Sunrise and Xihu

      

           
We beat him to the spot today. In the last two days, Mita mahi and I have found him  swaying and dipping the fishing net into the brown  water of the Brahmaputra. We were a trio in companionable silence, waiting patiently to be obliged. He, for fish. And us for the perfect sunrise on the Brahmaputra. In our last two attempts,  we arrived a little late to find the sun a few notches above the horizon.

                           
Today we watch him silently walk down the slope towards the water, with long poles over his shoulder. Putting his things down, he assembles his fishing gear. Two poles are positioned as a  cross with a string holding the middle. A net comes out of his bag and its four corners are deftly looped to the four ends of the poles. Holding the third pole from the center he gently dips the billowing net into the water.On the first day he had shown us his catch. An assorted lot of small fish, enough for one meal.

                                         

It is a favoured spot by the circuit house on the bank  of the river. We had arrived in the dark today, hoping to catch the sun emerging from the water, almost chased by stray dogs manning their territory. Sitting on the rocks with cameras ready, the sight of the river is soothing, almost tranquilizing the weary soul. The sinews relax and the edginess of anticipation dissolve and seem to be carried away by the water. Some debris float down in the distance. A crow flies and perches on it. Soon a few more join and enjoy an early morning free ride in the river. And just when they seem to have moved far away from their nest, they fly back to the bank till another one comes carried by the current. Like children running and climbing behind vehicles that come into their village.
 

                               


                                                         
The sky lightens a little towards the east. The horizon has a thin layer of grey. We keep our fingers crossed. Both Mita mahi and I. The fisherman continues with the dip and the sway. A boat comes in from the other end with two men precariously trying to balance it along the shore. It comes quite close to us and then moves away to the other end. Looking out at the vast water the mind expands to let in the thoughts along the time line. Of the past and the present and what the future holds. Mita mahi fills me in as to how these waters abounded in river dolphins when they were young. Ferrying in the country boats, it was a delight to see this lovely mammal jump around. Until only a few years ago, it was possible to buy fish from the fishermen right in the middle of the river while one commuted across the river. Who would believe those stories now, she asked.

                                 

The fisherman patiently continues  his motions with the net. He is yet to catch any today.
Do you get to catch Hilsa now?
No, he replies, I get them only in October when they swim up from the sea to lay eggs.
That's quite a distance they swim upstream from Bay of Bengal to spawn, I note .

The horizon doesn't look too good with the thin layer darkening. The dawn has brightened further and our apprehensions are confirmed. The sun emerging from the water remains hidden behind the layer of clouds. On my last day at Goalpara, I missed the perfect sunrise yet again. I look around to take in as much as possible of this quiet spot. The silver grey water is faintly rouged up. And suddenly there is a sound of parting water. A grey body juts out tossing and turning in the water quite close to the rock where we sit.
" Dolphin!" I squeal.
Mita mahi whips her head around just in time to catch another jump of this lovely animal. We are speechless. Even the fisherman grins looking at where it had splashed.
"Xihu!" he says quietly. There is not a single fish in his net. Mita mahi smiles, so they are still here she says. We wait for some more time. The sun peeps out from behind the clouds. The perfect sunrise eluded yet again. But the Xihu gave us hope for another time.



This post was written for TWTFOW#5 

Meditation On A Drive

                                             

     It was those bunched up bright yellow pumpkin flowers that made me stop. Dipped in rice flour paste and deep fried , the ronga lau phulor bor were a delicacy that hadn't touched my taste buds for many years.   Rumu, whose cab we had hired for the journey from Goalpara to Guwahati, indulged and let me reinstate  my connection  with the land that never ceases to fill me with a warm feeling. The overcast sky threatening to pour down notwithstanding, the car came to a halt .

