The Odisha Odyssey

Chapter - 29 : Find

'Gurai roshogulla,' I made a face as we sat in the car. 'Where art thou?' 

We'd woken up very early, since this was the farthest we would have to travel in our entire trip. We nibbled silently on oranges, peanuts and homemade chikki. 

'Gurai roshogulla,' I proclaimed again, as we exited Bhubaneshwar. 

Mama turned back. 'I'll give you a good kick right up your roshogu...'

'There's this place called Pahala, en route to Cuttack.' Aunty jumped in, saving me. 'If anyone will have those, they will. An entire line of 20-30 shops, all selling freshly made sweets. You'll love it.'

'Always lying in wait for food,' Mama narrowed her eyes at me.

By Manojiritty - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51364577

The Indian cormorant or Indian shag (Phalacrocorax fuscicollis). This cormorant fishes gregariously in inland rivers or large wetlands of peninsular India and northern part of Sri Lanka. It also occurs in estuaries and mangroves but not on the open coast. After fishing, cormorants go ashore, and are frequently seen holding their wings out in the sun. All cormorants have preen gland secretions that are used ostensibly to keep the feathers waterproof. Humans have used cormorants' fishing skills in various places in the world. Archaeological evidence suggests that cormorant fishing was practiced in Ancient Egypt, Peru, Korea and India, but the strongest tradition has remained in China and Japan, where it reached commercial-scale level in some areas. In a common technique, a snare is tied near the base of the bird's throat, which allows the bird only to swallow small fish. Larger ones are caught in its throat, which the fisherman helps remove.

Cormorants feature in heraldry and medieval ornamentation, usually in their "wing-drying" pose, which was seen as representing the Christian cross, and symbolizing nobility and sacrifice. For John Milton in Paradise Lost, the cormorant symbolizes greed: perched atop the Tree of Life, Satan took the form of a cormorant as he spied on Adam and Eve during his first intrusion into Eden.

In some Scandinavian areas, they are considered good omens; in particular, in Norwegian tradition spirits of those lost at sea come to visit their loved ones disguised as cormorants. The symbolic liver bird of Liverpool is commonly thought to be a cross between an eagle and a cormorant.

I grinned and waited. After ten painful minutes, Pahala arrived. I teleported out of the car and was at the nearest shop before Aunty had opened the door.

She and the shopkeeper started talking, and my smile wilted. None of them made the heavenly thing, and he knew of no one else that did. He offered me a fresh one, dripping with sugar syrup. I gobbled it whole, and my smile returned.

'Well played. But tomorrow, gurai roshogulla?' I asked Aunty. 'Yes,' she said calmly. 'We'll find a place.' 

We got some twenty packed for the trip and went on. I ate one everytime I thought of gurai roshogulla to keep away the sadness. After crossing Cuttack, we stopped for a proper breakfast. It was a tiny, frugal place - with medu vadas, daal vadas, rasabali and chhena poda on the menu. The sky turned fifty shades brighter as we ate silently, just observing the hubbub of the village.

We packed more chhena poda for the road, and Mama went across for some paan. 'Sweet paan, no supari,' she told him. 'No supari?' he squawked and went about making it resignedly. Me and Ma looked at each other - we'd lost all respect in his eyes.

'How much?' Mama mumbled, taking the tiny hollow betel leaf, afraid of the answer. He scowled at us, like we'd rejected his birthday present and accepted only the wrapping paper. 'One rupee,' he said dejectedly. It looked like he didn't even want to charge us.

'Err, we don't have change,' Mama said sheepishly. The shopkeeper adopted a 'you shittin me right now?' look and stared at us, until I scrambled and produced a one-rupee coin.

We walked away very fast and sat in the car, chewing on our leaves.

Chapter - 30 : Green

'Okay, the road is really bad. But on the bright side, we'll go slower and see the landscapes properly.' Uncle smiled at us. 'Gets better everytime we go towards the coastline.'

'We're in an ecotone right now,' Mama turned and told me. 'It's like a transition zone between two major ecosystems. Lots of fascinating phenomenon happen at such meeting points. You see a visible change in the appearance of certain plant species, and even the fauna adapts to give rise to a new sub-species. Estuarine mud-flats, reed beds, mangrove forests...all ecotones. Half of Odisha is an ecotone. Luckily, these conditions can support organisms from both the individual biomes too - hence, you see a lot of variety and abundance of flora and fauna.'

'Makes sense,' I nodded. 'It's like how you see the maximum vegetation in the twilight zone between the Western Ghats and the southern peninsular plains, since those areas can support both deciduous and evergreen vegetation.'

'Hybrids,' she continued. 'Stronger than the parents. But stupider - like you and Bilal,' she laughed and pulled my ear.

By Charlesjsharp - Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64632460

The pied myna or Asian pied starling (Gracupica contra). They are often seen within cities and villages although they are not as bold as the common myna. Both sexes sing. They forage in fields, lawns and on open ground feeding on grains, fruit, insects, earthworms and molluscs usually taken from the ground. Like many other starlings, they often use a prying or gaping action, piercing soil and then opening apart the bill to dislodge hidden food. An instance of interspecific feeding, where an adult of a common myna fed a young pied myna has been reported. The ability of these mynas to mimic human voices made them popular as cagebirds. The Sema Nagas will not eat this bird as they believe it is the reincarnation of a human.



