When Fields, Forests, and Rivers Fed Us

Notes from Sambalpur on Gunjer, Kuler, and Jarda

I

I returned from Sambalpur with three unique tastes lingering on my tongue — the crisp sweetness of Sarsatia, the gentle bitterness of Kuler (Kachnar) bud, and the silken flesh of Jarda fish simmered in mustard gravy. One was festive, one seasonal, one drawn at dawn from the vast waters of the Hirakud Dam reservoir. Yet beneath their differences ran a single thread: each carried the memory of habitat made edible.

In western Odisha, the forest, the river, the pond, and the paddy field were never distant landscapes. They were generous providers of food.

What I encountered in Sambalpur was less cuisine than recollection — of a time when land and water translated directly into sustenance, especially for those with little cash but much knowledge.

The Sweet That Begins with a Twig

Sarsatia is a unique sweet, made by a few families in Sambalpur, for which there is local demand for Geographical Indication tag.

The sweet’s distinction lies not in rice, sugar and ghee; but in a tree.

Tender twigs of Gunjer (Grewia asiatica) are soaked overnight. By morning, the water thickens into a translucent gel. The twig is squeezed; the mucilage folded into rice flour and sugar. Fingers dip into the runny batter and trace wiry spirals into hot ghee.

What emerges is crisp, faintly aromatic, lightly sweet — a texture achieved without yeast or chemical enhancers, but through patient familiarity with plant behaviour. Long before the vocabulary of food science arrived, sweet-makers in narrow lanes of Jhadua Para were drawing natural binders from a plant. The method was empirical, passed from hand to hand. One family traces its practice back nearly two centuries.

No laboratory identified the compound; the forest supplied it.

Sarsatia is thus more than confection. It is a quiet collaboration between tree and grain, between memory and method.

Cooking a Bud as a Saag

Every spring, before it bursts into orchid-like blossoms, the buds of Kuler — Kanchan in Odia, Kachnar in Hindi (botanical name: Bauhinia variegata) — appear in local markets, gathered from the forests. 

(Kuler buds on a plate)

Slightly bitter and faintly astringent, they are nutritionally wise greens. Rich in dietary fibre, they aid digestion and gently stimulate appetite. The buds provide vitamin C, modest amounts of iron, calcium and plant protein, along with antioxidant flavonoids and polyphenols that help counter oxidative stress.

In an age of packaged “superfoods,” Kuler remains humbly local — plucked fresh, cooked simply, and eaten with dal and rice. It reminds us that good health need not arrive in glossy wrappers. Sometimes, it blooms quietly on a forest tree, waiting to be gathered.

"Phatai khailin bela, Kukila re,

Mahakila kia phula, Kukila re,"

Translation:

O Cuckoo (or Saheli),

I cracked open a ripe wood apple and savoured it,

Embraced in Ketaki's voluptuos fragrance am I, O Cuckoo.

Those are the opening lines of a popular Sambalpuri folk song from Bhukha filmed on nubile girls returning from the forest with headloads of firewood and baskets of fruits and roots. Why does a love song begin with mention of a common forest fruit and eating, readers unfamiliar with the culture and cuisine, love and life of the tribal and forest people, may wonder. 

Because food is a paramount concern inseparable from life.

Odisha’s wild edible plant flora includes 193 species across leafy vegetables, fruits, tuberous roots, flowers, seeds, shrubs, climbers, and herbs. These plants are integral to tribal diets for nutrition, food security, seasonal food, and cultural use.

The tribal and forest people never took lessons in botany, but their intimate knowledge of the edible and medicinal plants is a survival kit they acquire early in life.

A Protein-laden Conveyor-belt

If the forest yielded plant food, the river offered protein.

In monsoon months, small fish once shimmered in the shallow waters of western Odisha. The much-loved Thuro, also called Turu or Turi (Amblypharyngodon mola) could be scooped up in a gamcha. Slender and soft-boned, it made a quick curry or was fried crisp and eaten whole — calcium, iron, and oil in one small body.

There were others — maharel, kutri, tengni, patpania, magur, and jarda; the last one a little longer, firmer and amazingly delicious.

