Sahyadrica

I. That blue ripple in the tarpaulin pulled taut in the cool breeze the first farmer pulls up his sleeves, two bamboo poles and a few jute strings hold his shop, his business, his offerings; one morning among many centuries. The tilted-goats, the hunched-dogs, the burly-bulls the dupatta-women, the dyed-men, their mouthfuls I stand in the distance, watching this timeless commotion watching dealers deal, buyers buy – those customs. The shirtless boy bringing chai on naked feet the eyeless hand touching the paper cup to lips eyes caught up with money stashed ‘neath the feet. A bajār treasury is capped by the light, that taut blue tarpaulin that dust settling upon the skin. I watch with attention at this ancient system in this timeless happening, I see one figurine exhaling tobacco clouds, ballerina of the crowds he moves to the center, that corner, then back again he heeds the serenades, the auctioneers, the marketmen his handfuls multiplying in plastic gr...

1. A foxbee trots in a grove, flower-to-flower, her tail flailing side-to-side as her wings buzz to-and-fro Ere darkness she returns to her burrow, a small furrow, amidst Merrywinkle Grove, of lush greens and violets against white snow. A warm hearth in her heart beats rhythmically to the thrum of the Earth, waking with a soft glow. She buzzes ere break of dawn to visit the lawn unkempt and unowned in the little farm brazen and forlorn. In cups of merrywinkle in thickets of pinthorn, spikelets of ashybrush and bristlecorn, vines of contorted forms, Step-by-step, on nimble feet, she takes a sip, her wings beat, oh, what fate, in has crept, of cold sprinkled hate. 2. A fire-tailed rat offers petals to greet, and caches merrywinkle seeds to eat, ten feet ‘neath the peat. When the winds blow cold, with cotton his burrow he’d mould, and sleep on his bed of leaves in autumn breeze. He wakes early at daybreak, with the first summer shake, his blazing t...

Her aangan is a reverie of astral flowers  Spiral, elliptic, of mystical shapes and hues, cryptic   The haze of winter morning acts as multi-level drapes to nature’s opera, unfurling a new act fronted by trees every short distance I traverse. Wood smoke wraps around villages like blankets around our shoulders. A tiger calls, and a tigress returns his call, their duet resonating in the cold morning air for miles and miles.  A universe at her doorstep, constellations on her sleeve  She tiptoes under star-clothed trees    The rustle of van tulsi reminds me of a Kathak dancer, her ghungroo chiming with every step I take. Tiny, dark, heart-shaped seeds once contained inside the cup of the mature flower are sprinkled on the pugdundee like confetti. Odd, cold December rains swell them up like little puffy snow balls scattered on bare sandstone substrate. The fluttering sky blue beings rabble ‘round her  Whispering the secrets of the universe...

In the wee hours does he wake daily,                weary and dazed – under woodsmoke haze To the eerie howls of jackals,                             he strolls And visits yonder fields of paddy,                      with a sickle in hand – frail and tanned To reap the crop ‘neath the hills of Maikal. Enshrined by the cragged silhouettes,               old and somber – by the flicker of ember Under darkest sky with a tinge of blue,              he feels His hands hack the wetted spikelets,                 cold and thin – cracks on skin As dawn breaks to clear the hue. The rustling ears fall to the moist earth,           every grain godsent – on a lifetime...

I spent most of the year exploring Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve, more-so for the tigers than any other animal, and while the alarm calls of chital and sambar, and the occasional roars and growls of tiger still echo in my ears (thanks so much to my colleague’s ringtone), I witnessed a place that is much more than just about tigers. There are also ants here – yes, ants – I stumbled upon a trap-jaw ant ( Anochetus cf madaraszi ), a first for central India and a new record for Madhya Pradesh while I was contemplating a few seconds before deploying the last camera trap one summer evening, and observed one of the most adorable behaviour among the ant Brachyponera cf luteipes of tandem-carrying , where a fellow sister-worker carries her companion in her jaws to the site of food – a second for India after I saw it first in Valparai. Fascinating what all is hidden or happens beneath the feet of tigers. I lost count of how many tigers I saw on how-many-an-occasion – yes, tigers are more com...

A hint of light first dapples my window Then slowly a golden streak creeps in From a gap in the door Spilling light on the floor I remain unperturbed for as long as I can Before a persistent Coppersmith Barbet From a giant Fig in the distance Begins to recite his concordance A warm breeze careens across the yard Not the most pleasant of its kind, but more earthy Making Saja and Lendia wean Draping Kosum and Sal in crimson and green Then suddenly a symphony picks pace A Brown-headed Barbet contests with a Coppersmith The latter ringing a copper bell The former beating a talking drum As if on cue the Common Hawk Cuckoo begins his concert For whom only three syllables make do A wayward country singer at a fair Singing pa-pi-ha in the summer air And as the shadows shrink in the hard of the heat A Crested Serpent Eagle whistles at another in the sky Standing in the blazing grassland I happen to overhear This most melodious of eagles, saying hey-come-here There...

Subtly she sings, her tone a murmur, carrying An aura upon her skin, unwavering, enchanting And brushes along the shores, ever waking To glorious mornings, and ever shimmering On pleasant evenings, since time’s beginning. Subtly she sheds her satin, a fair lady treading Down the vale, where leaves form her bedding And dreams of younger days, her thoughts flowing Tireless but patient, tender but bold, reminiscing Of distant past, where shores in greens lie dancing. Subtly she dons a veil, dark and menacing To the eyes that see naught but riches, unbecoming And tramples along the shores, taking everything To the sea, biting, gnawing, deceiving, unforgiving For she is worth not in possessing, but in being. Jamunia (or Jamuniya) is a river flowing from the village of Mandai, across the buffer zone of Kanha Tiger reserve, and uniting Banjar River in Bhimlat, in the southern district of Balaghat, which then joins River Narmada in the district of Mandla, ...