'Even this trip is an ecotone, then,' Aunty quipped sagely. 'The confluence of two families, giving rise to a whole new dynamic, with its own beauty and variety.'

'Ahahaha...' Mama praised, raising her hands in appreciation. I could almost hear a sitar flourish in the background. Both Uncle and Aunty laughed.

'Weren't you trying something like this in college, Danish?' Papa asked me from the front seat. 'Music and dance in a video, together, all original?'

'Yes, collaborations.' I said sheepishly. 'It fizzled out grandly. Actually my co-conspirator is in Bhubaneshwar right now - Nityasa.'

'Oh yeah, she was there with the others bidding you farewell, when we came to Pilani to take you back home.' Mama remembered. 'Back then, I thought none of them were your close friends because you didn't hug any of them.' Mama looked pointedly at me.

'Stop with the guilt,' I covered my face. 'I'll meet her tomorrow. And anyway, she's not one to get pissed off over hugs.'

'Or fizzled-out collaborations?' Papa asked.

'That topic, I'll avoid,' I said as everyone laughed.

We looked out the window. We were following the river Mahanadi, its quiet roar guiding us towards its tryst with the ocean. The wetlands flanked us, and the telephone lines gave way to paddy fields and reed beds.

Water hyacinths and white lotuses grew abundantly here, appearing in sporadic patches throughout our journey.

We sat for hours in a daze, not realizing when the forests had crept up on us. When I came back to my senses, we had crossed the Brahmani river and were entering the Bhitarkanika forest.

Chapter - 31 : Land

'Okay, where is it...' Papa pushed up his spectacles and looked down at the Google Maps screen. 'Hey, this red balloon is covering all of Gupti, how do we go there?'

'Papa, zoom in,' I called from the back. 'Actually just press Start, the lady will tell you everything. Follow the voice.'

'Yes, the lady is always right,' Mama said, and both ladies dissolved in victorious giggles.

So we followed the route, but something was going wrong. We were going closer and closer to the mud plains and the coast, and away from the forest. The Google Maps madam spoke on confidently, until we were standing at the doorstep of a tiny hamlet, with a kachcha road that a tricycle couldn't have squeezed into.

The landscape was really unique. The villages looked like islands in muddy water, with a gauntlet of palms and coastal trees creating a boundary that kept them from getting inundated during high tide and heavy rains. The roads had patches of soil strewn around, which meant the ocean had probably come up till here in the recent tides.

We back-tracked and took a U-turn along a curved road, going towards a wider path.

By Andreas Trepte - Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10610115

The pied avocet (Recurvirostra avosetta). The genus name is from Latin recurvus, "curved backwards" and rostrum, "bill". Avocets have long legs and they sweep their long, thin, upcurved bills from side to side when feeding in brackish or saline wetlands. Members of this genus have webbed feet and readily swim. Their diet consists of aquatic insects and other small creatures. They nest on the ground in loose colonies. In estuarine settings they may feed on exposed bay muds or mudflats. The pied avocet is the emblem of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds.

'Make a U-turn and continue along the same...' the Google Maps lady jumped in, sensing she was losing control.

'Oye chup,' Papa said irritably and closed the app. 'Let's ask that schoolgirl on the cycle.'

Even our driver Chintu had difficulty conversing with her - how quickly dialects changed within a state - but she simply motioned for us to follow her, and we did.

She led us to an intersection that opened up to a highway of sorts, and pointed us in the right direction, going off in the opposite one. We thanked her and sped off - it was almost late noon.

Soon, the road curved towards our OTDC guest house, and we could see the estuary to our right. This was the place. We all cheered and collected our bags.

'Well, one thing is certain. The lady is not always...' Uncle started, his voice tapering off as Aunty looked at him.

Chapter - 32 : Open

'Welcome Sir, Madam,' the innkeeper said graciously, taking our bags. 'Gupti is privileged to get some guests at last.' I detected a subtle tone of desperation on the last word, that didn't bode well. Were we the first people to try this place?

He opened the door and took us to our rooms. They were pretty spacious and comfortable, albeit with a slight vibe of haunted hospital. The flickering yellow tube-light didn't help.

'I'll arrange tea for you.' He gave a wide smile and disappeared. 'Nice guy,' Mama said, and everyone nodded. 'Unless he murders us all in the night so we can stay here forever,' she said to me on the side, and we both laughed a guilty laugh. Mummy always told her darkest thoughts only to me and my brother.

'It's too late for the ferry now,' one of the boat operators told us over tea. 'But you can start early morning. We'll see lots of birds and crocodiles. You can relax till then.'

My family wasn't one for relaxation, though, and we set off to explore.

'Wow, look at these flowers,' Papa said, stopping just outside our guest house. 'We call this guldaudi in Urdu.'

We went outside and walked along the road, peeking at the vast plains and the dimming sun through the tree cover.

'Razi, come here, fast!' Mama whispered furiously, standing dead still near a paddy field. 'Which bird is that?'

