%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
%%Author: Krishna Padmasola
%%Written: April 1993
%%e-mail: krishna@scri.fsu.edu
%%comments: this is a LaTeX document.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
\documentstyle{article}
\begin{document}
\centerline{\bf Chandra-Prabha}
\vskip 1cm
Let me tell you about a hiking trip I once took along with a friend of
mine.  This was in 1988, when I was studying in Banaras Hindu
University, sometime around autumn. By this time, I was in my junior
year, and had gotten over my initial enthusiasm for studies in general
and Computer Science in particular. Mostly, I would sneak out of the
classes after the attendance was called, head for the
Mandir\footnote{A Hindu temple in the middle of the campus} with a few
like-minded souls to observe life at first hand and discuss its
implications/complications over a glass of tea.  I say a glass of tea
because tea is served in a glass in almost all of the innumerable
dhabas\footnote{A tea-stall which also provides light refreshments}
which punctuate the street corners in most of India.  The Mandir was
an ideal place for such congregations for, besides being a focal point
for a vast number of pilgrims who thronged it daily, it had excellent
arrangements by way of refreshments, snacks, and of course tea.

One of the participants in these discussions was Sanjay Garg, about
whom I will not say much now, except that he was addicted to tea,
cigarettes, and fiction written by modern Indian authors. Perhaps I
shall delineate his character in greater detail in a future report.
Another was Balraj Singh Khehra, whom everyone called Khera, and who
was addicted(?) to ganja\footnote{marijuana} , psychedelic music,
peanuts, solving crosswords, and doing crazy things. For example, one
night he climbed the long unused Benco\footnote{Abbreviation for
Banaras Engineering College, now renamed to Institute of Technology}
chimney all the way to the top and planted a white flag on the top.
This was a dangerous thing to do, since the rungs of the chimney were
rust-encrusted and hence not very strong.  Another time, he drank a
glassful of pure Bhang\footnote{a strongly intoxicating drink, whose
contents are questionable} , and got quite sick later that night. We
were all worried, because he kept saying that he was dying. However,
someone( I think it was Achal ) got him some emetic, and he was
alright afterwards.

Anyway, I came back one afternoon to the hostel, and I saw Khera leaving
with a backpack. He asked me if I wanted to go with him to the Chandra-Prabha
sanctuary. I said that I had not heard of the place. He told me that it is 
about 75 kilometers from Banaras, and that we were going to walk the whole way.
At this point, someone who was listening to our conversation said that it was
a crazy idea, and that I should not get involved with it. Khera was angry,
but said instead that the weekend was ahead, and I might as well come along
with him, instead of staying there. So I packed a few things in my bag,
and we set out for the sanctuary. Meanwhile, I learnt from him that 
Chandra-Prabha was a forest with lot of wild animals, a river with a waterfall,
and rudimentary facilities for accommodation. 

It was around noon when we set out, and we walked to
Lanka\footnote{The area outside the main entrance to the University}
and skirted the perimeter of the University till we reached Nagua
ghat\footnote{A place on the riverbank where steps are constructed to
facilitate bathing} . Here, a temporary pontoon bridge was in place so
that pedestrians and small vehicles could cross the Ganga over to
Ramnagar. During the monsoon season, the bridge is dissembled, since
the Ganga flows far too rapidly for the bridge to be stable.  Ramnagar
is a small town compared to Banaras, but the Maharaja of Banaras, who
is also the Chancellor of BHU\footnote{Banaras Hindu University} , has
his palace here. During the Dussehra\footnote{a popular Hindu
festival} , he crosses the river in his boat, and there is a huge
procession. We had seen the palace before, and asking the
auto-drivers\footnote{an auto is a three-wheeler automobile, quite
common in most parts of India, and a popular mode of transportation
since it is cheaper than a taxi} for directions, we set out for
Mughalsarai, which was to be our next stop on the way to the
Chandra-Prabha.

Dusk was falling as we reached Mughalsarai, and the sky was colored
ochre-red.  We had some guavas\footnote{a fleshy fruit common in
tropical regions} on the way, but now we were getting hungry again.
Mughalsarai is a fairly big town, perhaps comparable to Banaras in
size.  We planned to get something to eat at the railway station, and
stay there for the night. However, as we neared the town, we met a man
who was evidently returning home from work. He walked his bicycle
along with us, and introduced himself as Murlidhar Singh. With the
typical honest curiosity one finds among the people who do not dwell
in cities, he wanted to know who we were and where we were going. When
he learnt that we were students at the University, and were hiking to
the sanctuary, he was both surprised and impressed. He made an offer
for us to stay at his place for the night, which we gladly accepted.

Mr. Murlidhar Singh owned a house and some cattle, so he seemed
reasonably well-off. He said that his son also goes to the University,
but last summer he had an accident while working with the hay-cutting
machine, and lost the use of his right hand. He was now learning to do
things with his left hand including writing, so as to be able to take
the examinations for his degree. Listening to him, I couldn't help
wondering why terrible things happen to good people. This man trusted
that his fate was in God's hands, and this belief gave him the
strength to cope with the tragedy. He is not unique in that respect;
India has many people like him.

