trayled by Kaaku

For the last many months I have been wandering in the desert of Cholistan. Fate brought me here, unexpectedly, without any prior planning and without purpose. I came here after absence of many years. I had to renew the old relationships and knot, once again, the ties unfurled by the passage of time. Forty years! Life span of two generations of men and trees. Faces: I did not recognize. The landscape: I could not remember. I had to adjust my long term memory. Children have grown into men and women, young saplings to huge trees.  Friends turned into strangers.

trayled by Kaaku

As I said earlier, the best way to explore a new place is to spend some days with the inhabitants. That is how you can have a comprehensive experience and first hand knowledge of the culture and way of life of the people.  Studying fauna and flora and enjoying spicy local dishes is a bonus.

If any of the honorable readers of my blogs ever feel like visiting this place, they are most cordially invited as special guests: free lodging and food. You have to bear only the cost of traveling; and that, too, is not very high.

trayled by Kaaku

I am , for the time being , living near a village in the outskirts of the desert. It has no name. Here, the villages do not have names; they are numbered. And this one is: 156-NP. This system of nomenclature was introduced by the British when India was a part of their Empire and, they say, the sun never set in the British Empire; it was so vast extending from the shores of Africa to the foot of the Himalayas.

This village, 156-NP,  is some eighty kilometers from the heart of the desert. The land is fertile, although the subsoil water is not suitable for irrigation. They grow cotton, wheat, pulses, grams and such other crops. The land owners, big or small, have their own flock of cattle: buffaloes, cows, goats and sheep. They keep them in their houses, with their children, and rear and care them as their folks. And even mourn their deaths whenever one of their loved Katta’s die.

If you love solitude; a calm and quiet place to enjoy holidays, this is the one. 

I live in a small  “haveli” of a local friend, at the edge of  the dusty road that links the nearby town, Sadikabad, to the village.

Sadikabad is a small town but a good shopping place where you can buy anything from handmade Mughal shoes and rallies to imported perfumes. It has some worth seeing sites in the suburbs. The best way to explore a new place, I think, is to spend  a few days with some local friends; and that’s what I am doing just now. Next week we intend to go deep into the desert for game and hunting.

trayled by Kaaku

child is standing just in front my cubicle. She is singing a Rajasthani song. I am not familiar with the dialect and can’t say what she is singing about but her voice is beautiful. Unaware of my presence, she is swaying her body to and fro with the rhythm of the song. All alone in the sunshine she is standing near the pond of water where they come to fill their pitchers and buckets. Sweet dinking water is a precious thing here. The sub-soil water is all too saline to drink. The small canal that comes here from the Indus cannot cope with the requirement of the human and animal population. This solitary singer belongs to the Bheels, a tribe of Hindu origin.

Now the girl has stopped singing and watching the birds circling above the trees. A regiment of parrots has just appeared. These birds are naughty___ loved by children because they can imitate human voice but hated by the farmers because they harm the crops and fruits. They are also not liked by other birds because they attack their nest, just for nothing, out of mischief.

Kites are a rare sight; they are persona non grata. For kites this is a no-fly zone. The other day I saw a kite trying to perch on top of a tree. Perhaps, it was tired of a long flight and just wanted to break journey but the small sparrows living in the tree would not take a risk. They attacked it in unison and targeted its eyes until the intruder was deported forcefully. The unfortunate traveler had to take its original flight, unwillingly.

trayled by Kaaku

There is a variety of birds living here. Some of them I know well but some are absolutely new to me, in every respect. The other day I was intrigued by the sound of a strange bird, as if a big metal bell was tolling. Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Unless you see it you can't believe that the sound is coming from the vocal cords of a bird. It was so beautiful: red wings, a reddish brown body, black beak and a very long tail. It was sitting in a mango tree and its tail was almost brushing the ground beneath. on and on it sang: Ding Dong. I approached, slowly, cautiously but could not reach it. The bird flew away with a last farewell cry and vanished.

Well, I forgot to tell you that this is Cholistan, a part of a greater desert, Rajhastan, which extends from the lower borders of the Punjab province in Pakistan to the southwest of India. It is one of the largest deserts of the world and, fortunately, still in its primitive form.

This is prime time to visit Cholistan!

If you intend to visit the place, just e-mail me. You are cordially invited as my guest.

The weather is ideal: it is warm and crystal clear, the sun shines all the day. Migrating birds from far off lands visit this place at this time of the year. Moreover, it is festival time.  

 
(2b continued...)