'That,' Papa squinted. 'It's a stork, definitely. Oh, look at its beak. Yes, that's an open-billed stork. Nice catch.' He patted Mama on the back and raised his camera. 

By Charlesjsharp - Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64632463

The Asian openbill or Asian openbill stork (Anastomus oscitans).  It is greyish or white with glossy black wings and tail and the adults have a gap between the arched upper mandible and recurved lower mandible, which is thought to be an adaptation that aids in the handling of snails, their main prey. In colonial India, sportsmen shot the openbill for meat, calling it the "beef-steak bird". 

Across the road, was the tiniest puppy I'd ever seen. I went to it and petted it for a while, keeping a watch out for its mother; at this size, she would be at her protective maximum. The pup jumped up into my hand and I carried it around, rocking it to and fro. When I put it down, it stumbled a little and fell, dizzy from the swinging. It got back up and started playing with my shoelaces. Younglings were always so friendly; open to friendship with anyone.

The sky had crossed the peak of its brightness, and now was following the sun back into the horizon. We had about an hour or two of daylight remaining.

'Let's go to that village we came across.' Mama called out. 'We can see the sunset from there.'

And so we went off, chasing the sun.

Chapter - 33 : Water

We drove back along the same road, remembering the route this time, and entered a tiny, gravelly lane that led right up to the estuary. We walked slowly from there, keeping a lookout for the tiniest sign of life. There would be no luck with avian life, since they would all be roosting now. But hundreds of crabs scuttled in and out of the holes created by mangrove roots. I waited by one patiently.

'We'll see a lot more in the actual island forests,' Mama told me. 'This is just a partial habitat. It must be drying up in the early summers or during low tides. I can tell from the cracking of the soil.'

We walked towards the end without much sightings, apart from a dove, pond heron, treepie and possibly a purple-rumped sunbird.

We came to a dock of sorts, with a tiny boat that was bringing back villagers from the other side. There were no oars - instead, I saw a thick rope strung across both ends for one of the passengers to pull on.

There were more water birds on the other side, including a little egret, sandpiper, redshank and a white-breasted water hen. 

By Lip Kee Yap - originally posted to Flickr as White-breasted Waterhen (Amaurornis phoenicurus), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7626922

The white-breasted waterhen (Amaurornis phoenicurus). They are often seen stepping slowly with their tail cocked upright in open marshes or even drains near busy roads. They are largely crepuscular in activity and during the breeding season, just after the first rains, make loud and repetitive croaking calls. Local names of this bird are often formed by onomatopoeia (based on the sound it makes), for example ruak-ruak in Malay and korawakka in Sinhala; although differently formed local names are also not uncommon, such as "Dahuk" in Bengali (used in Bangladesh and the Bengali-speaking areas of India) and "Dauk" (ডাউক) in Assamese.

They landed on our side, and walked off towards Gupti; we joined them. There were schoolchildren and mothers and even cyclists, all coming from that tiny boat, like a clown car. They smiled at us as we waved, and one kid stared at us in fascination. The clouds seemed to float with us too, and we all strolled back along the same road; passengers from one dock to the next.

Chapter - 34 : Golden

The sky took all our attention now; a swirling mosaic of clouds, darkening hues and the dimming sun. There was another village, nested between the two patches of forests we had been walking perpendicular to. I ambled there for a while, looking at storks flying overhead and some perched on the tallest tree for miles around.

There was a tiny bund of sorts, and two swifts were chasing each other, weaving in and out of hollow tree trunks, branches and even among us. The light bounced off of them, making it part of the play; a twilight theatre of black and gold. 

By Chitrashanker - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=57213938

The black-hooded oriole (Oriolus xanthornus). It is a bird of open woodland and cultivation. Its food is insects and fruit, especially figs, found in the tree canopies where they spend much of their time. The black hooded oriole lives in common contact with humans in rural and urban India. A folk tale from Bengal has it that an unfortunate girl of a merchant family was tortured by her mother-in-law. Troubled by various incidents she smeared herself with turmeric paste and covered herself with a sooty earthen pot and killed herself. A goddess resurrected her as a black hooded oriole and a Bengali name for the bird is "benebou" or merchant's wife while another name is "haldi pakhi" or turmeric bird.

The villagers were gone. We stayed back, waiting until the sun had left, taking all its golden light with it. 

To the vanishing horizon, I have chased the day,

Yet when I face the sun, I have nothing to say,

I still hear this lament from the darkening sky,

Where were you going when I was saying goodbye?

I still don't remember what I used to believe,

For my thoughts are muddled by the clouds that won't leave,

But I run faster than anyone to keep them away,

To the vanishing horizon, I have chased the day.

I still don't believe what I used to remember,

All I recall is the cold, dark December,

But on the edge of tomorrow, I saw summer today,

Yet when I face the sun, I have nothing to say.

All those journeys - did they count for none?

Why did you run faster than everyone?

Did you chase down infinity only to fall shy?

I still hear this lament from the darkening sky.

Now I'm standing at the precipice with nothing but a smile,

But the sky I was chasing has been gone for a while,

And she's left nothing but a question and a sigh,

Where were you going when I was saying goodbye?

Chapter - 35 : Light

We went back to the guest house, tired, yet excited for tomorrow's visit to Dangmal and the inner mangrove forests. Night arrived fast, and the sky was inky black before we reached our abode.

