Every trip to shar has been adventurous, starting from standing in queue from 4'o clock in the morning for booking tatkal, boarding the train with a waitinglist ticket which never got confirmed, traveling in general compartment, trips in state transport buses, catching late night trains, eating out in the unhygenic environment in dhabas, ..the list never ends. ...but nothing was never so adventurous than this particular trip of ours..and so memorable too...
The idea of the trip to Raidurg came when someone lamented about the tastlessness of food at SHAR. Our 'always ready to help' driver Muniraju suggested that he will bring food cooked at his house. That was an offer we couldn't resist. He mentioned about a fishing village on the border of SHAR's northern territory where we could get fresh fish. There was no second thoughts, the illtreatment metted out to our tastebuds by the canteen cooks was crossing all limits. We started our journey towards Raidurg in search of fresh fish which ultimately would satiate our desire for good food.
After traversing a few kilometers, we felt as if we were having a jungle saffari. The road had electric fensing on either
sides. Beside the fencing was thick forest. The forest, at times give way for beautiful lakes and backwaters. The road ahead of us looked as if it never ends and its not going to take us anywhere. There were no buildings in sight, for that matter there were not even a sign of human existence.
As milestones passed by, we even started doubting the intentions of our driver. As these ominous thoughts were engrossing our minds, the vehicle stopped in front of a giant stone gate. That was the entrance to an old temple. As we tried to enter the beautiful old dilapidated building, scores of bats came out. The sight resembled something like that of a ghost house. We roamed around the premises, appreciating the scale of stone work in the building and wondering why no one tried to preserve this, something like the church building in VSSC. Our driver asked us to speed up warning us of the difficulty in driving during late hours. We got into the car, partly heeding to his warning & mainly to meet our culinary requirements.
The pucca road gave way to kachha roads. After a few minutes of drive, we reached the last watchtower of CISF. Our driver stopped the car, we got down and walked a few steps to reach the river front. There in front of us unveiled the most beautiful place in SHAR.
The sight of "Raidurg" was so captivating that we forgot the whole purpose of our trip. In front of us was a vast river, and on the other end a beaitiful island. There was a boatman on the other side with his small boat which was the only way to reach that island. We communicated our intention to awail his services by using the only way of communication available there - 'whistling'. He responded in the positive and in a few minutes we were onboard the boat, propelled by the most fuel efficient method, by pulling a rope tied to a tree on the island.
As we ventured more into Raidurg's territories, our astonishment saw no bounds. We felt as if we were travelling back in time. There were no roads in the village, no motor vehicle, no schools, no hospitals, there were just walkways. On either side of the walkways were beautiful huts, walls of which were made of mud and the roofs thatched with palm leaves. The houses were too short that we wondered how people can stand inside them. The houses had beautiful fences made of tree barks, the likes of which is very difficult to find in our world.
The whole village was like a big family.As we walked across the village we could see eyes popping out of the huts, watching us as if we came from some other planet. Women were seen busy doing their household chores. Men were sitting in groups, engaged in some discussions. After a few steps we came across a small shop. There was nothing much for sale at the shop, except for a few packets of biscuits, two cigarette packets, bundles of beedis and half a dozen small snacks packets. A few men where sitting near the shop and were busy chitchatting. As they saw us, they enquired Who we are? Where we are from? Why we have come tere? and What they can do for us? Ofcourse all questions were posted in a polite manner.
Before we could say anything, our driver replied. "we are scientists from Kerala & we came there in search of toddy"of all the other reasons toddy. We stood there stumped at the answer which was never our primary intention. We thought we are screwed - comming to a village in groups and asking for liquor. Oh god!!! Who is going to save us from their fury?
Before we could react, one man from the group asked as to follow him. He took us to a small hut. In front of the hut was a lady who was sitting in front of a big pot. The man conversed to her in Telugu, the meaning of which we could not decipher. She took a mug and using a measuring glass, she took a mug full of toddy from the pot and offered to us. Oh! we just realised that we are in a village where toddy is a small scale industry & women work from home by selling toddy. We proceeded to take more mugs of toddy but was not impressed by the taste. The man who guided
us to the lady, understood our displeasure and told us that he will take us to a place where we will get better toddy.
After paying 5 rs per mug of toddy, we moved on to our next destination, wondering at the cheap rates at which toddy is offered and cursing all the liquor barons in civilised India for exploiting poor drunkards. At the next hut, the toddy was tastier. Number of mugs went up exponentially and before we could reach astronomical figures came the next warning from our driver in the form of a gentle reminder.
We winded up our trip and proceeded to go back. While waiting for the boat in the serene beach, we collected some beautiful shells from the shore. With hands full of exotic shells and mind full of sweet memories, we bid good bye to Raidurg.
We postponed our plan to buy fish as it was too late and went back to hostel canteen. The notorious dosa and sambar, the worst any cook can make, was waiting for us.
No comments:
Post a Comment