Ding-a-ling

I was lazily resting on my stomach in a charpoy on the weekend morning. Raghavendra from Hyderabad hurriedly entered our billet and asked if I could join him for his native halli (means village in Karnataka). I spontaneously agreed to his proposal. This was not the most popular destinations around my travel itineraries.We moved by the highly dedicated bus service KSRTC heading to Tumkur (Tehsil) from majestic Bangalore. The red bus was fast. After an hour, it stopped at a bus stand. The favours of traditional salty-crispy Murukku and sweet milk tea remind me of my memorable journey even today.

I saw the surrounding area infertile without any vegetation. People were isolated and living in abject poverty. After two hours, we boarded another bus for Devalapura (Gram Panchayat). We felt the extreme heat of the day. My friend advised me to drink traditional drinks as they help to withstand with heat. The coconut water made us refreshed enough to beat the tropical summer thirst during the entire journey. We had to change buses one after the other for linking routes. Finally a Tempo dropped us at a lonely tinali (3-way intersection).

The daylight was very thin outside the barren land with no life visible. There was virtually no road and I saw a meadow leading towards a plateau. Another five km left. My friend pointed me to be ready for a walk and promised me on an odyssey of unique experience. I kept my head to the sky. We kept moving over dusty and sandy road. We were tired and hungry after a plethora of adventures. Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling... The sound of a bell came from behind the forlorn road. It was the bell of an ox cart. And God finally sent a lift towards the end point, an inhabitant of the hamlet. Imagine having an incredible waterfall at the end of the street. I was mesmerized the scene of breathtaking beauty. This is incredible India.

We sloped down the valley. I saw a fertile land in a desert at a distance. It covered the ball of oasis with leaves and moss. Greenery surrounded the tiny settlement. It was 'Veeranapalya', the native village of my friend. We had been extended a warm welcome like heroes who had won a battle. It was dark in the evening. I thought the power supply was bad so there were dark. But power supply had not reached in that village just three hours away to the outskirts of Bangalore city. Only one-fourth of the population was literate then. The village was administrated by Sarpanch (village headman). Veeranapalya was a small area of 53 hectares with a total population of only 76 people. Tumkur was approximately 21 km away.

The village was dotted with only 21 houses. They were built of big rock foundation. His elderly parents were living there. We were sitting on a cot at the cottage. There was no sofa or any kind of bed there. We had to rest on the floor with a welcome drink of a hot glass of milk. Since his humble parents spoke only Kannada, my friend had to interpret during that beautiful evening. Despite facing language barrier, I was able to enjoy myself because they were friendly and offered generous reception. I was expecting some spicy delicious food at the dinner. But they were pure vegetarian. My treasure hunt did not end there. We tiptoed upstairs and took rest in the night on the open terrace. It was amazing view of open sky which I had not seen in years. There were celestial stars, planets and the moon on my head that illuminate the night sky. I could not sleep seeing the sparkling beauty of the starry night. Despite being heat of the day, the night was cold and windy. We were shrouded by quilts.

I got out of bed after the bright morning sun hovered overhead. Like a million people, drinking tea is a universal phenomenon. And I expected bed tea from there also. Back at the village, I inquired if there was a tea shop. I found nothing available. The entire community were busy at the Dhasharateshwara temple for morning worship. And I realised that there was no way to treat myself to a cup of refreshing tea. Unlike eastern India, where tea is produced and consumed by most of the people, southern India is different. But I had to go to the bathroom for ablutions. Interestingly, there were no sanitary toilets in that village. Probably 'Swachh Bharat Abhiyan', the most significant cleanliness campaign by the Government of India, had not reached there in the 1990s. I had to run towards a field located at a distance of one kilometre. I only realized in the morning that the village perched on the valley had wide expanses of grassland in the plateaus. The nearby Pakan Mallappa cave was used for religious activities.

The locals were strong believers of their God. Theertham, the "holy" water, was used during the pooja to wash the idol, followed by pouring milk. The devotees came back after the temple ritual and we had breakfast-cum-lunch at noon. Dosa-sambar and coconut chutney with idli-bada comprised the delicious menu. I recall eating almost a king-size plate of foodstuff to fill my starving stomach. A jeep was honking outside which was sent by the Sarpanch. It was time to leave. The fond memories of that night still haunt me today. The night was dark and the ground was cold. This was one of my unmissable destinations. An itinerary to Veeranapalya village made memories that will last for a lifetime. That sound of a tinkler going "ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling"... haunts me even today.

Kamal Baruah

(kamal.baruah@yahoo.com)