'Dinner is ready,' our Hannibal Lecter materialized and told us as we were making our way up the stairs. 'Fish, prawns, rice, brinjal and roshogulla. Please Grace the table.'

I made a quick U-turn and proceeded directly to dinner, while my parents and Uncle-Aunty changed into warmer clothes. 

Our landlord served us very hospitably, even asking for feedback regarding the taste and variety of the cuisines. We all mumbled our approvals, focusing more on devouring the food than rating it - although that was a rating in itself. 

We got to asking him about the tourism in this area, and he told us this was the edge of the popular time of visit, so we would get peace and quiet and still see the major attractions. However, boat services became more scarce in such times, and we were lucky to have gotten a booking. 

'You might get clouds tomorrow,' he said, slightly dismally. 'On overcast days the birds tend to stay home and the crocodiles remain underwater. But the bright side is your trip will be easier.'

Mama looked at Papa with slight alarm. Damn the heat, they wanted to see whatever Bhitarkanika Sanctuary had to offer. Papa said in his usual ascetic manner, 'We'll see what we see. Let's not get despondent about what we cannot control.'

'We'll get up early for the birds,' Mama decided. 'Let's put all efforts from our side. We'll catch the first boat that goes to Dangmal.'

We wrapped up quickly and decided to sleep, even though it was just 9 pm. I'd gotten a room of my own because there was no facility for extra beds in one. Mama handed me my pillow. 'Get up at five,' she instructed. 'Sleep well, ma Cherie,' she said sweetly. 'Don't let the full moon bite.'

I smiled and collapsed on my bed. The moon was shining right onto my face, and there were no shutters - only mosquito netting. I stared out at the black and white nightscape; sleep was going to be difficult. 

By Shantanu Kuveskar - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37724453

The oriental magpie-robin (Copsychus saularis) - left, male; right, female. They are distinctive black and white birds with a long tail that is held upright as they forage on the ground or perch conspicuously. They are particularly well known for their songs and were once popular as cagebirds. It is the national bird of Bangladesh, where it is known as the doyel or doel (Bengali: দোয়েল). It is a widely used symbol there, appearing on currency notes, and a landmark in the city of Dhaka is named as the Doyel Chattar (meaning: Doyel Square). In Sri Lanka this bird is called Polkichcha.

Silent night, holy night, I hummed silently, hoping to sing myself to sleep. The moon rose until it was beyond my sight, and the moonlight had exiled me from its shroud. Sleep in heavenly peace, I hummed the last line, and went to my dreams as the moon said goodbye. 

Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.

Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/
Anjana's Blog: https://anjlifeexperiences.wordpress.com

Vedant's YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_-wTP-OKAF6HskDOqSeREw

Vedant's Instagram Page: https://www.instagram.com/vedantsapra/

The Odisha Odyssey

Chapter - 22 : Cattle

Me and Mama stood in the lobby, staring in alarm at the black aquarium.

'Should we, err, say something?' I bent to ask my mother, not taking my eyes off of the River Styx recreation.

'Excuse me,' she stomped to the reception. 'Not to put too fine a point on it, but the water's a tad murky, and I would be remiss if I didn't enquire as to the state of the fish in it.'

He stared at her blankly.

'Well it seems to me,' Mama's voice grew sterner, like she was reprimanding a governess for arranging the teacups a bit off, 'With the complexion of the aforementioned pool, your fish would either be floundering about in a limbo state or give rise to a patient zero of marine zombie-ism.'

'Bhaiyya paani ganda hai,' Uncle grunted.

'They like the darkness,' he responded tonelessly.

'Me too, fish, me too.' I mumbled, going to the aquarium. 'But that's no way to live.'

Mama burst out laughing. 'Everything becomes so meta with you,' she chided while pulling my cheeks, as I protested. 'Now pick up these bags.'

We went to the car and stuffed the bags and ourselves in like we were herding cattle.

Leaving the small city wasn't hard, and we were out among the fields and ponds in minutes. I was able to recognize drongos, bee-eaters and kingfishers in a flash; you always learnt fast when taught by your parents.

We turned into a tiny lane leading into a village, and were welcomed by a cow with a cattle egret sitting on it.

By Shagil Kannur - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53177772

The cattle egret (Bubulcus ibis). It is a white bird adorned with buff plumes in the breeding season. They often accompany cattle or other large mammals, catching insect and small vertebrate prey disturbed by these animals. The positioning of the egret's eyes allows for binocular vision during feeding, and physiological studies suggest that the species may be capable of crepuscular or nocturnal activity. Adapted to foraging on land, they have lost the ability possessed by their wetland relatives to accurately correct for light refraction by water.  Its Arabic name, 'abu qerdan', means "father of ticks", a name derived from the huge number of parasites such as avian ticks found in its breeding colonies. The Maasai people consider the presence of large numbers of cattle egrets as an indicator of impending drought and use it to decide on moving their cattle herds. The cattle egret is a popular bird with cattle ranchers for its perceived role as a bio-control of cattle parasites such as ticks and flies.

