Jharkhand Hospitality

 

Nov. 24^th, 2012

There are few things in life that are better than riding on the top of a bus. Especially when comparing it to riding on the inside of a hot, crowded, stuffy bus. Joe had said that the one thing he wanted to do in India was ride on the top of a train. I didn’t think that was going to happy, so I was glad that we were able to do the next best thing.

We were on our way to Jharkand, a state that used to be part of Bihar, but broke off a few years ago. Like Bihar, it is notorious for crime and frequent violence involving rebel groups, such as the Maoists and Naxalites. It is poor, unruly and wild. Unlike Bihar, however, it is lush and beautiful. There is a large Adivasi population, which is the blanket term for the indigenous or tribal people of India.

After an hour on the road the bus pulled over. We didn’t know why, but eventually we could safely assume that we would not be continuing on this bus. We hopped off the top and waited around with the crowd from the bus. I have no idea what was wrong with the bus, but it was going to take longer to fix than to wait for the next bus. This is where we met a nice guy named Kalendra, who we ended up referring to as Calendar. He didn’t speak much English, but it was clear he wanted to help us. We were confused about our situation, but he assured us that we just needed to wait. When the next bus did come, he helped facilitate the transfer of our fare from one bus to the other. He climbed on top of the bus and we were off again. We had not had many helping hands along the way, so we welcomed his company.

Kalendra/Calendar

Our bus top crew

At one point we picked up a man and two boys and they climbed onto the top with us. The man promptly laid down, put a scarf over his face and passed out. He was drunk and the kids were now in charge of getting them to where they needed to go. They looked depressed. Their difficult childhood was written all over their faces.

It was a long, slow day of buses, but at least we had great seats. That is, until we were told to go down into the bus for whatever reason. Later, as we stopped in a crowded town at dusk, there was some sort of commotion going on outside of the bus. Guys were yelling, there was some shoving, and it seemed that some men wanted to force their way onto the bus and the fare collector would not let them on. The bus suddenly sped off. I had sensed trouble with all the yelling, but it was hard to tell what was really going and whether we had narrowly avoided a more dangerous situation.

We arrived in the town of Daltonganj around 8:00. We knew nothing about it and there was no information about it in our guidebook. The streets were crowded, but it seemed that the day was quickly winding down and shops were beginning to close. We figured we would find a place to sleep near the bus station. We found one place with an air conditioned lobby and gaudy zebra-skin couches, but it was out of our price range. Another hotel was not open for foreigners. After walking a bit farther, a middle-aged man on a motorbike rode up to us. He wondered what we were doing there and if we needed any help. I had a good feeling about him, so I asked if he knew of any hotels nearby. He said it would be difficult since most hotels wouldn’t accept foreigners, but he would give us a hand. A friend of his met up with us and we walked to a nearby hotel. They were hesitant to have a foreigner, but our new friend convinced him. Then he told us the price. It was out of our price range, which surprised the man that was helping us. Of course he thought we had money since we were foreigners, and had taken us to one of the city’s nicer hotels. We didn’t want to be picky, but we had to tell the man that we just could not afford it. He said that something cheaper might not be too…hygienic. We explained that we didn’t care and were used to it. So we left and he eventually brought us to a grungy, poorly lit hotel. He definitely thought it was strange that we would prefer to stay at a place like this, but he genuinely wanted to help us. It was a unique experience for me in India to be welcomed to a town with genuine hospitality by strangers, rather than by hustlers trying to make a quick rupee. This proved to be a turning point in our trip. The hotel probably didn’t have their permit to accept foreigners, but they were happy to take the small amount of money we were willing to pay for a room. We thanked the man that had brought us here and he wished us well. The room was dim with a red tint to the light and plenty of bugs. We were surprised to find a TV in the room. It was a welcome diversion, even if it was Indian music videos with a thick mask of static.

