Forest Fling

The chhota saab and his night chowkidaar were returning after the fruitless shikaar on a misty November morning still hopeful of a game. Suddenly, the saab whispered, “shhh…Kaancha, I can sense some movement in the bushes.” His grip tightened around the .405 Winchester gun he had borrowed from bada babu Roy. Suddenly, there was a crackling sound that made them jump out of their skin, only to realize that it was a dry twig that had snapped beneath Kaancha’s foot. Though afraid of alerting the prey, yet relieved, they decided to take a break.

Kaancha shone the torch all around and saw the trunk of a massive tree that lay on the forest floor, fallen in the storm, long forgotten. Some of the branches were warped in weird patterns. The saab felt the damp moss on it. Yet his fingers came away dry. Everything was still. No bird chirped, no howl of the wind.

Though it was cold at 3 a.m., Kaancha opened his Nepali topi and shoved it in his pocket. “Well, let’s try our luck one last time before we set back,” the saab said as they crept further onto the forest pathway. The tall trees masked by the shadows towered over them. By the minute, the forest got darker. The air around them began to feel eerie. A shadow flickered at the corner of the saab's vision. Out of nowhere, a warm gush of air swept past them. “Let’s go back saab. I am getting an uncanny feeling here,” he said in a hushed tone as a shiver curled through the hairs on the back of his neck.

The saab persuaded him to go a little further. They trod softly, ensuring that their footsteps wouldn’t give them away. And then, the spotlight began to flicker. Angrily, the saab turned towards Kaancha and snatched the torchlight from his hands, readjusted the cells and it began to glow steadily. The beam of light travelled through the dark night, piercing the fog. A gleam at a distance caught the saab’s eye. Urging all his senses to open and listen intently to the very core of his shikaari instinct, they began to tiptoe towards what they thought to be their prey.

He took a careful stance and aimed at the target. But to his utter disbelief, he saw a young tribal girl clad in a white shawl and a white skirt slowly moving away. The saab nudged his companion, who raised his arm in which he held a 5-cell spotlight and the girl was clearly visible. She had large black eyes and stared into oblivion with a dead gaze. She had a prominent nose ring that was large and shone brightly in the torchlight. Through the fog, they could see the path at her feet fading as it lead her into the darkness of the jungle.

Kaancha clenched onto the arm of the saab cautioning him to return. But the saab's determination was not swayed. "I'm sure she must be having a tryst with her boyfriend away from the peering eyes of the villagers." Kaancha had no choice but to hesitantly follow him. Kaancha nervously called out to her, “kya… kya kar raha hai yaha?”

She turned around without a word; slowly her thin lips parted and a cold grin crept on her face. She continued on the forest pathway. This girl had now gotten the better of the saab’s curiosity. He shone the spotlight all around but she was nowhere to be seen. They were sure that in the deadly silence, they would have heard her footsteps if she had run.

About twenty yards to their right, they saw some water. On taking a closer look, they realized that it was a deep pool. They went all around the pool to see whether any human footprints were visible, thinking that she may have fallen in but they saw nothing. Perplexed, they returned to their bungalow.

Krupakaran Satish David, 1965 - Nagpur. (Image courtesy - Tales from an Old Planter's Diary by Krupa David

Exhausted, the saab went to bed. The next morning, he reflected upon the incidents of the night. He recalled the words of his manager when he had joined the estate. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a situation like this.

It was a few months back when Krupakaran David had disembarked at the football field of the Jainti Sankos club, from the Dakota WWII aircraft. He was dressed smartly with a cowboy hat on his head. A slim Scot of medium height appeared from the corrugated roofed shed striding towards him with an umbrella in his hands. He approached him and enquired, “are you the lad come to join Kumargram?” “Yes Sir," Krupa replied.

Jainti Sankos Club House - 1946 (Image courtesy - Tales from an Old Planter's Diary by Krupa David)

The Senior Manager introduced himself as Mr Anderson. Both of them drove through the estate and Krupa spotted a dozen of junglee murgis perched on the bamboos. And then an unbelievable sight met his eyes when a barking deer crossed the road. The shikaari in him could feel his fingers itching to pull the trigger. Seeing the twinkle in the lad’s eyes, the manager knew that he was passionate about shikaar. This was in 1969 when shikaar was still legal. “You can go hunting during the weekends, but bear in mind that tea life is not just about shikaar.” Soon Krupa began to settle into his new life.

Bungalow no. 6 of Kumargram TE

Bungalow no. 2 of Kumargram TE - KSD's first bungalow which he shared with Bipin Tandon

Months later, Krupa had grown accustomed to the "tea" ways of life. But this was an experience he hadn't bargained for. That Sunday morning, well-rested after the peculiar shikaar, he sat in the verandah of his bungalow no.6 waiting for Kaancha to show up. The image of the lonely tribal girl kept playing in his mind. He asked Kaancha to find out about her. After a few weeks, Kaancha came to the saab with an old man introducing him as the grandfather of the mysterious girl. Krupa spoke sharply to the grandfather giving him a piece of his mind to allow his granddaughter to wander off alone in the jungle. “Get her to me before kaamjaari tomorrow and I will speak to her.”

“I wish I could huzoor,” the old man said, “but I can’t,” as tears began to roll down his cheeks. “But why?” the saab enquired. ”Huzoor, was the girl you saw wearing a thick gold nose ring?” “Yes,” the saab said and described the ring. “Saab, it appears that she is still heartbroken and roams the jungle. Savitri was a proud Oraon girl; not permitted to marry her boyfriend Rajesh, who was a Mahali. She committed suicide ten years ago. Her body was found in the pond in the forest…” the old man said as his voice trailed off choking.

Krupa was stunned. He asked the old man to be seated comfortably and tell him the whole story. It took him a few minutes to come to terms with what he heard. Consoling the grandfather, Krupakaran took out a hundred-rupee note from his pocket and handed it over to him to perform the last rites of the girl. Many nights, Krupakaran hunted in the same forest but never crossed paths with Savitri again.

Mr. & Mrs. David - the outdoor adventure continues

This story has been adapted from Mr. Krupa David's book - Tales from an Old Planter's Diary

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Glossary:

Chotta Saab: Assistant manager

Chowkidaar: Sentinel

Bada babu: Head clerk

Nepali topi: Nepali style cap

Kya kar raha hai yaha: What are you doing here?

Shikaar: Hunt

Shikaari: Hunter

Junglee Murgi: Jungle fowl

Kaamjaari: Daily operations of the estate

Huzoor: Sir