A Walk On The Bridge

A walk on the bridge September 12, I am temporarily holed up in the forest rest house at Madla. Great location, - just by the side of the fast flowing Narmada – the holy river that emerges a couple of hundred Kms from a sal grove tucked away in the hills of Amarkantak . Rains this year have been erratic, instead of pouring in June and July the clouds have begun to yield after mid August. And it has been raining for last four days. Day 1 The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof has ceased and I am ready for a walk. My evening walk – through the wooded FRH where flying foxes are hanging upside down from the tall eucalyptus trees around the gate, onto the main road of Madla towards the river bank - has begun. Ladies in colorful sarees are making for the banks to offer evening prayers, strollers like me are heading towards the 800 meter long old bridge, on which only pedestrians and two wheelers are permitted as the new and taller bridge takes care of the heavy traffic. The gurgling, roaring river that flows from under the old low-lying bridge has obliterated all other noises and I suddenly feel as if there is no one else around – it is only me and the river. A little ahead on the bridge, at those points where the bridge is a slightly wider, some rustic anglers are at the job- legs dangling from the bridge, reed- made rods in one hand with plastic lines thrown into the river, they wait patiently for small fishes to take their bait. Some of them are sans rod, only a reel of line and bag of worms; they too seem engrossed in their meditative task; And then I meet a lone wire- tailed swallow coolly perched on an iron peg jutting out from one of the pillars of the new bridge. He is only a few feet away from me, staring at me and making some tee-tee-wee-tee music but seems only remotely interested in me , perhaps he knows that between him and me there is 10 feet of fast flowing river. I am cursing myself for not carrying my camera. Beyond the new bridge a swarm of swallows is in constant action, tirelessly flitting and dashing in the air. I concentrate in the void between the river and the sky and know immediately why swallows are dancing so frantically – there are hundreds of dragon flies fluttering and hovering over the river beyond the new bridge. Little ahead, almost near the opposite bank, some urchins are getting adventurous – they are in the water trying to brave the flow of the river. They perhaps feel safe with a covey of onlookers watching them and as several rocks that jut out of the river provide an escape route to the bank in case of an emergency. Now as I reach the other bank a cacophony of crackle attracts my attention, I look up and see hundreds of starlings both the common and the pied variety, and a good number of crows adorning the branches of a very tall eucalyptus tree talking to each other without punctuations. Perhaps this is the time for them to meet, discuss the day's event and retire

for the day. Sounds good, I turn back and head for my room and my bed, thinking – I am going to return tomorrow morning – a walk on the bridge is so compellingly attractive. Day 2 Sleep soon bid farewell without waiting for the alarm to go off at 5.30 a.m. 6 glasses of water down my intestine and a cup of very hot tea, and after a dash to the toilet I am out of my den and walk into the mist that is enveloping the courtyard. Where is the river that flows only a few yards away? Am I in Shimla? Why the scene is so different today? Then I realise, the river is under a thick cloud of mist. Mist in September? But yes it is there. I am on the road now; the main road appears like a black python that is still sleepy and sluggish, only a few female forms are walking towards the river with flowers, garlands and puja ki aarti. I am following them; as they walk towards the ghats I amble down the time tested old guy – the veteran, worn out bridge. Some lone morning walkers, some with friends and some with family and a guy with his dog are already on the foggy bridge. I can see only a few feet of the river but its roar fills my ears. Through the mist I also see silhouettes of fishermen rowing their boats and preparing to cast their nets, the anglers too are taking their position. I am searching for the peg on the new bridge where I had met the swallow yesterday. I am thinking- it may be a bit farther on – and then the swallow obliges me, it is on another peg just few feet away from where I am standing but unlike yesterday he is not in a mood to rest, he goes off, comes back and then goes off again to joins his flock foraging beyond the new bridge. I wonder why the swallows have chosen to build their nest under the old bridge that often gets submerged whenever heavy downpour swells the river, why don't they nest under the newer, taller bridge that offers several safe places underneath. I have no answer, may be I would ask a birder. I move on and through the haze, suddenly I catch glimpse of a bird constantly wagging its tail and then sweet melody flows into my ears from two sides- one from the bird sitting on one of the pillars of the new bridge and another from its mate perching on a rock that juts out from the misty river. I know them; they are our own white browed wagtails. I have reached the other side and now it is time to return, bathe and get ready to move off to Pench tiger reserve - for a walk on the jungle road? – I hope so. Suhas Kumar 15.9.2009