Chikaldara
The distance prospects of the Satpudas,
Their serrated peaks filling the horizon
Om the left, as one comes down from Betul,
Promises a forest hideaway in the hills,
And the approach lives up to this promise.
The road winds up a steeply wooded hill,
The narrow ribbon of the tarmac
Unfolding over a stretch of humming jungle
Alive with the sound of crickets and the rustle
Of dry teak leaves over the sere, brown grass.
But then a village suddenly appears,
Apparently, the forest is interspersed
With cultivation, invaded by lantana,
Desecrated by stands of eucalyptus;
And finally disappear altogether.
The last stretch is rolling upland plateau
Clad in a uniform vesture of brown grass,
But nearly bare of large trees. One arrives
At Chikaldara to palpable disappointment.
Bu the main street with its clutch of cheap hotels,
And restaurants is wide and uncluttered.
And the traffic is unlikely to run you over.
The savings grace here is the fort of Gavilgad
In Marathi they call it the Avgad killa,
The impregnable fort, but what makes it so
Is nature, not its fortification;
Of which little remains but the looming gateway
And a portion of the crumbling rampart,
In places still perfectly crenellated.
Inside, the forest has overrun the fort.
A few scattered building peep through the jungle,
Forlorn ruins amidst a vast desolation.
The jungle has reclaimed what was its own
And the hardy redoubt, impervious to force
Has finally been conquered at last
At night I visit a ‘bar and restaurants’
Also perversely called Gavilgad
Here you can drink your fill in the grimy bar
Kept well out of sight of the ‘family’ section.
I suppose they want to shield the poor families
From the sight of degeneration topers like me.
I leave the place with a twinge of regret.
There is something attractive about its smallness,
Unspoiled by diesel taxis, or hotel touts
Or shops selling plastic curious and such kitsch.
Perhaps io shall come back some day
To gaze at a forsake prospect of the Satpudas
Before the jungle finally disappears.
Who knows.
