A Delta Recce

March is not particularly recommended as a good time to visit Sunderbans. We prepared for sultry weather. It rained incessantly instead. The accompanying wind chill forced us to extract blankets on the boat that was our home for three days. And when the rain stopped, as periodically it did, the habitants emerged from the forests to make their hurried forage. The result was some exquisite sightings.

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The sareng was of middle age. Living in this inhospitable terrain has wizened him beyond his years. We were discussing the issue of earnings and savings. Manoeuvring the helm, the sareng informed that his personal loss from the Rose Valley scam was forty thousand rupees. How could he fall for the bait? Was it the obvious expectation of inflated returns? He responded in the affirmative, and added that there was one more compelling factor; that of emotional blackmail. The sareng’s doom was initiated by his aunt, a local primary school teacher doubling as a chit fund agent. Her line of reasoning was compulsive. `This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Would I, as a respectable teacher and your family member, nudge you to any proposition that’s fraught with risk?’ Similar stories abound in all families in the area.     

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On the flip side, the inadequacy of formal banking channels is disturbing. The state owned and private banks are conspicuous by their near-absence. Local co-operative banks struggle to bridge the resultant gap, bound by their own shortcomings. This is a cash-based society. The vision of a cashless India that most of the country hotly pursues doesn’t hold water. Internet is rarely available. The local banks do not have the wherewithal to handle more than a few lakhs of cash daily. The villagers thus prefer holding cash at home to cover exigencies. A nationalised bank operates a boat that serves as a mobile bank in the delta. But that’s insufficient for the four million odd that inhabit the islands.

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Kalitala Khal is a narrow creek that separates the village of Shamsher Nagar from dense tiger land. In low tide, one can almost waddle across the creek. This story goes back in time before secure wire nets were erected on the forest side to prevent tigers from straying into the village. Based on villagers’ complaints, Forest Department officials set up a trap to capture a straying tiger. The makeshift trap contained a live goat which, when tugged, would cause the trapdoor to drop and rein in the tiger. As night progressed, the officials waited in darkness to hear the sound of the trapdoor falling. The goat helpfully maintained its bleating. And then they heard the anticipated clang! They rushed to the cage, keeping a wary eye on surroundings to ensure there wasn’t more than one tiger in the vicinity. They peeped inside to find a man cowering in a corner of the cage, exploring options to escape. He had attempted stealing the goat. Consider the risks that he evaluated before embarking on his mission..... the risk of being mauled by a tiger. He circumvented that risk. Then there was the bigger risk of a sound thrashing from the villagers if he was found in the cage; which he couldn’t overcome.

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Drinking water is an issue. You will need to stack up as much of those 25 litre cans from mainland as you can when you are living or travelling in these parts. It is ironic when you find yourself surrounded by water in the delta. Gives you a first-hand feel of what the Ancient Mariner experienced. Consumption of river water guarantees acute diarrhoea or jaundice, or both.

On a related note, a loaf of bread requires you to access mainland. But a wide range of fish and prawn invariably appear on your plate.

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The old man doesn’t read or write, but is finely attuned with nature. He was sitting and staring at the flowing water on the riverbank. `Do you see how clear the water looks? What does that signify?’ he inquired of one of my fellow travellers. And proceeded to answer by himself. `This will be a great season for hilsa. The clear water is created by precipitation resultant from the combined flapping of gills of a shoal as it moves upstream to lay eggs’.

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Eight years ago Cyclone Aila hit Sunderbans and left in its wake a trail of horrific destruction. One of the worst impacts was on the arable land. The cyclone waves that swept over left the land too rich in saline content and, thus, uncultivable. Pre-Aila, Sunderbans was a big exporter of watermelon. You could have seen barges loaded with watermelon plying the rivers for shipment to the cities. This was a key cash commodity. We meet a farmer at Shamsher Nagar who takes us on a tour of his fields. A rat snake hears our footfall, rears its head and seeks hasty cover in a crack. In one corner of the field, another attempt is being made to cure the land and grow the melons again. Similar efforts in the last few years had to be aborted. The watermelons grew and then inexplicably burst before ripening. Hope springs eternal.  