Chapter - 23 : Pond

We were at the Chausath Yogini temple, in Hirapur village. Yoginis are feminine divinities, said to personify different forms of subtle energies. This was one of those rare temples whose basic architecture was more akin to the Stonehenge than a Hindu temple; in the sense that it was simple, circular and open to the sky.

It had a low circular wall without a roof and a square shaped main shrine (Chandi Mandap) at the center, with beautiful and exquisitely carved female deities housed in each of the 60 niches on the inner wall of the circular structure.

There were two Dvarpalas on both sides of the entrance and nine Katyayanis in the niches of the outer wall. The Dvarpalas and Katyayanis embody wrath and anger and were possibly the guardians of this unique temple.

It was a dedication to Shaktism; the consideration of the universal force of creation, nurturing and destruction as feminine, and goddesses as various aspects of the same. I looked at my mother and couldn't help thinking it was true - after all that mothers do, why wouldn't it be so? And yet, all that men had done to women...insecurity? Or was it because we still had not evolved above the misuse of brute physical strength?

I looked at my parents, clicking photographs of a bulbul on a banyan tree outside the building; a balanced, yet dynamic energy, an amalgamation of Shiv and Shakti. I wondered when I would get to see a relationship as strong as what they had. Was it just our generation? Maybe it was simply a matter of time - the eternal Cupid.

I waved to some schoolchildren, and Mama was quick to take a photograph of their smiling faces - always interested in the emotional spectrum and anthroscape of any place. Papa spotted some villagers washing clothes and themselves in the pond, and I was reminded of Bhavnagar. We spent some time chasing a pond heron and a Holly Blue butterfly.

'There's an entire book on the 64 yoginis,' Mama said, coming up to me. 'I'm buying it. We can read it on our way to Bhitarkanika tomorrow.' I pointed to a temple, submerged in the pond, with nothing but the shikhara visible. 'That's a Kali temple, I heard.' Mama told me. 'She's the guardian deity to the yoginis - they said they only offer fish as prasadam to her.' I looked on, fascinated. It was right out of an exploration movie - the expedition to the underwater civilization. I wished I had some scuba gear to go explore the temple.

'Got some pretty good ones,' Papa declared, coming up to me and showing me the heron. The white streaks on the black-brown body caught the light perfectly, making it look as if the creature had materialized from the sun.

The Indian pond heron or paddybird (Ardeola grayii). They are distinctive when they fly off, with bright white wings flashing in contrast to the cryptic streaked olive and brown colours of the body. They are usually silent but may make a harsh croak in alarm when flushed or near their nests. The habit of standing still and flushing only at the last moment has led to widespread folk beliefs that they are semi-blind and their name in many languages includes such suggestions. In Sri Lanka the bird is called "kana koka"  which translates as "half-blind heron" in the Sinhala language. The phrase "bagla bhagat" has been used to describe a "wolf in sheep's clothing" or a hypocrite appearing like a meditating saint and occurs in a Marathi proverb. The paddy-bird also appears as a character in the Hitopadesha where, in one story, it takes injury to itself to save a king.




'There's a school for arts and culture here,' I told Mama, looking at the cottage in front of the temple, decorated with tribal Shola art and hangings spun from coconut fibre. 'Where was such a place when I was in school?' I pouted. Mama laughed.

'We can visit the Odisha state museum, before checking into the Panthanivaas guest house,' Uncle announced. 'We'll have lunch there and go on to the temples in Bhubaneshwar.'

'Sounds good,' Mama beamed at him, climbing into the car. 'Razi, chalo!' She called to Papa. He was busy, trying to get closer to the heron. He jogged back to us and got in. The last thing I saw was the pond heron flying back to the sun.

Chapter - 24 : Larger

The museum was larger than any I'd seen in a long time. The government had spared no expense - there was a separate ticketing house, a park for the hyperactive kids and even an inquiry desk. I ran to get the tickets and permits for the cameras, passing the row of hedges trimmed into anthropomorphic shapes. It reminded me of some of the structures in Lalbagh Botanical Garden, back in Bangalore. 

Most of the sections were fascinating, taking me back in time to the Indian sub-continent from the 16th century onwards, to the various regimes and influxes of culture. My parents had always been drawn to history, more than me - I just loved creating stories and alternate realities with it. The one fact that always left me in a daze was that every value, moral and ethic; every belief and ritual we respected had arisen centuries ago - probably mutated and gotten lost in multiple translations when it came to us. This body of thoughts and ideas was saved from the scrutiny of all except the conscious, child-like brain, which learns to keep its disagreements away in a secret book in the mind. 

Maybe, through abstract imagery, cryptic art and coded verses, they had tried to give us the key to that book. We tend to think only of our generation as the rebellious, open-minded one; challenging prevailing institutions and postulating newfangled concepts. It was possible these remnants, tokens of the past, echoed these very ideas; it was possible everything had been said and thought already, and we were its echoes. 

The five of us separated soon, lost in a daze, inside the chronological kaleidoscope. I could feel my parents revisiting all their concepts and trying to see reflections of those in the sculptures; some validation from the forefathers who seemed to have figured it all out. We stood among the runes and ruins in a vicarious attempt to listen to these echoes.