       This Deobariya Haat, the  Sunday market  somewhere between Boko and Soigaon took me back to another era when these were the only produce we would see. Available in accordance to the seasons, tasting right just then. A common utterance during meal times comes to mind reiterating the importance of seasonal fruits and vegetables,

“ Botoror pasoli  khabo lage…”

So we were told when the nose screwed up at the sight of gourds, gourd shoots, tender drumsticks, ripe jackfruits and all those vegetables and fruits that seemed unpalatable.  The produce of the land is ready to be consumed only at a particular time of the year because that is when it is full of virtues that benefit the body and yield best to those discerning sensors in the tongue. The colours, the sights and sounds of this little bazaar where the fresh seasonal produce of the nearby villages are brought, were a treasure of long forgotten fruits and vegetables. Where it was a part of monotonous lives in the smaller places, chancing on it was like an excitement of discovering  what was thought to be long lost.

          These little markets that spring up along the highway are the best places to source from.  Squatting in colourful mekhelas, the bright faces of the local Rabha and Garo women glisten and glow. The fresh ghost chillies that the world is raving about, tender ferns, cucumbers , banana flowers, bamboo shoots and gourd shoots, those fragrant kaji lemons… and that maddening aroma of pineapples. All organically grown. All arranged in little heaps, in groups and the larger ones kept in singles to be sold thus and not by the scales. You have not tasted pineapples unless you have walked past some of those from the Garo hills. Relishing them begins from the sweet aroma that they tantalise you with. A nick with the knife and a burst of juice trickles down. The best way to get them ready is to wash and remove the peel, core out the 'eyes', salt and wash them and then cut them into chunks over a plate or a bowl so you don’t waste the juice.

                                   

  Incidentally, this is a market where the vendors are women barring aside one or two. These Garo and Rabha women are said to be extremely hard working and enterprising , threw in Rumu as we continued our journey with our fresh vegetables in the boot of the car. He elaborated that these women are up at daybreak tackling the household chores, tending to the livestock, the vegetable patches and field. Whereas majority of the menfolk awaken just before the sun touches the zenith and nurse their homemade liquor through the day between spurts of work.

                                           

 You’ve done well to pick those vegetables here, baido, he continues. You will not regret. Whenever I've passengers on this route I always pick vegetables from here. They don’t spoil for many days unlike the ones picked from the town market. And they taste the best too. For the simple reason that they are not injected with chemicals to help them grow or ripen overnight. What were those bamboo hollows for, I ask. Are they to be filled with rice and slow cooked on embers? Oh those! Rumu explained that the women in these parts, stash a particular smaller variety of fish, caught in their jakois, into the bamboo hollows and leave it to ferment and dry on bamboo racks over the earthen stove at home. Once it is cured, this dried fish is then cooked in small amounts or made into chutneys. It is a popular delicacy and is also said to have medicinal  properties to prevent malaria in these densely foliaged parts of the countryside.


                                                   

      I looked out of the speeding car watching the distant landscape with the rolling hills and young green of the paddy fields  change it’s orientation while the nearby trees and roadside homes ensconced in the privacy of a verdant  buffer offered by the  tall jackfruit,amla, mango, areca trees, mausandas,  zipped past.  My mind went back to the little market again and again, triggering a thought here and there.

      The red bag I’d noticed in the market contained some white cotton roll like stuff. These are eri cocoons , the lady had offered.  Just then a customer had come, checking the cocoons, he tried bargaining but she was not to budge.  Weaving at homes had always been a part of daily life in Assam just as raising a vegetable patch, or cultivating a bamboo grove or fish in the pond backyard. Just enough to fulfill the daily needs of a household. Threads would be spun out of these cocoons on a wooden spinning wheel. These then would be mounted on a wooden loom resting under a thatched shed usually placed near the kitchen that allowed women of the household to alternate between their chores, cooking and weaving. Memories came tumbling down of my grandmother and my aunt in Tipling ; sitting at the loom combing in the warp and the weft; of sliding the shuttle between the threads; clicking the bamboo pedals with their feet in a neat orchestra . Basic mekhelas, gamusas and fabric emerged from these looms for the family then.