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The State Government is considering developing Dhamakhali as an entry point to Sunderbans for tourists. The reasons are twofold. First, it will ease the congestion of traffic at other popular points of embarkation like Godkhali and Sandeshkhali. Secondly, the discerning tourist is keen on `the river experience’ in the world’s largest estuarine delta. He expects to spend minimum time on road and maximum on water. In terms of distance from Kolkata, Dhamakhali fulfils this expectation. Situated 67 km from Kolkata, the distance on road is shorter than that from the city to Godkhali or Sandeshkhali. But there’s this minor issue. The government insists on the added bonanza of a lunar module ride with the river experience. The 67 kms journey takes two hours and more. The last stretch of 12 kms from Agarhati to Dhamakhali doesn’t have a road. It has the outline of what once would have been a road through brick kilns in marshland. This outline shall also disappear once monsoon arrives. Will it be another instance of a road not taken? 

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Tiger Trail : At Tadoba and Pench

I received my two fellow travellers from Kolkata on a cool November evening at Shamshabad. We were on a road trip to Tadoba and onward to Pench, before returning to our base at Hyderabad.

A 6.30 start next morning took us down 51 kms of the runway that is Nehru Outer Ring Road (ORR). We had two choices to set course for Tadoba after getting off ORR. We opted for the marginally shorter route via Karimnagar, our only error of judgment on the road; but more of that later.

The drive down NH563 to Karimnagar was a breeze, with a break at a tiffin house for piping idli-vada and Nescafe-laced sugar syrup.  All went well till about the halfway mark when we hit the NTPC town of Ramagundam and crossed Godavari. Our next milestone was Mancherial. It involved a drive through the coalmines of Singaneri Collieries; an interesting change of landscape. Names like Singapur, Medinipur and Shyamnagar on the way uplifted my fellow journeymen from Kolkata.

The 100 km run from Mancherial to Chandrapur was the error in judgment, and a nightmare. We crawled from Andhra Pradesh to Maharashtra on a two-lane path through supposedly Maoist infested forests. Two things, however, stood out on this stretch. First, we saw blooming cotton fields.....mile upon mile in a remarkable Vidharbha terrain. Secondly, we passed by the BILT paper factory at Ballarpur (yes, such a place exists!).

We diverted from NH930 to take the 32 kms run on Durgapur Road to Chandrapur. Lunch came in the form of roti-daal-sabzi at a neat set-up at this diversion. We savoured the offering whilst watching South Africa collapse in their second innings at the Mohali Test, chasing 218.

`Cotton fields back home.....' 

In full bloom

More thermal power generation at Chandrapur, dribbling across accompanying open cast coal mines brought us to the Moharli gate of Tadoba. Tiger-land. at last, on a late autumn afternoon after an eight hour, 484 kms drive!  

At Tadoba

Day 2 commenced with our reporting at the Moharli gate of Tadoba Reserve at 5.30 AM. We were pre-booked for two morning and an afternoon safari in customised Maruti Gypsy. This is the land of Gond tribals, and from where `Gondwana’ is derived.

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The word `calling’ acquires a separate significance in these parts. The guides on safari keep a sharp ear for these callings.....warning calls for predators in the vicinity that emanate mostly from the deer and langur clans. The guides are experts at intercepting the direction of the calling and instruct the Gypsy driver to the spot through the shortest route in the forests.

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It’s Latin name is Nephila pilipes. The guide introduced it as the Giant Wood Spider. They thrive in millions in Tadoba’s precincts, their large concentric webs drawing fascinating patterns against the rays of the sun. The female of the species presents a scary sight, especially if you have arachnophobia. Our guide Ranjan related three stories on the female of the species to drive home a real threat. The first confirmed that the male of the species, usually smaller in size than the female, is routinely devoured by the latter after mating. I thought only the Black Widow does it! The second and the third referred to the tensile strength of the web that the female constructs. Small, unmindful birds are often caught in the web and eaten. And manufacturers in USA use the web as raw material for production of bullet-proof vests!

Giant Wood Spider

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Early morning safaris also expose you to a unique species.....the Great Indian open-mouthed snorers. Spare a thought for the effort, time and money that they invest to reach this stage! It leaves them too exhausted to take in the sight and sounds of the forests on chilly autumn dawns.

