It wasn't a path tourists took. In fact, it wasn’t a path at all because it seemed to be covered by a wall of sand. Within us we believed it to be every challenge we ran away from. This time, together, we wouldn’t turn around. The sand storm was approaching. But all it did was cloud our vision of the horizon. After leaving behind the path in which our footprints were etched repetitively, ‘dirt’ wasn’t going to stand in our way; nor was our poorly chosen mode of transport, the Gujarati ‘chagda’ – a 5/6 seater rickshaw depending on adjustability of the passengers and the driver. With resolute defiance, we entered the chaos. We knew there wasn’t a threat potent enough to keep us from our destination. The only problem was, none of us knew where we were headed.
****
Neil, an MBA in HR had just completed his notice period. He had one week of freedom before he had to begin to satiate the constant need for money.
Jenson, a BSC (IT) graduate was in need of a much deserved break, like we all are every waking moment of our lives.
James, I, a BA in ‘chal, let’s do something fun na’ and a writer, had been craving for another trip to ratify my life’s purpose as being ‘to travel.’
Nelson, a Designer was tired of working for someone else. The framing of his frustrated monologue was rather crude and had references to toilet paper and the final act in the process of defecation.
All 4 had one plan – travel to Gujarat. They say lives intertwine through time and that destiny plans for ‘coincidental meets.’ In this case our lives intertwined quite a while before this meet happened. We were already friends and ‘destiny’ was the cellular service provided by various companies and Facebook.
We began our journey on Feb 21st aboard the 11:55 pm Bhuj AC Super Fast Express which travels from Bandra Terminus, Mumbai to Bhuj, Gujarat (cost Rs 1020). The train’s destiny was to reach Bhuj the next afternoon at 1:15, provided the Indian Railways didn’t have other plans.
We reached Bhuj on time only alighting the train once before at Gandhidham for a bit of sweet poha, tea and samosa. An acquaintance Mr Raju bhai met us at Bhuj station and extended a welcoming hand. He led the way out and that was when we met him..the man who would eventually drive us into a sand storm. His name was Rehman bhai.
He was wearing an untucked white shirt and pant along with a Pathani ‘rumaal’ around his neck. He had a long beard, ‘mava’ stained teeth and a look in his eyes that said, ‘Come. Sit. I’ll drive you into a sand storm.’ Oh yes. At the moment he looked like the stereotypical anti-social element, which was the problem. Our educated brains overcompensated and convinced us he was definitely not a gun-toting killer.
Backpacks lugged into the back of his autorickshaw or ‘chagda’ as it’s called, three of us sat behind comfortably while Raju bhai and Nelson cramped up on either side of Rehman bhai. It was only about 12 kilometres to Madhapar, the place we were to stay at. In those 12 minutes, the words ‘traffic rules’ lost all meaning. Bhuj, in fact most of Gujarat has no signals. There are posts which flash the colour orange from time to time. Remember the rule ‘look left and right before you cross’? In Gujarat, ‘look left and right and you won’t want to cross.’
****
After treacherous swerves and several bouts of paranoia, we made it. Somewhere next to Hill View Nagar, Madhapar was Mar Thoma Syrian Church’s Mission Centre which was to be our free abode in Bhuj. We paid Rehman bhai 130 Rupees. That should have been our first clue – extortion.
As we unloaded our luggage, he began asking us questions about our trip. Naively, we answered. He offered to take us to the Rann of Kutchch and bring us back for Rs 1200. We took his number and said we’d give him a call. His offer did seem reasonable…at the time.
Raju bhai left us too saying he had an errand to run. We had some cleaning up to do. One by one we stunk up the bathroom and sprayed deodorant in the hall and on our selves. We were ready in all our coolness and splendour. Quite obviously it called for our first photo.
Soon after, Raju bhai returned with another ‘chagda.’ He took us in search of food.
Note: If you want lunch, be sure to eat before 4:00pm which is when restaurants shut in Bhuj.
Raju bhai left us and the rickshaw wala took us to Vaniayavar Chowk. We paid him and sat down to eat at Shankar Lodge which is at the Purani Sabzi Mandi. We had our first Gujarati Thali for Rs 70 here.
By around 4:15 pm on Feb 22nd we were on the way to the Rann of Kutch from Bhuj. The drive was absolutely fantastic, even in a rickshaw. The roads were smooth, except for some parts where construction is underway. The scenery of barren land, hills and a few ‘dhabas’ here and there made 2 hours pass by quite serenely. The old Bollywood songs blaring on Rehman bhai’s phone made us feel we were in a movie. Our script certainly was entertaining.
Rehman bhai stopped in between for tea at his nephew’s dhaba. This should have been our second clue – a family having small businesses as a front.
The tea served was mixed with buffalo milk. It takes some getting used to if you’ve been drinking your tea with cow’s milk. I didn’t get used to it.
At Birandiyara, there was a check post at which the permission to enter the Rann of Kutch needed to be acquired. It’s available from 9:30 am to 5:30 pm, after which the army officer leaves. The permit costs Rs 100 per person + Rs 25 for 2 wheelers and Rs 50 for 4 wheelers. Unfortunately we reached at 6:30 pm. We would have to come again the next morning.
At this post, the road that goes left leads to the Rann. The road straight ahead leads to Kala Dungar.
We made our way to Kala Dungar, since Rann wasn’t an option. It took us about an hour and half to reach the top in the autorickshaw. It should be only a 45 minute drive in a proper car. En route though, there is a spot that is termed a probable magnetic field zone. We had no idea what that meant, but Neil’s friends had informed him that a car moves forward automatically on that spot. An autorickshaw certainly doesn’t. We checked. Neil and his friends…pfft.
The light had faded. It was night. There was nothing to be seen from atop Kala Dungar. But Rehman bhai insisted it was a great sight from the top. He kept mentioning one could see the lights in Pakistan. We went up and could see just a flicker of orange. We didn’t know if it was Pakistan or just another traffic signal in Gujarat. We did meet a few soldiers from the Indian Army. We had a friendly chat with them for a while but they couldn’t invite us to eat with them for 2 reasons 1) Army rules 2) Lack of supplies.
However there is a temple atop Kala Dungar and a trust. They provide accommodation and food. The food though, is provided only till 8:30 pm. We were late there too. We decided to drive back down and come back to Birandiyara. There are rooms available right next to the check post. Run by Mr. Hira bhai, he plans to make a huge resort. It has the rustic rural feel to it and the ground is made of ‘gobar’ (dried cow dung). Far from stepping on shit, the place was beautiful. The rooms and the bathrooms were clean. He charged Rs 3,000 for one room for the 4 of us which included dinner and breakfast. The driver was given a cot.
The food was worth every penny. He served us ghee chapattis, aloo sabji (potatoes), baingan (aubergine) barta, khichdi, pickle, chaas (buttermilk) and gud (jaggery); the perfect recipe for a good night’s sleep.
Next morning with poha in our stomachs, tea in our systems and the permit in our hands we made our way to Rann. Neil’s friends had told him that there were guides who would take people across the border to Pakistan as part of camel rides and not bring them back. Neil and his friends…pfft. Little did we know we were inching closer to chaos.
We reached the ‘Great White Desert’ border security check post. Our permit was solid. We were allowed to pass. We were looking at the road straight ahead, when suddenly Rehman bhai turned left off the road. He was speeding across the sand as fast as his chagda would let him. Is this what Neil’s friends were talking about? Suddenly, Neil’s friends' comments weren’t a joke but a cautionary tale.
...contd
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