Araku

The sharpest turn on the road was the highest one on the hill. It was here that despite the consistent glare of the sun, the air turned abruptly sweet and cool. The warm gusts showering my face through the half open window had ceased. I could breathe easier now, I had been in a bus for over 17 hours. It was finally about to begin its descent into Araku Valley.

I had once attempted a trip to Araku about a couple of years earlier. I was pickpocketed at the Station while attempting to board an overpacked General Compartment on Godavari Express. It was my first solo trip to anywhere but it failed before it could even start.

On Thursday I began my second attempt at a solo trip to The Valley to finish unfinished business. My friend and longtime travel companion - the one who almost made it to Pondicherry before passing out on the hostel steps - had similar plans of finishing his trip. So off we set after the day's classes got over; he heading south, and myself heading north. 

My journey commenced with a 14 hour bus ride to Vishakhapatnam from where I took another bus to Araku Valley. The latter ride is roughly 5 hours through winding hilly roads. Upon reaching Araku, I promptly looked for a cheap place to dump my backpack and clean up. It turned out that Araku's lodging expenses are slightly high. I got a really shabby room with an Indian toilet and tap and bedbugs for Rs. 200 a night. My arrival was greeted by a Telegu Desam Party (TDP) rally - elections are 'round the corner - most of whom were nice people I met and chatted with over biryani and beer at Venkateshwara Bar & Restaurant, a local pub where people were dropping by in scores from the rally for a quick beer. 

I had come to Araku to score weed armed with a map drawn by the friend mentioned earlier - he'd been here before - and a name without a face; Danesh Anna. I found him quite easily after figuring his name was Daaneshwar Rao. It is from his place my real journey, one that would lead me to the heart of adivasi Andhra, began. At Danesh Anna's place I met a lower caste baba called Goondu Raja. He offered to take me around town and maybe help me find stuff I was searching for. I didn't trust him. He was too friendly. And I'm always wary of Godmen and Cops. He however seemed really pleased to have found me and dragged me along to a market called Shukra Baazar where I met an iconic gentleman called Lumboogodi Baba or Lumboo Baba. 

Lumboo Baba was your typical sadhu with a grimy yet content face. He showed me stuff I was interested in purchasing but did not have the quantity to meet my needs. So he offered to take Goondu and myself to his house. I refused. My mistrust was clear on my face. Lumboo Baba would then proceed to pull me towards him and whisper calmly, "baba, prem se aaye ho toh prem se rakhenge; dushmani mein aaye ho toh hi fikar karna, kyonki nahin chorenge. Daro maat." It roughly translates to, "if you come in peace, you shall find it. If you don't fuck around, you have nothing to fear. So fear not." It reminded me of Bob Dylan singing 'to be outside the law you gotta be honest'. I decided to follow him.

We left the market place and found a TDP truck awaiting to take villagers - mostly tribal, Araku's major population comprises of Adivasis and low caste Hindus - a large number of whom were hanging from all sides of the truck. Having a swollen foot I was having second thoughts when Goondu hauled me up and sat down, wrapping himself around my left leg. I had no idea what was to come. Riding on the back of an overcrowded truck is extremely risky and exhilarating. As soon as the truck jolted to life, people started losing their grippings and began to scream and curse and fall off. The remaining held onto each other instinctively. And you never held onto the person holding you, but rather someone else, thereby forming a chain of humanity swaying precariously at the mercy of a irate driver and kuchcha village roads. Meanwhile Goondu protected my leg with his entire 5 foot frame. The ride had turned into what someone I know would call a Human Kindness Experiment. 

We finally reached our destination, Dumriguda. Dumriguda is a tribal village on a forest covered hill, 25 kms from Araku, towards the Orissa border of Andhra Pradesh.

Here I walked across two hills and a stream with a swollen foot to get to Lumboo Baba's place. It was a 6km walk and we stopped and smoked often because of my foot. However Lumboo Baba kept talking to me through it all. He explained to me how things worked here. People knew tourists when they saw one in Dumriguda, it doesn't have too many outsiders. One musn't draw unneccessary attention upon oneself, election times are cop alert times, and cop alert times are bad times. 

We reached his place without incident. There I met his family and recieved my first satisfying nourishment in what had been a long two days of travelling. The baba first fed me rotis, then made me tea. His 4 year old daughter, Radha, filled my bottle after noticing my difficulty in drinking from their matka - I spilled water all over my crotch. Later we discussed business and I had found what I had come searching for. 

But Lumboo Baba wasn't done with me. I guess he realised my love for weed, and he figured I could recognise what I wanted when I saw it. Also, maybe our tastes matched because he offered to take me to a village called Kinchumunda where he promised I would find something special. He, however, warned me not to touch or take anything that I found there.

I had already smoked a lot of weed by then and there comes a time when every smoker is teetering on the fringes of his consciousness grappling to find distinction between instinctive fear - which is a good guide in these situations - and mere paranoia - which is a result of weed induced high. I had found what I was looking for and was already satisfied with the way the day went. I wanted to get out of here before sunset. Mission accomplished, there was nothing left to achieve but that goddamn nagging curiosity. I'd found what I want, but what about that of which I know nothing of?  Can I trust these madmen? For all I knew they could just kill me and drop me anywhere in the forest. I was alone and no one knew where I was. People knew I was headed to Araku, but this was 20 odd kms away and going further. And I had heard stories of Chambal Dakoos as a kid, who fed travellers well and offered them shelter before killing them in their sleep. 

It is at times like these that I choose to really upon my gut. I looked up to find the sun already setting and the sky wearing a lustful bright pink-orange hue. The trees in the forest swayed sombrely, as if smiling at my childish insecurities. It was beautiful. I decided to go. 

Baba took me to a forest in Kinchumunda, though winding lanes and pathways amidst bushes until you trip onto a clearing in the middle of nowhere. And you find a small square plantation of the elegant, long and slender Cannibus Indica - locally referred to as Shilavati, one of the most potent forms of naturally growing ganja in the world. It was beautiful. The smell...fuck I stood there breathing with my eyes shut for what seemed like forever. I couldn't let go. It wasn't time for harvest yet, thus Baba wouldn't let me break any bit of the plants. 

He showed me another such field before leading Goondu and myself back to the bus stop from where we headed safely back to The Valley.

It hadn't felt like I was leaving college till I got back from Araku. I guess I just wasn't ready yet. Life hadn't matched upto the times I had in Goa earlier this semester until this Araku trip. I felt alive again. Free, and excited. I was travelling hard and non-stop. And I scored great weed, but its not the scoring or the weed that makes a high great. Rather its the fact that you feel you've earned your high. Thats what makes it special. I think thats what makes smokers more possesive about their stuff as compared to drunkards who are willing to buy everyone drinks after they're half a bottle down themselves. Its because of the effort required in finding good weed.

Further, like most important things, only you can judge yourself in this regard, and shall reap awards from the self accordingly.

The Araku trip has rendered an otherwise colourless last semester of college into some sort of a last minute rainbow. I believe I'm ready to leave. Welcome brave new world.

ps: Also this is the 42nd post on this blog. A nice way to reach the enlightenment margin I think.