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The guides consider four species to be relatively elusive sightings at Tadoba; sloth bear, leopard, wild dogs (dhole) and the tiger. In our three safari rounds, the tiger remained unsighted despite multiple mad dashes across dusty terrain in our Gypsy on the basis of callings. The invariable quip from other travellers who hit the spotting sights earlier was that the tiger had crossed path a couple of minutes ago. The sloth remained loathe to connect. We heard the leopard’s heavy breathing and grunts metres away in the thick undergrowth.... enough to chill the spine. But the no-show remained. Finally, the dhole. Around a bend in Moharli range, our Gypsy screeched to a halt. A pack of wild dogs were squatting on the dirt track, challenging us to get past them. They took their time in measuring us, soaked in the morning sun, exchanged pleasantries with each other and condescended ten minutes later to let us pass. Lest I forget.....they were scary in a group!    

Indian wild dogs, or Dhole

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The MTDC resort at Tadoba offers decent accommodation, but is way short on food options. Day-to-day running of the resort has been handed over to Deepak Enterprises, Chandrapur. A few MTDC employees choose to confine themselves in the main office on the pretext of overseeing operations. Our only interfacing with them happened in filling up the guest register when we checked in. Our Man Friday was a cheerful guy of Nepali origin from Siliguri. He did his best to make us feel at home, kept us well fed and ensured a steady supply of ice cubes.

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Tadoba doesn’t have a history of a tiger attack on humans since 1955, despite the abundance of human settlements in the core zone. Pench follows a similar trend. The underlying reason is not hard to find. The deer and gaur (Indian bison) population at each of the reserves is staggering. You can hardly look anywhere without your sight settling on these beautiful creatures.

Indian Bison (Gaur)

Spotted deer on the run

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The 234 kms run from Tadoba to Pench took us five hours, with a lengthy lunch break thrown in. Midway, we used the Outer Ring Road at Nagpur to avoid city traffic, but not before passing the VCA Stadium where Sourav played his last Test seven years to the day.

Your eligibility to drive on this stretch, as also in most other parts, depends on your absorption of a fundamental tenet. You need to maintain c30% of the stretch on your left for contrarian drivers who follow the norm of `keep to the right’. This is not exclusive to two-wheelers only. Drivers of heavy commercial vehicles have followed suit. The dharma of `chalta hai’ and `short cuts’ run deep in the veins of the average Indian.  

About forty kilometres out of Nagpur on NH7, we stopped at MHKS Plaza. This seemed right out of US Highways. It had neat, separate sections; a streamlined bay for tired truck drivers to park their vehicles and rejuvenate body and soul in comfortable cots in dormitories, a huge fuel bunk, a comprehensive food store and a neat restaurant offering vegetarian fare. Most important, we made use of a spanking clean washroom that matched those at any international airport. There is hope for women in India to venture on road trips, after all!

A giant wallpaper at the plaza claims that NH7 is India’s longest highway, connecting Varanasi to Kanyakumari, with Jabalpur, Nagpur, Hyderabad, Bangalore and Madurai placed in between.

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At Pench

This is Jungle Book country. Kipling is supposed to have based his story in a Pench backdrop. The delightful property of MPTDC where we stayed is named Kipling’s Court. We arrived at a time when Mowgli Festival was on. Kaa, Baloo and the rest of the gang feature regularly in the billboards and hotel signage.

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 “Good morning, sir! My name is Nisha. I am your guide on this safari”. She was a wisp of a girl, barely out of her teens. Her words came through in halting Hindi, a young lady putting her first steps in a world of possibilities. Her voice lacked the monotonous drawl of a seasoned guide, but she was all eagerness and enthusiasm. Conversation flowed in hushed tones as our Gypsy hit the dirt trail. Nisha was part of the first batch of ladies from surrounding villages who had undergone a fifteen day course, followed by five days of intensive training before being inducted in the team of guides at Pench. It occurred less than a month before our arrival.  This idea of the Forest Department has to stand out as a major, path-breaking initiative. It is a huge leap for Gen Z of the womenfolk in these parts. This was the standout `human’ moment in our journey.