Welcome to Daltonganj

The next morning we returned to the bus station to make our way to Betla National Park. The buses in that direction left infrequently, so it was nearly an hour wait. We didn’t know much about the park, but it looked like it was cheap and also had the possibility of a jungle trek on the back of an elephant. It is a large animal reserve that is host to tigers, elephants, leopards, bison, forests of teak, evergreen and bamboo, as well as eight local tribes. When we arrived at the park we checked into the government run guesthouse, which was cheap and clean. Most people that want to see the park as well as the nearby ruins rent a vehicle. Obviously this was out of our price range, but I joked to Joe that maybe we would meet some nice people that would let us join their tour. It seemed that we were the only people visiting the park, though, so this was obviously unlikely. Then a family in a land cruiser pulled up and parked in front of the guesthouse. We were sitting on the porch in front of our room, so we greeted them. The son of the family, who was probably in his thirties, spoke great English. He told us he had lived in northern California and worked in IT. His father also spoke great English and was something of a scientist, if I remember correctly, who did research on environmental degradation in Jharkhand and its effect on the local tribes. The family was from Kolkata, which felt like home to us at this point, so we had an immediate connection. Then, as luck would have it, they invited us on their trip through the national park. We gladly accepted the invitation.

Our first stop was actually not to the park, but to some nearby ruins that we had only heard about. It was a 16^th century fort where the seat of power for the Chero dynasty was held. The ruins were unprotected and had endured no restoration. For heavily visited sites, this circumstance will quickly lead to their degradation. At the same time, though, going to ancient sites that have been excavated, restored and roped off makes them feel false and sanitized. They evoke little emotion. This was the kind of ruin that just sat in the forested hills, without a fighting chance against the growth that slowly consumed it. We entered the fort through an arched doorway, then ascended some crumbling and steep stairs. I knew coming back down would be a challenge. Just like that we were standing on top of the huge walls that protected this ancient throne, overlooking the surrounding jungle. We could only walk along the walls for maybe fifty meters or so, as a lot of it had crumbled away. Parts of the wall were visible, though, popping up through the foliage in the distance. The total length of the walls on the edge of the fort was about four km.

Next, we drove to a different remote road that led us close to a river. The family wanted to go on a walk, so we got out and walked across a huge stretch of sand to get to the river. We were far enough away from the monsoon season that the river was fairly low and we saw a man wading across it, the water reaching his chest at the deepest point. It looked fresh and clean, so we took off our shoes and waded in a bit. If I had had something to dry myself with, I would have gone swimming, since this was probably the cleanest body of water I had seen in India.

Our final stop for the day was the actual park, where we hoped to see some wildlife. The family had arranged for a guide, which was required for entrance. My hopes were not high to see any wildlife, as I imagined a Land Cruiser would terrify most animals. The first thing we saw was not wildlife, but local tribes people collecting wood and carrying the bundles on their head. I could see that they were different than most of the Indians I had met, both culturally and racially. They had very dark skin, a rugged look as well as a kind of dress I had not seen before. A little further on we saw some deer. The guide was not that enthusiastic about his job and did little to explain things or try to spot animals. This didn’t bother me much since animal tourism is not my favorite thing, plus I was enjoying the free ride and the kindness of our hosts. Plus, the scenery around us was beautiful enough to satisfy me. We left the park after an hour or so having seen little. While the park is large, the accessible roads are very limited.

We headed back to our guesthouse and the family turned in for the night, presumably having a dinner that they had packed. Joe and I headed to the one place to get food nearby, as this was not a town as much as a junction near to a national park. We had met the guy that ran the food stall earlier in the day and while he spoke almost no English, we understood that food would take a long time after ordering it as it was made to order. Throughout our interaction with this man, almost every response to what we said was “tenkyou,” accompanied by a polite head nod. He said this so often that we ended up just referring to him as Tenkyou. I don’t remember what our meal was, but it was most likely some sort of fried bread served with spicy lentils. The wait was long, so we asked for tea. It was at that point that the guy offered us a drink of his locally made liquor. His demeanor of slightly muted enthusiasm, lethargy and the overuse of the word “tenkyou” was now explained by the fact that he was completely sauced. He was friendly enough though, so we joined him for a drink. Maybe he felt bad that the tea he had did not have milk, something that would have been unheard of in a more urban area. We had a few drinks with him before dinner, which was nice because it was actually getting kind of chilly outside. The night was quiet, and other than the few lamps and light bulbs that hung around the junction, it was completely dark. The meal was simple and perfect and we enjoyed Tenkyou’s company. He also had some sort of cakey sweets that I had never seen before. I bought several of them and they turned out to be one of the best sweets I had ever had in India. 

Tenkyou (right) outside his food stall