48 Hours

“So many places to see but one life to live.” This thought keeps bundling up nicely with a wrapper of happiness laced with a sombre ribbon. Especially, when within 48 hours, we manage to explore more destinations in addition to the decided one. And when we realise that only a few hours are left to end the excursion, we sit. We think. We plan. We open an itinerary. We finalise a destination and even dates too. As the thought of concluding a journey makes us feel melancholic. By nature, we’re so outskirts driven.

Let it be! 

The layers of imagination began accumulating when the grumbling sound of the bike started smoking out. 130 km away and we reached the perimeter of Phansad Wildlife Sanctuary. But before we hit the decided destination, our schedule got replaced by a few more. Unfamiliar. Unheard.

I read, ‘No mobile phones. No cameras are allowed.’ written in bold letters at the entrance and also on the faces of guards warding the Lord Ganesha’s temple at Revdanda, near Alibaug; where we landed first. Though the restriction bothered me, but my complaint was restricted to myself. As the shrine was built by one of the biggest conglomerates of the country. Locals called it as Birla Temple.

Spic, Idyllic, gratifying, pleasant, are a few good words that I can use now to describe that place of worship. Pacing alone in its backyard made me wonder, is it really important to tell people to shut their kids and gadgets when they're inside a shrine? While the thought kept rolling, I too learned that my dislike was utterly senseless and made me realise that ‘Inner peace reside so close by', just cut-off the world outside and like an alter ego it appears quickly by your side.  

Keeping up with the flow, I then astride to explore a nearby sea-fort that seemed like situated on an island covered by the Arabian Sea, but in reality, was connected through accumulated pieces of land. It was Korlai.

The route to the fortress travelled across the narrow lanes of fishermen’s hamlet, whose ancestors were once soldiers of the erstwhile rulers. Constructed by the Portuguese under the regime of Ahmednagar Sultanate, it served as a stronghold to defend the Portuguese provinces, right from Korlai till Bassein (now Vasai). The fort is 2828 feet long, but we were too late to explore. I, along with my friend, walked a few steps towards one of the edges of that dilapidated structure, which even today faces the terror of the humongous sea. I observed that all it carries now is the sad face of ignorance, but the vestiges of the then era still persist in its air. 

It was 6 in the evening when the sun was setting down with yet another day’s story of the citadel. I looked at the burning ball and felt that every night, the fortress must be sleeping with numerous burning tales of infantries, who sacrificed their souls for saving the empires, or rather, in the wake of their own helpless families.

Killing time is a ubiquitous scene at most of the tourist destinations after 7pm. One can feel the sluggish rhythm of a timepiece. Oscillating like a lazy child. Even the night moves on like the careless breeze. Fast at times; slow, often. Like the ongoing wind process, the mind too drifts, in an inert manner, sips slowly the unexpected freedom. Being at ease is so against the urban scenario.

If night travels at its own pace, the morning appears like a fitness freak; fresh, lively, vigorous. Besides, when you hit the beach just before the sun arises, without stretching out the stress, you feel that your spirit is renewed. At Kashid beach, the Earth had conducted a meditation session. Some joined in by playing cricket on its slippery pitch, some by riding a beach motorbike, while early birders like me accompanied it by taking a stroll on its wet sand. The scenario had to be framed; after all, the season of relaxation had just begun after three long months of unpredictable monsoon.

Bidding goodbye with a promise of coming back, we then rode to the place that was on our priority - Phansad Wildlife Sanctuary. I had been to this wild zone 3 years ago. It was just a day visit but the experience had an eerie impact. How silence can influence one's thoughts? How densely populated trees can speak loudly without uttering a word? How a little movement of a skink can bring chills down your spine? How the gaze of eyeless creatures make you feel like a suspect? Numerous questions like these emerged then and now too.

On my last visit, the forest guard permitted us to take the bike deep inside. We travelled as far as 5kms. It was a bumpy ride though, with all sorts of routes hosted as hurdles. The deciduous region throw all the surprises that it can. A grand black eagle near the entrance, skinks at every next second, creatures that kept themselves aloof amidst the bushes yet travelled parallel with us, and finally a heart spotted woodpecker busy finding its prey beneath the crumbled leaves.

But this time our capacity to explore was less than 2kms, as we had to proceed on feet. Nothing unusual was discovered and with our heads down we retreated. Incidentally, the word ‘surprise’ lived by its meaning. We heard a call, in fact, ‘a scream’. Leaving the trail, we moved towards the dense region from where the noise appeared. It came from a treetop. My brain opened the encyclopaedia, but ‘page not found’ was the only reply. I recorded the clamour call and then stayed there for fifteen minutes, but then left the place the very next sixteenth minute. Back home, I cross-checked online and it revealed that it was the call of a scavenger, a Vulture, might be a White Back. Sitting and screaming atop; proclaiming its territory. The silence was broken by that great call, and our curiosity was satiated by yet another story to share. 

Thanking that one great surprise, we rode back to the place where we stayed to check out. As our itinerary had the last destination to explore, for which we had to climb mere 1500 steps. 

At the bottom of the hill where Lord Datta’s temple is situated, the heat waves were on, but the nip in the air cut down its intensity. The serpentine steps that connected one with the shrine hid at every turn below the grand banyan trees. 

While Phansad turned its back to unveil its avian families, Chaul, where the temple is situated, did the exact opposite. It was the Scarlet Minivets flock that gave us the first taste of birding expedition. As they flew away their counterparts appeared in tandem. Most of them small and vocal; feeding themselves with nectar or insects. There were Purple Sunbird, Warblers, Green Bee Eater, Common Iora and Crimson Backed Sunbird. Of which, the Iora seemed to be least bothered with my presence; allowed me to take home its photogenic existence.

Atop, the trinity god that was carved out of stone was surrounded by dogs. Lazing and relaxing by his feet; preparing for another wild night out. The scene was an exact portrayal of human imagination of Lord Datta, wherein he is encircled by the faithful creature.

I stepped out to look at the view and in a matter of seconds, it unveiled all those places that we had been to. A wave of near past experience arose. From bike ride to beachside life to discovering a fort to exploring a wildlife sanctuary to finally surrendering the almighty after climbing 1500 steps. And then a thought came to me wrapped nicely in a bundle of happiness laced with a ribbon of sorrow - "So many places to see, but one life to live". As within 48 hours, we managed to explore destinations in addition to the decided one. The thought of concluding a journey made me feel melancholic. Honestly, by nature, I’m so driven by the outskirts.

Let it be!