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Tigers appeared on both our safaris at Pench. The first sighting was a posterior view of a whiff of the tail, before the lord and master took to the woods. The second one, in the afternoon, was a proper show from a full-grown male. He halted periodically to scratch tree trunks to mark territory, squatted next to the dirt trail to deliver a well-earned crap and then led the way for a good 300 metres on the car tracks. A final halt on the track, a searing backward glance, and he was gone. Replaying that brief span, I recall how the world had gone silent when this played out, except for the shutter bursts on our cameras. 

Courtesy Rahber Ali

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Pench is home to more than 300 varieties of birds; a fact that tends to be overlooked at the expense of the predators. Nisha has a greater interest in birds. The interludes between the callings for tigers were fun-filled because our guide took pains to help us spot and identify several of the feathered species.

Honey Buzzard

Indian Roller

Hoopoe

Peacock

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There is an equal measure of grey langur (or hanuman, as we better know them) and deer at Pench. They teach us of the benefits of co-habitation. Being arboreal, the langur has a broader range of sight from atop trees to warn the deer flock at ground level. We also saw them pluck and drop leaves and fruits from reaches where the deer cannot climb. The deer reciprocates with warning barks or callings on lurking danger, using a keen sense of smell.   

Having learnt our lesson from the onward route, we planned our return to Hyderabad carefully. We had targeted to return to our base by afternoon, in time to join the Diwali revelries. It was a superb 640 kms run on NH7. It took us ten hours, with three lengthy breaks and a refuel thrown in. Our youngest traveller is not habituated to early morning starts. He chose to effect his transition from `half-dead’ to `fully charged’ via trance music in the car (What’s the world coming to? Trance music to wake you up?!?!). He was considerate enough to exempt us from the torture, having wrapped a headset around his ears for undivided attention. A couple of inedible cupcakes served as his pick-me-up!!!!

Esplanade On A Winter Day

I chose not to do a conventional annual vacation in some corner of India this year. With the greenback ruling above 63, a trip beyond the shores was a non-starter. So back it was to enjoy the salubrious winter of the city I was born in and lived for a major part of my life......Calcutta.

Beyond re-unions with the few friends who still prefer Calcutta as their operational base and the seasonal food attractions like the `nolen gur’ and `phoolkopi’ offerings, there was much to observe and absorb as I moved around the city and beyond. What follows are vignettes from my walk-about at the heart of the city...... Esplanade.

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West Bengal’s populace manifests their unceasing demands through rallies that perpetually choke Esplanade and brings the city to a standstill. The Metro corridor and Rashmoni Avenue are favourite haunts for these `michhils’ and `dharnas’. On this day, CPI(M) held fort at this venue. It was an ongoing `awnoshawn’ (agitation); not a one-day affair. Surya Kanta Mishra, the leader of opposition in the Bengal assembly, was leading the charge as a retinue of mildly detached cops hung around to ensure things remained manageable. And then I saw `technology’ coming into play at a CPI(M) forum. Goutam Deb, a senior party functionary, delivered his fiery gibberish to the assembled crowd through a VC from his hospital bed on a giant screen on stage. My mind went back to the 90s when CPI(M) members of the trade union at the nearby office where I worked violently blocked all efforts to computerise the accounting system. For a party that had adopted such a sharp anti-technology stance, Goutam Deb’s contorted mug on the big screen confirmed completion of the volte face.

`Dharna' in progress at Esplanade, overseen by the cops

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Tucked between Peerless Inn and Anadi Cabin, behind a mountain of readymade garments on offer by hawkers who occupy the entire pavement, you will find this ramshackle joint called `Pen Hospital’. It has been there for 90 years, in the same dilapidated state that I first saw in my childhood. A man named Raj presides alone over this establishment. My wife had earlier given me a Sheaffers that she inherited from her grandfather. The pen’s convertor had outlived its utility. This was a model that had long gone out of circulation. I tentatively handed over the pen and inquired if something could be done about it. “But of course! It will cost you Rs.250 if you need an original convertor for this model.” Ten minutes later, I was enjoying the finest writing experience. Would he also have a convertor for a Waterman model that a friend had asked for? “This is a hospital. I do not administer anything without seeing the patient.” Professional pride!

