 |
| Dalma elephant reserve |
| Survival kit |
| • Don’t forget the mosquito repellent • Binoculars for those interested in bird watching • Torch • Zeoline or a ready stock of drinking water |
How to get there
Hop on to Ispat Express at Howrah (6.35 am). Reach Tatanagar at around 10.15 am. Get an auto or a taxi or a hired car. The sanctuary is en route to Ranchi on NH 33. Travel around 40 km from the station to the sanctuary signpost, then another 17 km by dirt track
Where to stay
Forest Lodge
Contact: Divisional Forest Office, Dalma Wildlife Sanctuary, Ranchi
SB Gaikward
0651-2480948, 9431161408
Two rooms with double-bed and a small dining hall.
Cook available in the guesthouse.
Location: at a height of 2,300 ft. Four-wheelers have easy access.
The Tata Steel guesthouse at the Dalma peak with two AC bedrooms is mainly for company officials.
Pocket watch
Sanctuary: Rs 10 entry fee per person, Rs 20 for a car, Rs 15 for a camera.
Forest guesthouse room rate: Rs 300
The ride was rough, but I was half-expecting it. After all, I was visiting a sanctuary that never inspired the likes of Rudyard Kipling or Jim Corbett to create a world of words and conjure thrilling pictures in prose that would draw us to share their love for forests.
Around 20 km from Jamshedpur on metalled road and another 17 through a dirt track that elbows sharply to the right, is Dalma Wildlife Sanctuary.
It was high noon in June when my car finally reached the sanctuary gates. I had another 15 km to go to reach the top of a hill and a temple, which we could see as a speck in the skyline, where, if my nerves held out, I would spend the night.
Climbing the carrousel route, we came across gamboling monkeys, a hawk and a sign that read something like: “Elephants have right of way”. Yeah! As if I did not know.
But, elephants or no elephants, the jungle was enchanting. Spider webs glinted wherever shafts of light penetrated the thick tree cover. The seductive blend of damp earth and nameless wild flowers in full bloom pervaded the refreshingly cool afternoon air, alive with the deafening symphony of thousands of crickets chirping in accompaniment to the songs of myriad birds hidden in the forest canopy. Speaking of smells, a pungent odour my system failed to recognise, assailed my nostrils. The car slowed down.
“Jumbo scat,” the driver exclaimed.
I was scared and felt no shame in admitting it.
There were elephants in the vicinity and we had four more km to go.
Mercifully, the pachyderms preferred to leave us alone throughout our trip. Around 4.30 pm, and we had reached the temple. A head peered from the window of an adjacent shack that I later came to know was a forest office.
“Haathi dikha? (Seen any elephants)” the man asked.
“No. I was content seeing their droppings,” I retorted.
“Chaliye, dikha lata hoon.”
We set off downhill. A couple of kilometres back, a turn-off leads to the right. The car protested as branches of plants and long tendrils of creepers whipped its body. Fifteen minutes later, the man signalled the car to stop. I got off. Only some 200 metres away, in a clearing that housed a reasonably large lake, was a herd of elephants. Oblivious to our presence, the calves splashed around in the water while the more sombre adults went about drinking and drenching themselves with trunks full of water, as our voluntary guide put it, “freshening up before their nightlong dinner”.
Leaving the elephants to their devices in an idyllic world, I headed back to the realm of chaos I had been taught to call home.
