Atiya, the polio-affected, lonely, only child of the ever-busy Range Officer Ram Sardare, is impetuous, headstrong and has a mind of her own. Fed up with the loneliness, her school, and the world at large, she embarks on a secret quest into the thick forest adjacent to the sanctuary where she lives. With close brushes with wild boars and a hairy, scary cave mammal — which one she is not sure of (even we would have liked to know what it was) — and with the wild, bad-tempered rogue elephant Rangappa lurking about just after killing a German photographer, it is a dangerous affair for a delicate girl with weak limbs, dependent on a walking stick.
During one such escapade, Atiya hears a heavenly flute music in the depths of the forest. Like a lure, she is utterly, completely engulfed by it and yearns to play it. But how would she learn to play the flute when her dear father, having lost his beautiful wife to the dancing profession, had banned the sound of music in their house? What role does a bitter old man and his saint-like daughter dwelling in the jungle cottage have in Atiya’s life? What happens when music communicates stronger messages to them, including the old man and Rangappa — one who could not see and the other who could not speak, yet have a mysterious connection?
As for the author, who best to write this mine of information on the dynamics of the jungle, wildlife and music than Leela Gour Broome, someone who has lived in a tea plantation for nine years and has been conducting nature and environmental camps for kids and who has also been a music teacher? No wonder she has taken the best of both worlds.
A growing-up-kind of a book, any teenager can easily identify with Atiya’s restlessness at an age where she is expected to make a decision. Also, Broome very sensitively portrays the struggles of a disabled child as she copes with a class full of boisterous children whose idea of fun is to push and shove each other. Atiya never elicits sympathy but wins accolades for her carefree soul soaring high above her handicaps.
Like Ruskin Bond, who’s opinion appears on the cover, Broome’s work teems with non-preachy digs at serious issues like poaching and the ruckus caused by tourism, manifesting a profound love for the wild. For example “Atiya knew that the Kings (King Cobra) were rare and she would cringe if she heard about someone having caught and killed one. She just hoped that the Kings would be saved from extinction,” or sample this “Why do we humans think we can reason things out better than the animals who share the Earth with us?”.
Watch out for the lovely illustrations embellishing the covers and the eloquent drawings above the chapter heads are just as good. And the typography is a pleasure.
Broome paints the canvas brilliant with a rich, sensory narrative. The landscape and its ethos come alive in the pages that ring with the songs of hill mynahs and honey buzzards to the jungle fowls. One can hear the woodpecker’s tocktocks and feel the softness of the red velvet mite. Most of all, you can hear the enthralling flute too! The truly, extraordinary tale is beautifully told, emotional, involving and fun.
— sivasubbu.sundari@gmail.com