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Talking of Anadi Cabin, I am happy to note that business remains brisk. Anadi-babu’s garlanded portrait watches over hungry patrons devouring the legendary mughlai paratha. The place has remained a hole-in-the-wall outlet. It accommodates about 15 customers in primitive wooden stools that a five year old would find difficult to squeeze in. The only change I discerned was the introduction of a `No Smoking’ sign on the wall. I recommend the mughlai with the double duck egg. It sets you back by Rs.58, but leaves you with a benign smile and tingling taste buds.

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Moti Sil was one of Bengal’s beloved merchant princes. The road named after him runs parallel to the Metro corridor and is better known for its rows of shops dealing in rubber goods. What is less known is that an extension of Moti Sil Street houses an esoteric range of photographic equipments in stuffy outlets that cater to customers from all over the sub-continent. This is popularly called Metro Gully. I ventured here to upgrade to a Canon 60D. The salesmen at these outlets can match Senhor Oliveira de Figueira. A couple of hours later, I emerged from the Gully in a semi-bankrupt state with the assured grip of a new EOS 7D in hand, much like Tintin did after his first meeting with Senhor.

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Calcutta was called the City of Palaces. Most of the city is a mass of brick skeletons and gray cemented walls. The gems emerge as soon as these classical buildings receive a coat of paint. My favourite at the Esplanade `paara’ is Victoria House. I spent seven formative years of my career here, where I made lasting relationships and, not to forget, where I also met my would-be wife. In step with the local Government’s obsession, Victoria House was re-christened CESC House after the Goenkas took over in the 90s. I don’t think the new name has found acceptability till date. The building adjacent to Victoria House is the equally impressive Statesman House. But it wears a forlorn look, bearing signs of the much-lamented decline of The Statesman where I once contributed weekly columns.

These two apart, Esplanade Mansions at the mouth of Sidhu –Kanhu Dahar and the building that houses Central Cottage Industries Emporium at one end of S N Banerjee Road also dazzle, thanks to the upkeep by LIC which owns these properties. Old-timers relate stories about late night drives by Uttam Kumar with friends on the deserted streets around the Strand, after hard partying on the domed terrace of the Cottage Industries building.

 

Victoria House. S P Mukherjee's statue stands guard in the foreground

Statesman House

Esplanade Mansions

Central Cottage Industries Emporium building

Next to these lovely buildings, you'll also see this juxtaposed

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Curzon Park still houses the main tram `goomty’ of Calcutta Tram Company. The trams continue to amble around the dusty park, though they are outnumbered now by CTC buses. Developed cities like Hong Kong and Melbourne have found ways to showcase their trams as prime tourist attractions and revenue generators. It takes a potent mix of apathy, warped priorities and lack of vision to supervise the imminent demise of one of the oldest tram networks in the world.

Around the bend at Curzon Park

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A friend informed that the iconic Great Eastern Hotel had re-opened its doors after seven years of refurbishment. As an articled clerk in the 80s, I had spent time doing internal audit here, whilst the establishment crumbled all around under the administrators of Govt. of West Bengal. Nostalgia drove us for a lunch date to Al Fresco, the new restaurant there. The spread was extensive, the hospitality impeccable, and it could have been any slick new hotel on earth with no distinct identity. This was a place that Mark Twain judged `the best hotel east of Suez’. This is where Wilson Jones won his world amateur billiards crown in 1958, the first Indian to do so. And what about Maxims, the most happening evening out affair in the days of the Raj? It may be unfair to expect the Suri’s to have a sense of Great Eastern’s history. 

At Bidar

Messrs. Fuste and Mehta introduced us to History at school. They wrote a drab book, filled with names, dates, events and badly printed illustrations. It was mind-numbing and uninteresting enough to put us off the subject. That's the way it remained, till much later I got wind of narrative history and some brilliant writing to revive my interest.

Bidar was a name that stuck from Fuste and Mehta. Fiddling around on an uneventful Sunday, I became curious when Google map threw up Bidar just 126 kms from Hyderabad, my present base.

Sanjay Sandilya, an old friend, joined me on an early morning start in my Swift for a day trip to Bidar.

A two and a half hour ride, with a leisurely breakfast thrown in midway at the passable Mahindra Resorts, brought us to Bidar. We traversed through ORR and NH9 before diverting at Zaheerabad onto a quaint 26 kms stretch of state highway that leads to Bidar.

