There cannot be a perfect beginning to this post. Trust me, I have tried. It’s one of those times when the heart desires to unload a huge bundle of emotions by means of words but the mind is just not ready to deal with them. The heart is busy feeling things and the mind is only trying to decipher them. And then, suddenly, someone puts the last piece of the puzzle together and then one realises how the universe conspired to make things happen.
Several years ago, I read a poem by Pt. Bhawani Prasad Mishra, called “Satpura Ke Jungle” which has stayed with me. I read it while in school in my Hindi curriculum along with many others but it was one of the few I never forgot. I clearly remember how glad I felt when I realised what those pretty sounding lines really meant. Maybe, it struck a chord with me because I have always had that adventure gene and I even day dreamt about being in the forests described in the poem. Dreams have a way of converting into reality and that’s exactly what happened when I saw an invitation from Forsyth Lodge, Satpura in my inbox. There was no way in the world I would give that up.
Memories of hot summer days, school uniforms and Hindi Periods after lunch break came rushing back to me. The cool kids always saw those Hindi classes as boring. I never voiced it publically, but I secretly used to look forward to them. A session of storytelling or poetry was a breath of fresh air for me. Maybe that’s why those poems remained etched in my permanent memory. Busy being the Travel Blogger that I am, I always had that thought of googling Satpura up and planning a trip, but somehow it got brushed aside by other things. But through Forsyth Lodge, I relived “Satpura Ke Jungle” once again though with a slight difference. The forests were exactly as described in the poem, but Forsyth added another dimension to the whole experience, that of responsible luxury.
Satpura Tiger Reserve, as it is now called is a beautiful, dense forest which is as unpredictable as it can get. Though it is named a ‘Tiger Reserve’ but the possibility of actually sighting a tiger is scarce. Nevertheless, it is home to a vast variety of flora and fauna. The term hauntingly beautiful fits aptly to describe the place. At Satpura forests, the lines of that poetry unfolded before my eyes. Here’s proof.
Because I just cannot end this post without the ” Satpura Ke Jungle” poem, here’s a loose translation I wrote. I know it’s not great, but how can I even try to compete with one of the most loved poets of our times.
Dense forests of Satpura
As if sleeping away,
Dozing, strange forests.
Bushes huge and not so huge
Standing mum, with closed eyes.
The grass is mum, and so is the kans grass
Mute is the sal, so is the flame of the forest
If possible, venture in
Where even air can’t penetrate
Dense forests of Satpura
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Decayed leaves, rotten leaves
Green leaves, burnt leaves
Hiding the forest pathways
Leaves nurtured in swamps,
Try if you can walk on them,
Squash them if you can,
These disgusting dense forests
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Strange, intertwined creepers
Pulling the branches away
Suddenly entangle the feet
And stop your breath
Creepers are like snakes
Nurtured by curses
These forests are made of creepers
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Spider webs on the faces
Our own hair on the faces
And on the faces are mosquito bites
Red and black marks on the faces
An air storm on it’s way
Walk, enduring it all
Forests laden with problems
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Forests filled with cobras
Inaccessible, stand-still forests
Surrounded by seven mountains
With long and short bushes
With thunders and cries
Trembling sometimes
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Deep inside these forests
A few roosters, a few francolins
They nurtured and rest assured.
With a solitude in the forest
And flowers on their huts
Are tribals dark and well built.
When Holi is around
The grass waves and sings
And the Mahua tree gives away
An exhilarating fragrance
Their instruments echo
Their songs, their rhymes.
Dense forests of Satpura
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests
Awakening in activity
From the dungeons and the valleys
The grass is mad and so is the kans grass
Mad is the sal, mad is the flame of the forest
Mad are creepers, mad are the trees
Mad are branches, mad are the leaves
There are fishes, roosters and francolins
Deep inside these forests.
Up until the horizon
As messy as death
With an agitated dark wave
Stirred and brimming with poison
Unions and residues
Of Shiva and Suresha
Do you know the sea?
Similar deep forests
As if sleeping away
Dozing, strange forests.
Go right in, there’s no fear
They’re not the home of death
Many come down from mountains
To narrate stories and tales
Rivers, waterfalls and canals
Have been fostered by these forests
A lakh species of birds, a hundred groups of deer
Innumerable rays of the moon
Waving flowers and berries
Blooming unknown buds
Green walls, crimson sprouts
Offsprings, pure and charming
The forests of Satpura
Made of creepers.
And, here’s the original, and I am in love with it.
There’s no possible way I can finish this post without mentioning how amazingly great the people at Forsyth Lodge are and the pains they took to make our stay comfortable and our safaris enjoyable. I have come back with an old poem and a lot of new stories of my own from Satpura, and will be sharing them on the blog in The Satpura Series. This was just a pretty poetic curtain-raiser to #TheForsythExperience .