The village sarpanch (head chief) married an Austrian anthropologist, and now they host tourists eager for 'the village experience', hence adding to the source of the villagers income.
Kunwarji (as the sarpanch was called) himself drove us up there in a red minivan that rattled and shook and was alien to any comfort a car might offer, but it was the type of vehicle that could survive the hair pin bends and rough terrain of those mountains. The chief was a very hospitable and accomodating host. But by the number of questions we pestered him with, I'm sure he must've concluded that we were a bunch of nosy parkers. We got to Sainji in about an hour and well after dark. Kunwarji showed us to our rooms and then left, we were to meet him for dinner at his house. Our accomodation consisted of a bedroom with three beds and a coffee table, a tiny kitchen equipped with what hoteliers would term as a TCMF (Tea Coffee Making Facility) as well as a fridge. The floor was made out of wooden planks that joined together and had a friendly creak. A basic bathroom that was outside on the adjoining terrace. All of this built about six feet off the ground.
The rooms were brightly painted and the furnishings becoming, colorful and comfortable. The doorways were low with thick wooden old fashioned doors. And tiny light bulbs were mounted on the wall for illumination while a charming wrought iron candle lamp adorned the coffee table.
After washing up a bit, we hurried to Kunwarji's home and on the way became the centre of attraction to the local women, who were gathered in the village square after a long days work. We found Kunwarji watching the news and chatted with him, while Nirmala (his niece) bustled about in the kitchen.
Dinner consisted of dal (pulses), rice, mattar paneer (cottage cheese and peas) and salad – tasty and wholesome. We walked back to the house and for dessert had peanut butter cookies that the sarpanch's wife had graciously made for us.
Then we discovered spiders.
Now I am not prejudiced against creepy crawlies and if they stay out of my way, I'll stay out of theirs. Lizards, I find, are usually sensible and scramble around in high places, unconcerned with human activity. Spiders on the other hand are too inquisitive for their own good and will climb any object that is stationary long enough, and then attempt to stake a web on it. However any movement on the object of their homestead and they'd scurry off into the nearest dark recess.
Our bedroom, as we found out, was decidedly the permanent residence of a throng of black faced, hairy legged and beady eyed spiders and compared to their city cousins, they were whole lot less bashful of our presence.
The thought of one of these arachnids crawling up my leg, gave me the creeps and so I tucked my pyjamas into my socks securely and got under a blanket while Danielle bravely swatted and shooed the visible ones.
We watched a movie till one am, interrupting the show whenever a spider poked its head out. When we finally went to bed, I fell asleep and predictably, dreamt of spiders. Since my bed was lined against the wall (spider territory), my slumber was fitfull, and I finally awoke at 3:30, exhausted and nervous.
I pulled back the curtain and peeked out of the window near my head, - and gave a gasp of delight! The patch of darkness that was visible sky was covered with stars. I threw back the covers. scrambled out of bed and tiptoed to the screendoor, out into the night.
The sight of millions of stars gleaming brightly out of the vast expanse of the night sky was awe inspiring. Never before had I felt so tiny and insignificant. I stuck my head in the door and whispered excitedly to bleary-eyed Katie “You HAVE to come see this” I pleaded.
She stepped out and we both gazed at the “holes in heavens floor” in silence.
“That's it, I'm sleeping out here on the terrace, anyway those spiders wont let me sleep in my bed.” I said.
“You're sure ?” asked Katie, “there maybe worse things than spiders out here, though I'll stay with you awhile before I go back in”
I dragged the quilts and pillows off my bed and Katie helped me arrange them on the floor outside. The night had grown cold so we curled under the blanket and Katie pointed out the different constellations as they charted their course across the heavens.
I witnessed my first falling star, and then another and another... which behaved as though they had been commissioned to be elsewhere in the universe and were hurrying to their new post, way off into the distance.
After a while Katie tucked me in and went back to bed, but sleep still evaded my eyes and I was content just to lie there and observe. A large bat swooped over where I lay, the sounds of the night were magnified – a cricket chirped nearby, the hoot of an owl echoed in the still night, the squeal of a small animal as it became prey...
The sky was bigger, uninterrupted by towering buildings, it stretched from horizon to horizon with no clouds and no moon and the stars so bright they seemed close enough to touch.
I finally knew what they meant when they said that the darkest hour is before dawn. I watched the stars fade gradually and the sky turn pale. The air was clean and sharp. The village still deep in sleep.
As all traces of darkness withdrew and the sky grew brighter by the moment, a cock crowed lustily in defiance, shattering the silence that had fallen just before dawn. And as if they were holding their breath till then, a chorus of birds erupted into song, filling the morning air with their twitter. Its was wonderful!
I could now hear the villagers stirring in the homes nearby. Wood smoke gently rose from the chimneys and soon the scent of fresh tea wafted on the morning breeze. I stretched and rose, wide awake and content to be so. I tiptoed in and rummaged around until I found my camera, then wrapping myself in a shawl I crept up the rickety iron ladder to the roof and waited for the sunrise, all the while being serenaded by warbling birds that thickened the neighbouring bougainville.
The sun took its own sweet time to rise over the surrounding hills, letting the sky brighten some more before it peeked over the horizon, blindingly bright and comfortingly warm, reminding me of the verse “ it bursts forth like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.”
I didn't want to put the camera down, every where I turned there were 'pictures' begging to be taken. As I was happily clicking away, I noticed a little school boy with a fresh scrubbed face, dressed in a clean white shirt, grey shorts and tie and weighed down with a bulging school bag, trudging out of the village. I hurried down to the bedroom, pulled on my sandals, splashed my face clean, clutched my hair into a ponytail and headed out once more with my camera.
I was going to school again!
Children now stumbled out of the houses in groups of threes and fours, and made a beeline for the hill across the fields. I followed, pausing every now and then to take a picture while keeping an eye on the “stragglers”. Within a while I discovered that climbing a hill with a camera in one hand is no joke, especially when you want to stop to use it, every few feet on your way up.
Just before I reached the top, I came upon a ledge that housed a cattle shed – the apparent residence of two plump brown milch cows and one very white goat, all of them looked mildly surprised at my intrusion, but continued chewing their breakfast of hay just the same. I could think of no explanation as to why the cattle shed needed to be situated at such a precarious location, maybe the animals were fussy and demanded a 'penthouse' view – demonstrated by the panorama that lay before them.
I continued my climb up the natural narrow 'staircase' that had probably been trodden into existence by generations of school going kids. The white washed school house was perched right on the top and already there were many students loitering around in the adjoining yard. A pink cheeked girl was braidng the hair of her younger sister and fastening each braid with red ribbons just above the ear. Apparently it would still be a while before school began. I chatted with them for a bit though they were shy, and would only answer, not ask. They were happy to pose for a few snapshots, however the ringing school bell insisted we put an end to our photography session.
After waving goodbye, I began my descent to the village, stopping only to coax a disdainfull kitty to humor my fervid photographic instincts. The feline ignored me totally and continued licking herself clean, with complete disregard of my clicking camera. I now own pictures of a rural cat bathed in bright morning sunlight and evidently engrossed in practicing yoga.
The trip down was just as delightful as it had been on my way up, and definitely less exerting. The courteous teacher on his way up to the school bid me a goodmorning as he hurried on. Was he late? Or had the kids played a prank to get rid of me? I really didn't know and, on second thought did not want to find out.
By the time I got home it was around seven o'clock and I headed straight for my bed, spiders or no spiders, I needed some sleep!
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