Where on earth is Bidar?

In today's map of India, Bidar occupies a unique location. It is technically a part of Karnataka; in fact, the northern-most town in the state. The state capital, Bangalore, lies a distant 690 kms away.The Telengana border is just 3 kms outside the town, The closest capital city is Hyderabad. The peculiarity of Bidar's location may be gauged from the uniform mix of vehicles there bearing registration numbers of Karnataka, Telengana and Maharashtra. We even noted an auto-load of pilgrims arriving from the neighbouring state (sign at the back of the auto :`Latur City').

In local government lingo Bidar (pop: 211,000) is the 22nd cleanest town in India. In layman's parlance, it is just like any other dusty small town dotting our country. Abdul Karim, our local guide, mentioned that Bidar once had a population of a million during the Nizam era. Goes to show which way migration progressed over time, as Bidar dwindled in significance.

In recent years Bidar has acquired a mini-Manipal status. The proliferation of educational institutions at all levels bears testimony to this aspect.

A bit of history

Bidar's existence dates back several centuries to the Mauryas, through the Satavahanas, Chalukyas and Rashtrakutas, till the Deccan was annexed by the rulers of Delhi. The Muslim officers under the command of Delhi thereafter rebelled and established the Bahmani kingdom in the 14th century. Allauddin Shah, the Bahmani sultan, shifted his capital from nearby Gulbarga to Bidar in 1427, and Bidar attained its heights in this period under the Bahmanis and then the Barid Shahis.

In and around Bidar

The locals eulogise a former `Commissioner Saab' named Harish Gupta. They sing praises of his efforts to restore landmark monuments of Bidar and to boost the famous `bidri work' industry that originated here. They remain in awe of how he and his wife made their daily rounds of the town to oversee the progress of restoration, and how they mingled withe the hoi polloi `without gunmen' for protection!

Bidar Fort
Bidar Fort was the citadel of the Bahmani kingdom and the rulers that followed. It lay in serious disrepair till eight years ago, when ASI took over and commenced restoration. Progress has been slow and laboured. But further deterioration has been arrested. To provide an idea of its expanse, the walls of the fort measure 4 kms in circumference, interspersed with seven imposing gateways. Visitors are allowed access to the fort between 9AM and 5PM. There is no entry fee. Significant parts of the fort are out of bounds and remain under lock and key. Apart from a young foreigner couple (Lord only knows what brought them here!), we were the only visitors on a Saturday morning. Any other land, and you would have been guaranteed streams of visitors lining up to buy expensive tickets for entry to a site of this stature. Sanjay put his `gentle art of persuasion' to play with the ASI guardians. My serious looks and our photography equipment did the rest. We were allowed access to the inner chambers, escorted! The guardian who gave the nod was in a chatty mood. He talked at length of his 32 year association with the fort. He had started as a daily wage earner in 1985, and was given a formal appointment by ASI in 1997. He has been witness to the derelict state of Bidar Fort, a den of anti-socials and gamblers, before ASI moved in. He estimates that a fort which requires at least 30 full-time employees for upkeep and security has only eight today. A fort museum that contains an impressive array of items was to be opened last year. `It is 74% complete. The remaining 26% is in limbo on account of lack of directive from the government. And so we continue to wait'. But his stories are not all doom and gloom. He proudly highlights that the shooting of
`Mera Ishq Sufiana' from Dirty Dancing was done in the confines of the fort.

Lalbagh Garden in the foreground, Tarkash Mahal and Gagan Mahal in the background and Solah Khambha Mosque on the right

View of Lalbagh Garden from within Tarkash Mahal

Inside Solah Khambha Mosque (I am rather tickled about this one from a photography perspective!)

Solah Khambha Mosque

Rangeen Mahal

Diwan-e-Khas, where they shot the sequence in Dirty Dancing

Takht Mahal, the throne room

View of the land below from atop Bidar Fort

Bidri art
About a kilometre from the fort stands the Chaubara. The tall structure, with a dysfunctional clock thrown in as a later addition, served as a watchtower to raise the alarm for advancing enemies. Adjacent to the chaubara lies a dusty, narrow lane with a high decibel level of hammers and chisels striking metal. This is the hub of the priceless bidri work creation, which I first heard about from my wife Sonali. A colony of artisans chips away on the zinc-copper alloy. A complex process that includes a unique oxidation methodology by boiling the mud from the fort and applying on the items results in the base metal turning pitch black without affecting the silver. Sanjay and I were made to taste the mud to appreciate its uniqueness. We found it tangy and salty.