  The looms now feed the many boutiques and shops  in the towns and cities. A week back we had dropped by an NGO, Grameen Sahara, at Soigaon that was involved with many self sustaining programmes for the local people. Strengthening eri silk weaving was one of them. Right from developing a system of  providing cocoons and threads on credit, the NGO untiringly supports the local people to weave the eri fabric that has found a niche market in the western world. Their adherence to quality has earned them the stamp of approval of Silkmark.  For the uninitiated, eri is a tenacious warm silk fabric and it’s thread is derived from the Ailanthus silk worm. It is also known as ‘ahimsa’ silk since the cocoons are used after the moths leave them. You can be sure to find an eri shawl stashed in a trunk in every Assamese household that will be brought out with the first hint of a chill in the air. These have been handed down from generations, capturing and bequeathing the warmth of the ancestors in their threads, mostly woven by a grandmother or a great grand mother.

  As the car nears the outskirts of the Guwahati city, the idyllic landscape is dotted more frequently with concrete structures peeping over distant green canopies or jostling each other. The mind humours the little ideas that bubble up now and then. It is heartwarming to come across spaces that rekindles the bond with the roots. And it is heartening to see the social development efforts striving to provide a better life to the simple rural people by empowering them. Retaining the unique identity of an area while developing it to provide basic amenities and bringing prosperity to it's people without churning out concretised clones of cities and towns, is the challenge. It will be worthwhile to keep in mind that the sight of the pumpkin flowers and fresh pineapples in the roadside farmer's market with the paddy fields and the distant blue hills in the background will continue to charm the travellers in the now and forever.

      

Trip To Tukreswari

                                                 

                                         

     It took me fourteen years to set foot on this place although I whizzed past it every year with the same refrain coming from the driver's seat.
 " This is where the king of the monkeys lives!"
Ever since I went past this hauntingly beautiful hillock as a bride, Tukreshwari was just a name tagged with the same story of monkeys. It was made out to be the land of monkeys as many places of worship tend to be. And the image I conjured up was a hillock teeming with the simian lot at every step. Anecdotes abounded of the many antics of our four legged ancestors. But strangely very few of those people, from whom I heard these, had actually ventured up there for a first hand experience.

                               

A view of a distant hillock 

    And so one sultry afternoon, we set out from Goalpara town for Tukreswari which is about 25km away on the NH 37. Yes, it was that close and yet it took me 14 years to finally reach that place. From afar the hillock looked formidable with dark hued rocks and boulders jutting out from dense foliage. I was always under the impression that this rocky hillock probably had no trail that would take one to the top. Influenced by the stories and a far away perspective can so hamper the reality. Right at the foothill was a temple dedicated to Lord shiva and his consort Parvati. The doors of this temple are kept locked and there is a grill enclosed verandah that gives respite to the devotees from the simian pranks and snatchings.

                               

View from one of the resting spots

    A path beside the temple leads to the stairs that winds up the Tukreswari hill to the top. And that is where the main temple is. And here I was thinking I would have to trudge the way up following a dirt track. Climbing up I could see the steps disappearing behind huge boulders dotted with ferns and other foliage. Trees grew from under them, around them and also sprouted from them. Huffing and puffing my way up with sweat making rivulets down my forehead, we stopped at the little bends to catch our breath. Peeking through the foliage, the branches and half obstructed by the boulders was a stretch of lush paddy fields all around dotted with more hillocks in between. The NH 37 snaked through in bits and pieces from my view point.

                               

The Assamese Macaque

     A place not frequented by many at this time of the year, it felt like intruding on the silence. I was surprised not to have come across any  monkeys in our climb so far. Just one odd loitering around. Must be a young one out to have fun while his mamma was enjoying a siesta on one of the branches. This is the abode of the Assamese macaque. And whenever an offering is being made, especially in the morning and in the evening at the temple, all of them congregate on the branches, the rocks jutting out, the steps. And wait. They wait for their king to come and partake the offering first. It is only once the king has had his share, that the minions come forward. So we were told by our guide who accompanied us with a long staff to ward off the macaques.