'The eternal truth can hide, behind a shape or symbol, or even a crooked line,

And I could paint the moon with words to explain God's design,

But to know it, you'll have to see for yourself,

See through these eyes of mine.'

We moved on to the tribal artifacts and handicrafts, getting a glimpse into the more recent past. Here was humankind; untouched, uncorrupted. A self-sustaining, symbiotic relationship with nature. Although their timeline was closer to home, their beliefs were more in sync with the prehistoric humankind, more pagan and attuned to Mother Earth. The luxuries of excess and idle time had not yet set in, and there was less contemplation, more action.

I saw a stall with Pattachitra and palm-leaf engravings, and chuckled at the prices they were selling the artworks at. This was just a tier above the root - I imagined these masterpieces selling for a fortune in auctions and displays abroad, and wondered how much was trickling down to the artist. We'd gone straight to the source (Raghurajpur) and been dazzled already. I waited near a bench for my parents. I looked out a window to see a larger egret perched on the rooftop.

By Rotareneg - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34172056

The larger egret (Ardea alba). It has a slow flight, with its neck retracted. This is characteristic of herons and bitterns, and distinguishes them from storks, cranes, ibises, and spoonbills, which extend their necks in flight. The great egret walks with its neck extended and wings held close. It feeds in shallow water or drier habitats, feeding mainly on fish, frogs, small mammals, and occasionally small reptiles and insects, spearing them with its long, sharp bill, most of the time by standing still and allowing the prey to come within its striking distance. The name of the venerable Shariputra, one of the Buddha's best known followers, signifies "the son of the egret" (among other possibilities), for it is said that his mother had eyes like a great egret.

Papa came and saw me looking at the geological excavations and mineral samples from the Odisha coastline, and beamed at me. 'There's so much information to grasp, all at once. Makes you think of how little we can ever know, doesn't it?'

I left with him to join the others. As I sensed the echoes fading away, I realized what Papa had said; so much knowledge, and so little time - and eventually, that knowledge would be lost, like short-lived sparks in a larger mind.

Chapter - 25 : Little

We deposited our bags in our rooms and went for lunch to the nearby canteen. I ordered fish and rice.

'That's it?' Aunty teased.

'Not feeling very hungry today, cause we've only been walking around. Actually this entire trip we've only been...' I was cut short by a slap to my scalp, courtesy Mama. 'Parading your stamina in front of us oldies?' She scowled at me. 

'Hey, I didn't even say anything - and did you just call yourself oldies?' I threw back. 

She mumbled a Gujarati taunt and turned to her freshly-arrived brinjal. I looked at my plate of rice and fish despondently - I had wanted a meagre meal, but this was ridiculous.

'Portions too little for you?' Aunty laughed.

'Karma,' Mama said in a quiet voice and immediately giggled away, choking on her morsel. 

Papa and Uncle soon joined us, and lunch was done in minutes. 'As you go towards bigger cities, the size decreases, but cost increases,' Uncle said jovially, sensing my thoughts. 'Don't worry, you have a lot more meals left to compensate.'

We left for the Khandigiri-Udaygiri caves immediately. It was right in the middle of the city; an urban haunt, like a park or shopping mall. The rocks were massive, cut away into a labyrinth of caves. I bolted up the steps constructed to reach them, and started climbing the boulders. Shankar would have loved this.

There wasn't much difficulty, except reaching one particular cave, which required swinging down with both hands and dropping at the right moment. Mama gave me the 'stop-trying-to-impress-the-girls' look and sat on a bench, looking up at me. She knew I'd been a lost cause since kindergarten, though.

I landed in the cave, and took a photo of the sun setting, from inside it. I hadn't quite figured out how to go back up. Then, I saw a small foothold on the lower side. I would have to take a quick jump with one foot from it and land on the opposite platform.

My leg was a little too short to step on the footing directly, so I had to perform two short jumps. I almost slipped on the foothold, but jumped quickly from it and made it, a trick I'd learnt from crossing streams through slippery rocks.

'Show-off,' Mama smiled at me. 'Learn parkour when you go abroad, you'll love it.' I grinned back. 'And shed some of this heavy muscle, work on agility and flexibility,' she reprimanded.

'I'm not that muscular, ma,' I protested, taking her bag. 'You should look at some of the...'

'Don't compare with your beefcake friends.' She cut in. 'For your height, you're fine. It's all these media perceptions of the ideal body, making the functionality obsolete. Stamina and nimbleness will go a long way.'

I agreed with her; although overcoming body complexes and rejecting cosmetic ideals for useful ones was the defining problem of our time.

We went back through the adjoining rocks, and I glimpsed a brief scenery through the nearby buildings. I ran down the rock-cut steps and arrived at a temple near the exit gate, where people were feeding peanuts and bananas to monkeys.

'In many places, especially Odisha, monkeys are considered to be created in the image of Lord Hanuman. Hence, people revere them.' Aunty told me.

We enjoyed some coconut water across the road. The seller was very friendly, chatting with us about where we were from and how life was in Odisha.

'It's actually not that bad,' he said, speaking about his occupation and earnings. 'People have this huge misconception about so-called lowly jobs. I earn enough to feed my family and send my kids to school. My daughter can speak in perfect English, which is required in today's world. She'll go places. I'm contented. It's just that you get no respect from the society unless you're in one of those elite jobs. I hope my kids learn not to care about that, and find something to do that is the right balance between their passion and abilities.'