Semi-finished bidri vase

We broke for lunch at ABC Restaurant at a high street location. We chose to ignore their signature `broasted' chicken (has to be a Portmanteau of chicken breast roasted). The conventional fare of chicken and egg with rotis was agreeable and did not leave a dent on our constitution. Couldn't take chances, being the `amaasha'-sensitive Bongs we are!

Nanak Jheera Sahib
The site resembled an erst of bees. All inmates were busy fulfilling some work or the other. The sheer size of the complex and scale of operations make you take a deep breath. Nanak Jheera Sahib holds a high rank in the pecking order of places sacred to the Sikhs. Guru Nanak visited Bidar on his second `udasi'. Legend has it that on hearing the locals' plea on shortage of water, he moved a rubble with his toe, and a fountain of water gushed from the hillside, which continues to flow today. The place where this happened is christened `Amrit Kund'. The water from Amrit Kund is believed to have curative properties. The authorities of the gurdwara manage operations on a massive scale, that includes colleges, schools, hospitals, a huge `langar' and a guest house that can possibly accommodate the whole town!

Sukhasan room, where the `Guru Granth Sahib' is maintained. 

The holy tank in the foreground, with the massive guest house as a backdrop

Sanjay in front of Amrit Kund

An octagonal tomb

On the way to Bahmani tombs and a few kilometers out of the fort on the Bidar-Astur road, we stopped by at this structure that the locals call `chowkhandi'. A subsequent search on the net advised that this was the shrine of Syed Kirmani Baba, a Persian saint who was a guru to the Bahmani rulers. A serene location, with barely anyone around, this seemed perfect for someone's last resting place. And we had no complaints about the blueness of the sky, as our CPL filters went on overdrive.

  
The Bahmani tombs
All travel sites will advise this as a `must visit', and with good reason. The place evokes immediate comparison with the Qutb Shahi tombs at Hyderabad. Although this was on a smaller scale as compared to Qutb Shahi, the setting was superior..... a perfect symmetry of fine tombs in an undulating, rolling hills landscape, away from the hustle and bustle of  a dusty town in close proximity. Apart from us, a few ladies in burkhas, with kids in tow, were scattered around the spot. A hassled security guard kept reminding the kids that playing cricket and cycling were not part of the `do-ables' at the site. The guard informed that the tomb most damaged had been struck by lightning. Obviously, this was before earthing conductors came into play. I assume they have installed them since.

We had set aside time for a visit to the Narasimha Jhira Cave temple. It sounded exciting, having to wade through 300 metres of waist-deep water in a bat-invested cave beneath a hill to reach the deity. What we forgot was that we arrived on Sharat Purnima, a day considered sacred by pilgrims. The long queue outside the cave was a ready deterrent, and we decided to maintain this as a stopover for a possible next visit.

Our next stop was at Deva Deva Vana. This is located on the state highway that connects Bidar to Zaheerabad. In short, this is a major fraud being perpetrated by the Forest Department on the paying public. There is precisely nothing of interest in this enclosure in the forest, other than the officials' tall claim that this houses a large variety of medicinal plants. A strict `must miss' on your Bidar leg!

On our onward journey earlier in the day, we had seen a mausoleum in stunning white in barren, undulating land, with no human in sight. Since the sun was against the subject, we had noted to stop by on our return leg to visit this place. What we thought to be a construction with fresh bright white paint was in actual fact wrapped in white marble!! The photographs below may tell the story.

Astana Chishtiya Hazrat Multani Baba, Gangwar Shareef, Taluk: Zaheerabad, Dist.: Medak, Telengana State.

Expansion work is in progress on NH9 between Zaheerabad and Patancheru. This may take another couple of years. It is advisable to avoid a drive on this 76 kms stretch after sundown. The traffic gets worse as the evening progresses.