It’s been a full day trek to get to Jugsaipatna. The Karlapat forests have been unforgiving. Kalahandi has been unforgiving. Nature and the Indian state haven’t been kind to these parts.
“So, why are you here?”, asks the elderly village leader. In fading light, the only discernible feature is squat nose and a ridged forehead.
“Go on, answer him”, my friend and activist first class Sumedh says.
“I came to see the sun rise over the hills”
First there is a narrowing of the eyes, then a twitching of the nose and finally a laugh so loud that almost the entire village is startled to gathering around.
Ten pairs of eyes wait for something. I remain straight and unconcerned. My eyes fixed on the elderly man five feet away from me. He takes a swig from a tall vessel that is part glass and part pot.
“A variety of Mahua. Extremely potent”, points out Sumedh helpfully.
Five minutes pass agonizingly. I am being studied. Eyes not escaping a single detail of me.
“Ok, you will get to see your sunrise. But you can’t sleep in the village. Go out and some one will come tomorrow morning.”
5AM.
“Come. Time to go. We have to climb lots.”, says a figure who is as tall as me with a voice just slightly less deeper than Barry White.
And so we climb. Hacking. Up. And down. A bunch of bats are disturbed. I get hit on the face by one.
The sky is turning indigo. A streak of pink shortly appears. Birds are now calling loudly. We cross a small pond and climb one final time.
He raises his hands and points down at the ground. We wait here.
Slowly a yellow disc appears behind a streak of cloud. Orange. Pink. Red.
Redder.
The dawn.
