BANGALORE: The setting sun, a placid lake and a cup of hot masala chai: my justifications for not paying attention when Shaaz (the owner of the resort) came to ask if he should book me for the morning river safari. I looked up with a stupid grin on my face and managed a nod. He warned me that I had to wake up at 4.30 am to take the safari and if I had committed to it, I would have to pay the full fee even if I changed my mind later. It was when I was climbing into bed that it actually struck me that I had to wake up before sunrise, dress and go on a boat ride in the cold. "It will be an adventure," I thought and nodded off.
As expected I woke later than I was supposed to. The fear of losing my money loomed large, so I quickly got dressed, grabbed my torch and ran out. I was escorted by two hotel boys to a rather big jeep. "Aur koi nahi jaa raha? (is no else going?)" I asked rather anxiously, to which they shook their heads and without another word zoomed off. "Aap bahaut late hain. Prathna kijiye ki boat aapke bina naa chali jaye (pray that the boat doesn't leave without you)," said one of the boys as he drove like a maniac, zipping past fields, sleeping dogs, and men sipping their early-morning chai. These villages located at the mouth of Nagarhole National Park were still waking up from their slumber. It was almost 6 am. By the time we reached the boat, I was almost 10 minutes late.
I had just closed my eyes to enjoy the early morning quiet, when I was startled by a loud, 'Sat Sri Akaal'. I turned to meet the gaze of five young Punjabi couples and sighed. Your roots do follow you everywhere, I thought. Years of living in the northern part of the country and surviving loud relatives at family functions had not prepared me for this day. I have had a past history of boisterous companions on boats, like the time when a group of friends from a village in Haryana had certainly livened up my sailing trip in Goa. They had excitedly pointed to a parasail wing and compared it to a big swing in their village. They had even compared themselves to Pi (from Life of Pi) who had undertaken a similar journey on a boat, only his companion was a tiger! They had guffawed at their cleverness and my friend and I had survived those two hours trying hard not to laugh out loud. The buffoons had also bribed the boatman to let them jump into the sea at the end of the ride. As they had been amateur swimmers, they had frozen as soon as their bodies hit the waves. The boat owner had to finally intervene and save them from drowning.
I was brought back to earth by my current co-travellers who were excitedly pointing at a largish dead fish floating by. The incessant chatter started soon after. The morning calm was pierced by loud voices discussing the whereabouts of the big cat in chaste Punjabi. Tigers are important animals in these parts. Tourists seek them for pictures and poachers for their skin and bones. These vacationers wanted to take back stories of gallantry, like how one their kids put it, "Aan don sher nu, assi ni darde, vekh lange (let the tiger come, we are not scared of it). Every bush, every upturned log and even a wild boar became a tiger crouching silently. A fleet of cormorants were simply dismissed as wild crows.
Just as I was mustering up the courage to tell them to keep quiet, my chattering companions suddenly went silent, hid their cameras under the seat and stood up with folded hands. Amazed, I looked back and saw that they all were looking in one direction with bowed heads. "Uss boat mein humare Guruji hain (our Guruji is in that other boat)," said one of the men. I sat there, stupefied. What nature couldn't do, faith had. I silently thanked the babaji. It was because of him that peace reigned again, sending me into a meditative mode. The next two hours were spent following Babaji's boat around the river in silence. Whenever his motor boat, decorated with bright marigold flowers, came close, my companions would stand up, hands folded, heads bowed, lips pursed. Our companions in Goa had been similarly humbled as soon as they had been rescued from the sea with bruised limbs, shattered confidence and minus their new Ray Bans.
We were told not to 'expose' our cameras. Our boat couldn't go near the shore and our protests were silenced with angry glares. And why not? After all, the couples had come all this way, only for this human's darshan. They didn't care about the birds, the deer, or the cats. They had seen "bigger crows" perched outside their rice fields. But I personally wanted to 'thank' Babaji. He had allowed me the peaceful moments when I let my gaze wander, collecting memories. And as we neared the shore, Babaji looked at us one last time and I raised my hand to Jai ho Babaji ki!