His wife cooked a delicious supper for us, and he urged us to eat well
so that we would have enough strength for the rest of the journey.
Their kindness was touching. They treated us like we were their sons.
That night, before going to sleep, I reflected on the hospitality that
was offered to us, and it reminded me of the stories I had read in the
Indian mythologies. This was a scene from a living past, reenacted in
a modern setting.

The next day we started at daybreak, and proceeded towards our
destination with the anticipation of reaching it by the evening. On
some stretches of the road, we were the only two people walking along
it, and once in a while, a truck or an auto would pass us, its
occupants casting curious glances at us as it sped by. Although it was
cool at dawn, it got quite warm by the forenoon, and we stopped by at
a wayside mango orchard for a brief rest. The cool breeze gently
rippling through the mango leaves carrying the fragrance of the mango
blossoms was refreshing, and for sometime, we just sat there,
observing.  There were some huge termite mounds, and also lots of long
red ants running around in a hectic manner. Some unidentified birds
provided soothing music in the background. It was quite restful. I was
content to spend the rest of my life there, but Khera insisted that I
should get up and start walking.  Those were not the exact words that
he used, but that was the idea he wanted to convey, and he succeeded.

I discovered to my horror that by this time there were some ants
crawling around in my pants, and let me tell you that it is {\sl not}
a pleasant experience. I am sure that those of you who have had this
experience will whole-heartedly agree with me. If you do
not want to accept my statement at its face-value (strictly as a
matter of principle), I urge you to try it out yourself. I would be
happy to oblige in case you require my assistance in the purely
technical aspects of selection of the right species of ants. For
example, African army ants are highly recommended for the educational
value of the resulting experience. But I digress.  Khera seemed to
find it funny and he exploded with unholy mirth, which I thought was
in bad taste. Anyway, after some extremely complicated meringue steps,
I managed to get rid of the nasty little insects that were trying to
hitch a free ride with me, and once again, we were on our way. We
passed a couple of villages, and some of the villagers had crushed
sugarcane spread out to dry on their roof, and in their backyard. We
munched on some, just to have something to do while trudging along.
Perhaps they use it to feed cattle, or may be as fuel for their
angitthis(crude ovens). I am not sure.

By this time, it was midday, and we had covered about 50 kilometers.
We had some lunch at a village dhaba, and when we started walking
again, we felt shooting pain in the knees for the first few steps. I
guess that's one of the side-effects of non-stop walking. This was one
of the times in my life when I exercised the power of the mind over
the body. We had to will ourselves to walk, or we would have stayed
there.  Here I must acknowledge the fact that Khera's will was
stronger than mine (may be his legs too).  There were railway tracks
in the distance, and a passenger train was crawling slowly along. We
crossed the railway crossing, and reached the banks of an irrigation
canal, along which we proceeded for some time. Now we had to rest more
frequently, and we took a break when we reached the locks of the
canal.

The locks of a canal are an interesting sight. There is a higher level
of water on one side, which pours to the other side after passing
through the locks.  It gives rise to a great noise, almost like that
of a waterfall. Also, the water on the other side swirls voilently,
and the spray splashes on you when you sit on the edge of the locks.
We sat for a while on the edge and eating peanuts, dropping the empty
shells in the water and watching them go round and round in the
foaming coils of the water.  Sometimes, you could see a miniature
rainbow in the spray.  On the other side of the locks, the water was
more or less placid, with all kinds of junk floating on its surface,
which got filtered out. I guess somebody cleans out the junk at the
end of the day, so that the locks don't get clogged up.

We were now on the last leg of the journey, and looked forward to
reaching the sanctuary by the evening. There were hills in the
distance, probably the foothills of the Vindhya\footnote{a mountain
range in central India} range. The sanctuary was located somewhere
there. Plodding along, we were pretty much convinced that we would not
do any exploration that day, but get a good dinner and much needed
rest. Then we would be in a better shape to explore the sanctuary's
secrets.

The terrain was hilly now, and we reached the bottom of the hill upon
which Chandra-Prabha was situated. The sanctuary had makeshift walls
made of rough stones all around and a dirt road leading up towards the
top of the hill. By this time, it was twilight, and both of us were
quite tired, so climbing the hill was literally an uphill task. We
heard a truck coming behind us, which stopped when it neared us. The
driver asked us where we were going. When we told him, he asked us to
jump in and told us that he was also going to the sanctuary. But Khera
said that we had come walking all the way from Banaras, and would like
to walk up to the top. The truckdriver said in a concerned tone that
it would take us another two hours to reach there, and meanwhile it
would be dark and it would be very unsafe for us to walk in the night
especially with wild animals roaming around.  That argument and
also the fact that we were tired and wanted to rest convinced us to
accept his generous offer. On the way, he showed us big holes dug in the 
ground by bears searching for edible roots. 

We reached Chandra-Prabha just at nightfall. It was a moment for thanksgiving
when, after finishing a meal provided by the caretaker of the Visitor's
Guest House in the sanctuary, we lay down to rest on the hard floor
of the unfurnished dormitory, listening to the sounds of the wild in the
enveloping silence, each of us glad that finally we were here.

\end{document}