                             

Statue of Joy or Bijoy

    The steps are a new construction and fairly in a steep incline. They say the dirt track was a better climb. On the way, in the nooks and bends are few more recently installed statues of deities. Flanked by the carvings of Joy and Bijoy, the two gate keepers to the temple on the top, an iron ladder hanging from the huge rock that is crowned with the temple, is to be negotiated for the final climb.  A beautiful and serene panoramic view of the surrounding green paddy fields interspersed with hillocks and the distant rolling blue Garo hills greeted us. We just sat there for a few minutes soaking in the serenity sans the simian natives.
                                 

Tukreswari Temple In The Right Corner

    There was a small temple, said to have come up when a small piece of Sati fell on this part. Hence the temple of Tukreswari, in the place called Tukura. The temple below was constructed so as to make it accessible to all without having to trek uphill. A very simple temple on the hill top at the edge of rock, enshrining the spot of the fallen piece,  looked out at the highway and all the villages, mostly of the Rabha community. It looked more like a shed of iron and tin sheet. The door to the temple is kept latched mostly and opened only for visitors.

                           

Another View In The Fading Light

   We did not get to meet the King since it was not the offering time. We spent a good amount of time just sitting there on the flat top of the huge rock and gazing out. After a while it was time for the descent though we would have liked to absorb a bit more of the tranquility. Tukreswari did not let me down. The sun was slipping down in the horizon. Very soon it would be dark. It is an effort to tear oneself away from such peaceful places. I have often thought of how trivial all our worries seem and how many things gain clarity when some time is spent in these places. Climbing down the steps as the evening light faded, my mind was at peace of finally having made this trip. After all these years.

 

 

 

 

Goalpara

                                                     

An Early morning View

134 kms away to the west of Guwahati in Assam, lies the sleepy town of Goalpara., literally translated into 'milkmen's village'. Another town on the banks of the river Brahmaputra. As one enters it from the National Highway, flanked by the paddy fields and teak forests, it emanates an old world charm although the number of vehicles on the road belies this. Personally I prefer to approach this place from Mornoi as the undulating land is covered with thick growth and one needs to cross a picturesque stream     .

                                       

A King fisher, Water Lilies And A Pond

     It is the quiet beauty of this town that emerges early in the mornings when the people are barely roused from their slumber. The lilies in the ponds where  the blue kingfisher repose; hummingbirds flitting in and out of the fragrant Kamini Kusum  trees; platoons of monkeys barging down from the Hulukanda hill and racing across the roof tops acting as raucous alarms; the quiet afternoons caressed by the river breeze on warm sultry days with rumbling clouds darkening the evening sky. 

    The culture here has more of neighbouring Bengal's influence. It is evident in their dialect, food habits or the folk songs. The food is more spiced up as compared to their Upper Assam counterparts. Freshly ground cumin paste and mustard paste find their way into the dishes more often. And every Goalporiya worth his salt is a gourmet especially when it comes to fish. You will often find them in animated discussions about the best way to prepare a particular type of fish, of which the Brahmaputra gives them in abundance. 

                                       

Moored Boats

           The earthy Goalporiya Lokogeet ( folk song) with foot tapping rhythm and absorbing melody mostly speaks of love, longing and separations. Frequent allusions to elephants and mahouts ( elephant trainer) suggests that this area once abounded with pachyderms, raised and reared for various activities, mostly lumbering. 

  "Are gaile ki ashibe, mur mahout bondhu re!..."

" Bachcha haathi pushilom ami, dudho bhato diya..." 

       A lesser known archaeological site is located at Sri Surya Pahaar, 12 kms away from Goalpara, that is believed to have 99,999 carvings of Shiva  by Saint Vyas in his bid to make a second Kashi that has 100000 of them. Apart from an annual fair that takes place here  it is frequented more as a picnic spot during the winters. Sri Surya Pahaar is also witness to evidence of three religions Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism. It is a wonderful place to climb and potter around these relics shrouded in dense growth. 

      Then there is the Paglatek Shiv temple, 7 kms away, bang on the river Brahmaputra. As one climbs down to reach this shrine situated on a rocky surface, the sound of the river gushing by and the sight of it fills one with a quietude. I've always found this place soothing not in the religious context but for it's location. 

     Has any place ever enticed you with it's quiet charm?

This post was written for A to Z Challenge 2014