We thanked him and made our way to the car. I felt renewed, and not just because of the coconut water. You find inspiration in the strangest of places.

A lesser egret came and perched upon the rocks. It matters not how big you are or where you come from; only that you fly.

By GDW.45 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31968375

The little egret (Egretta garzetta). It is a white bird with a slender black beak, long black legs and, in the western race, yellow feet. As an aquatic bird, it feeds in shallow water and on land, consuming a variety of small creatures. They use a variety of methods to procure their food; they stalk their prey in shallow water, often running with raised wings or shuffling their feet to disturb small fish, or may stand still and wait to ambush prey. They make use of opportunities provided by cormorants disturbing fish or humans attracting fish by throwing bread into water. On land they walk or run while chasing their prey, feed on creatures disturbed by grazing livestock and ticks on the livestock, and even scavenge.

Chapter - 26 : Grey

We went to old Bhubaneshwar, to visit the Baitala Deula temple. It was between two residential houses, kept like a Mahjongg piece among pawns on a chessboard. Most of the temples in Bhubaneshwar were like this, and the elements of the city had simply mushroomed around them.

Vaitala (meaning spirit or ghost) Deola (or Devalaya, a place where idols are worshiped) is a Tantrik temple, which was clear from the symbols on its outer walls. There was the usual line of idols dedicated to Chamunda ma (revered highly in Odisha), apart from sculptures of a Buddha-esque deity with a mace in right hand and an upward standing phallus.

'That's Lakulisha, mentioned in various Puranas. He is shown along with his four disciples – Kushika, Gargya, Kaurusha and Maitriya.' Mama schooled me. 'Lakulisha was an Ajivika, a wandering monk who had preserved the ancient occult knowledge. He restored Shaivism in its original form in the first century, re-established the pre-Aryan culture and re-united the various Shaivic sects under Pashupata, that had survived in semi-secrecy for centuries.'

'Hinduism has to be the most...diffracted culture, doesn't it?' I thought aloud. 'So many sects and beliefs coming under one umbrella, and yet as different as chalk and cheese.'

'And all allowed too,' Mama nodded. 'Lakulisha was an advocate of the pagan branch, which worshipped the creator as Pashupati, the herder of all animals, people, spirits, gods. This was part of the Mimansa school.'

'Lot of pagan beliefs still survive here, right?' I mused.

'That's true. The Pashupati Sampradaya was a mystical Shaivism, accepting the various dispositions of human nature, rather than controlling or codifying it. It believed the human body was a vital instrument to reach spiritual highs. Many other schools of thought abhorred these beliefs, and in modern times, they've been almost snuffed out.' Mama said wistfully. 'We fear ourselves too much.'

'But there is a need to curb some behaviour, isn't there?' I asked her. 'Some actions are harmful, either to you or others, in the long run or short run, and some are beneficial, kind. I know whether something is right or wrong depends a lot on the context and the voice of the majority, but once you cross that, there is right or wrong, right? There is a duality.'

'There is, but each has its own energy. Instead of right or wrong, think of it as black and white. The more narrowly you look, the more you see these tiny monochromatic elements making up any action or belief or thought, which clustered together, eventually make a person. These persons in turn make up a people. These peoples make up the world. Those who have a bird's eye view, a vision of the cosmic design, see a dynamic gradient of grey; opposite energies creating a balanced cosmos.' Mama explained. 'When you think of something as wrong you inherently mistrust this balance, and ironically most wrong things happen because of this very dogma that is instilled from an early age.'

'Kind of like the patterns on a grey heron's neck,' I chuckled.

The grey heron (Ardea cinerea). A bird of wetland areas, it can be seen around lakes, rivers, ponds, marshes and on the sea coast. It feeds mostly on aquatic creatures which it catches after standing stationary beside or in the water or stalking its prey through the shallows. In Ancient Egypt, the bird deity Bennu, associated with the sun, creation, and rebirth, was depicted as a heron in New Kingdom artwork. In Ancient Rome, the heron was a bird of divination that gave an augury (sign of a coming event) by its call, like the raven, stork, and owl. Roast heron was once a specially-prized dish in Britain for special occasions such as state banquets. The English surnames Earnshaw, Hernshaw, Herne, and Heron all derive from the heron, the suffix -shaw meaning a wood, referring to a place where herons nested.




The sky had turned grey, and it was time to go on to the Lingraj temple, situated in the very center of old Bhubaneshwar, before our day ended.

Chapter - 27 : Median

Similar to the Jagannath Puri temple, vehicles had to be parked somewhere slightly far off, and me, Mama and Aunty made our way from there barefoot, since there was no other place to keep our footwear. 

We passed through the metal detectors that seemed redundant, since they beeped all the time and no one really cared. 'We should bring a sword next time, just to see if they notice,' I muttered to Mama.

It was a wide, open space, with more grassy gardens and granite-paved verandas than the actual temple structures. There was a main Shiva temple, with around twenty smaller temples dedicated to the related deities.

