Jungle crows have now joined with their hoarse cawing.

In front of my cottage, a paved stone path meanders its way down into the valley far below. On one side of the path, the hill is terraced with fruit trees, the Orange and Lemon trees laden with fruit. The other side borders a pine forest.

Warmed up with the tea, I walk towards the orchard, now teeming with activity. Hooded Shrikes, natty Tits, imperious Bulbuls, elegant Sparrows and tiny frenetic Munias, White Eyes and Flycatchers are flitting about the fruit trees making it difficult for me to focus my camera.

Towards the north, I see a snow-white chisel edged form sticking out above the trees on a distant hill, too regular and straight edged to be a cloud. I climb up above the cottage until I can get an unobstructed view and see a line of snow-covered peaks come into view, far above the green ranges, golden tipped peaks of the Greater Himalayas reflecting the morning sun. The chisel edge, it turns out, is the peak of Nanda Kot (Nanda’s fortress).

To its west connected by a long ridge appear the unmistakable twin peaks of Nanda Devi. Nanda Devi at 7816 m is the tallest mountain entirely within India. (Kanchenjunga is taller, but on the India-Nepal boundary)  In subsequent days, I slowly begin to realize the enormous hold that Nanda Devi exercises over the people of this region.

Nanda Devi at dawn (Almora)

As the morning progresses, the bird activity subsides and I am quite content to pull out my chair into the gentle warm sun in the small patch of green outside my cottage and delve into a book.

Birds may have become quiet, but not the cicadas and crickets who keep up their chirping throughout the day. I hear a tapping sound from the pinewood adjacent to my cottage.

Needing a break from my reading, I head in the direction of the noise, treading softly. I am soon rewarded with the sight of a Brown-fronted Woodpecker, a Himalayan resident. Towards mid-afternoon, the sun disappears over the top of the ridge and it rapidly starts to cool down. It is the right time for some physical activity.

I am in Almora, a former capital of the Chand rulers of Kumaon, which dates back over five hundred years. I have not come here with sightseeing in mind, but to escape the terrible air and sound pollution that is usual in the megapolis where I live at this time of the year.

Almora is quite unlike the ‘hill stations’ established by the British which now mainly cater to tourists. It has a large permanent population and has several old market places and temples. However, my cottage is not located in the city, but on a ridge overlooking it, well away from the crowds and traffic. 

In fact, to get to the nearest road, I have to walk through a stretch of pine forest, a stiff climb that invariably leaves me gasping for breath. The cottage comes with a kitchen, but the easier option is to eat food cooked by Gopal (who manages this place along with his father) in his restaurant.

It is from Gopal that I find out about several half day treks from the cottage  on ‘pag dandi’s’ ( unpaved foot paths or trails) – to the famous Chitai Temple along a path that skirts a ridge leading to the east; to the stream at the bottom of the valley and so on.

This afternoon, I decide to stick to the paved road and walk to the ancient Kasar Devi temple. It is a pleasant walk all along the top of the ridge, now bathed in the afternoon sun. I climb the hill to the temple and rest for a while absorbing the panoramic view of Almora from a height. As I return, it gets dark and it seems that every dwelling wears a garland of colored and blinking lights. Almora, all decked up for Deepawali is a beautiful sight.

A walk to the stream (with no name)

On another day, I venture forth into the valley. I start on a paved path winding downwards. Some way on, I come across Sundar – a boy who helps Gopal run the place - filling drinking water from a natural spring coming out of the mountainside.

Further down, the paved path gives way to an uneven trail leading down through tiny villages with a handful of houses. The pine trees here look positively comical with stacks of hay clear off the ground tied high up to their trunks – to preserve the fodder through the harsh coming winter.

At the outskirts of the village is a neat little temple with its pyramidal roof painted a bright pink. I see some movement on the trunk of a pine tree. A little bird with a long curved beak, its skin the color and texture of the bark, is creeping rapidly up the tree in mouse like fashion. I later find out that this Himalayan bird has a most appropriate name, Bar-tailed Tree Creeper.

Balta Village

As I approach the bottom of the valley, a larger village comes into sight, perched on a hillside. From a distance, it looks neat and planned, with houses set in rows at different levels. They are large two storied structures with several rooms, tiled sloping roofs, doors and windows painted in bright colors – sky blue and green.

I encounter a woman with a sickle sitting by the path. She asks me where I am going and points to the villages in the vicinity – Vintola and Balta. She is from the village, Bhuluda. She then starts to unburden herself.

Three months back she bought a cow and yesterday was the first day that she let it out to graze by itself. The cow did not return home and she has been searching for it since early this morning. Wiping involuntary tears from her eyes, she says she will be satisfied even if she comes across its carcass, but finds it hard to accept that the cow has simply disappeared.

I wonder aloud if someone could have stolen it and she dismisses my thought. I am at a loss on how to comfort her. As we part, she requests me to spread the word about her lost cow to people I meet on the way.

A little while later, I reach my destination. A bright pink little Shiva temple stands between two mountain streams that merge. It is a beautiful setting for a temple, gushing water on two sides and the pretty village of Balta perched behind on a hill. A pedestrian bridge, freshly painted in ochre and white vertical stripes crosses the stream into the village of Vimtola.

I strongly feel like a cup of tea, but Vimtola does not have a chai shop as I find out from a villager grazing his cows and goats. He graciously offers to make tea for me at his house, but he lives some distance away from the spot and I do not want to put him out. He speculates that the missing cow could have been killed by a leopard (yes there are leopards in the forests here), but dismisses the thought that the cow could have been stolen.

The way back to my cottage is one long uphill grind for an hour and a half and I am pleasantly exhausted by the time I reach my cottage. I think about the children of Vimtola who have to walk this route every school day to get to their high school in Almora.

Nanda Devi above the clouds (Binsar)

Nanda Devi Folklore

Yet another day, I spend the morning walking the trails in the Binsar bird sanctuary, an hour’s drive from my cottage. From a gap between trees, Nanda Devi appears ethereal, floating above the clouds. The southern wall of high peaks and ridges that ring the main Nanda Devi peak forming the almost impenetrable Nanda Devi inner sanctuary is also discernible.

I wander into the Forest rest house complex and the caretaker offers me some tea brewed from fresh oregano leaves he collects in front of me in water from a nearby mountain spring. He tells me that there is no water shortage in Binsar because of the Oak (banj) forest. When we talk about Pine forests, he explains that Pine’s suck the earth dry and it is difficult to find water in them.

I am mentally transported to an evening I spent a couple of days back with a renowned archaeologist and scientist who lives in Almora. Over tea, he explains to me how local folklore in the hills captures and transmits practical knowledge and tells me a folklore related to Nanda Devi.

Almora - Khairna road stretch

Nanda is a goddess, but in folklore, also a simple village girl who pines for her mait (maternal home) just as every other girl.

On her way to her mait, she rests under a chir (pine) and asks the tree how far it is to her home. The chir gives a rude reply and is roundly cursed by Nanda, ‘No plants will grow under you, no animals will eat your leaves, no birds will build nests on your branches and no bees will ever make their hives in them’.

When she stops under a banj (oak) tree, it welcomes her and asks her to treat its canopy as her own home. Nanda blesses the oak, ‘You will always remain green, birds and bees will make their homes on your branches, water springs will always be nearby your shade’.

A week passes in no time and I must return – but I could stay on indefinitely here in this charming place with its gentle people.