I walked over to the edge of one of the parks, looking at the thick wall separating us from the city. I followed one of the pigeons that had flown in, till I was standing at the median of the temple complex. 

'Where do I go to find you?

In thunderstorms and locust swarms, they say you speak your ire,
In floral blooms and fallen plumes, they say your painter's hand,
Our fleeting lives, shot from your Ives, like sparks in a raging fire,
What do I do to fathom you, how many fathoms I've scanned...
I'm still picking up the clues and crumbs you've left behind you,
Where do I go to find you?

It's not a free eternity if you're waiting at the end,
But how do I demystify a universe that goes on?
Maybe this soul is meant to stroll to infinity and transcend,
The senses, reality's fences and find a larger pantheon,
They say that you're behind this all - but is there someone behind you?
Where do I go to find you?

Now I suspect that we affect this deceptive universe,
'Tis our belief there is relief in a higher absolute,
Is this delusion, an illusion - every thinker's curse?
Did you create me first, or did I dream you up en route?
When my lips had touched your name, had I unwittingly designed you?
Where do I go to find you?'

I walked back out, the two ladies in stead. One priest came to Aunty and insisted that she do a puja because some holy day was approaching.

'Arre, how can we do a puja today?' She put on a look of mock indignation. 'We haven't even bathed properly. We also have to get our family pundit's blessings. Tomorrow we'll have a proper bath and come - it will be an insult to God otherwise.'

'Yes yes,' the priest melted immediately. 'Of course, proper rites must be followed. I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.'

She gave him a huge smile and a namaskaram and followed us. Mama could barely control her laughter. 'It's muscle memory now,' Aunty chortled, joining my mother. 'This is a foolproof way to bamboozle these swindlers.'

And we left the temple, laughing to ourselves. I saw a median egret flap by us and settle on the stone wall, looking at the main temple, trying to find the same thing I was.

By GDW.45 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32238144

The intermediate egret, median egret, smaller egret, or yellow-billed egret (Ardea intermedia). This species, as its scientific name implies, is intermediate in size between the larger egret and smaller white egrets like the little egret and cattle egret, though nearer to little than large. Breeding birds may have a reddish or black bill, greenish yellow gape skin, loose filamentous plumes on their breast and back, and dull yellow or pink on their upper legs. Close up, the larger egret's gape line extends behind the eye, while the intermediate's is less pointed and ends below the eye. The intermediate tends to stalk upright with neck extended forward.

Chapter - 28 : Purple

Everyone was hungry, tired and sleepy at the same time. For the first time, I wasn't the only one placing hunger at the top of my woes. 

'There's a famous restaurant here, called Dalma. And yes, there is non-veg,' Uncle said hastily as I opened my mouth and shut it, embarrassed. 'Chalo Chintu!' He bellowed like he was signalling off a voyage.

It was a cozy, albeit dimly lit (precursor to shady) restaurant, with us being the only customers. So, Papa and Uncle were obviously under pressure to order fast; they pored over the menu with laser focus. Mama and Aunty stared at the TV, which had a cricket match going on.

'Excuse me, could you put on some news or something?' Mama turned around, calling to the waiters.

She saw them standing in single file - including the manager - staring at the sports telecast with their mouths open, like it was a B-movie scene.

'I think the TV's for them,' I whispered to Mama, in case I woke them up.

'Preposterous,' she huffed and got up. 'Excuse me,' she emphasized, and all the waiters came to life and scampered about like the headmaster had just paid their class a surprise visit, 'Can we change the channel to the news? And would you kindly send someone, if it's not too much of a bother? I think we've decided what we want to order.'

Upon hearing that, Uncle yelped, and scanned the menu faster.

Eventually, I went with mangsha tarakari, and Rohu besara. Mama ordered their famous Dalma, and Papa requested prawns in coconut milk gravy. The food arrived quicker than we thought ('How surprising, this entire trip the service has been so good,' Aunty exclaimed) and we finished it even sooner. The meat was succulent and creamy - Papa guessed they left the fatty parts in while cleaning it - and the gravy had the pungent mustard and garlic flavour, my favourite kind. The prawns was really unique; the cooking style was similar to the Kerala equivalent, but there were no tadka of curry leaves and urad dal in this - and the sourness of tamarind paste was missing. However, this version retained the raw essence of the prawns and the coconut, and it tasted like it had been cooked for longer, imbibing the flavours of the spices down to every fibre of the meat.

'Dessert?' Uncle suggested, rubbing his stomach. 'There's a sweets shop next door.'

We left for some roshogullas and jalebi rabdi, and climbed back into the car to deal with our next woe; sleep. 'Chintu, to the guest house,' Uncle pointed, visibly less captain-like, and yawned back into his seat.

'Bhitarkanika tomorrow. We'll see mangroves and crabs and birds and crocodiles. Yay,' Mama cheered silently, and both me and Papa smiled. I laid back my head and let the purple night reign.

By Yathin S Krishnappa - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21376476

The purple heron (Ardea purpurea). It is similar in appearance to the more common grey heron but is slightly smaller, more slender and has darker plumage. It is also a more evasive bird, favouring densely vegetated habitats near water, particularly reed beds. It is most active at dawn and dusk.  It is a secretive species.

Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.

Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/
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