(Jarda -Reba Carp -Cirrhinus reba from Hirakud Dam Resevoir. Photo by Sajina A M and Deepa Sudheesan, Source-fishbase.se)

These were not commodities transported in iced trucks; they were intimate presences in ponds and canals. Children caught them in ankle-deep water. Men set bamboo traps at field outlets. Women cleaned and sun-dried them on woven mats.

The knowledge required was modest but precise: when the water would rise, where fish would gather, how to set a trap without exhausting a stream. Skill substituted capital.

When Fields Held Fish

Not long ago, the paddy field itself was alive with movement.

Before intensive chemical inputs became routine, the flooded rice field functioned as an ecosystem. As monsoon waters spread, fish from rivers and canals entered the fields. The shallow expanse, rich with nutrients, became nursery and pantry at once.

Farmers placed conical bamboo traps at drainage points. Overnight, fish accumulated. The catch could be generous enough to preserve — sun-dried under the open sky, smoke-cured above chulhas, stored in earthen jars.

In lean months, pakhal bhat with a sliver of dried fish sufficed. A small accompaniment flavoured an entire pot of rice gruel.

Habitat, quite simply, was food security.

The Ecology of Necessity

For the economically vulnerable, biodiversity is not environmental rhetoric; it is daily arithmetic.

The forest supplied edible greens, mushrooms, fruits. Water bodies yielded fish and snails. The field produced rice, millets — and fish. This integrated web required little cash. It depended instead on attentiveness: the ability to forage, to time migration, to weave bamboo into funnels.

Cultivated and wild were not opposites. They were complementary.

The Silence of Paddy Fields

Today, many paddy fields stand quieter.

Overdose of fertilisers, insecticides, and weedicides has altered the micro-ecology of flooded fields. The small fish that once darted between rice stalks are rarely seen. Bamboo traps lie unused. What was once gathered freely must now be bought, if affordable.

The change arrived gradually, almost unseen. Yet it reshaped diet and memory. The disappearance of small fish is not merely the loss of free protein for the poor; it is an unmistakable signal of ecological degradation.

I recall monsoon mornings of childhood when farmers returned on their bullock carts with a laden ludar - U-shaped bamboo baskets - brimming with fish.

Rustic Ecological Intelligence

Western Odisha’s culinary habits archive the understated ecological intelligence of rural and forest people. Gunjer twigs are gathered without stripping the tree. Kuler buds are taken seasonally. Fish are dried for scarcity. These practices evolved under uncertain rainfall and fluctuating river flow. They were responses to vulnerability, not to fashion.

They preserved habitat not because of global campaigns but because sustenance depended upon it.

A Lingering Thought

It is futile to romanticise that past. Rural life involved hard labour and huge risk. Yet the integration of forest, field, and river created a distributed safety net — modest, resilient.

Whether some of that ecological complexity can return remains uncertain. In parts of Asia, rice–fish systems are being revived. Hopefully, such recalibrations will find ground along the Mahanadi River basin, too.

As I left Sambalpur, the aroma of delectable dishes still clinging faintly to memory, I felt both gratitude and unease. Gratitude for having tasted cuisines rooted in habitat; unease at its narrowing base.

Human ingenuity did not invent these foods. It noticed them. The forest offered mucilage; the fig concealed blossoms; the river released fish into fields. People learned to recognise these gestures and shape them into nourishment.

Some of that conversation between land and kitchen still survives — in a twig soaked overnight, in a bitter bud softened by heat, in fish still nourished by our depleting water-bodies.

And sometimes, in remembering the taste, we remember the relationship.

***

II

During a recent trip to Sambalpur, I was overwhelmed by the warm hospitality of a dear friend with whom I stayed. His wife - a versatile home-maker, a compassionate, ever-smiling empress at her home, began her day at 5.00 AM with a brief morning walk with a friend, a cup of ginger-cardamom-black pepper milk tea, and a yoga session in her beautiful roof-top garden. Thereafter, she gave all her day to manage the modern, compact, tastefully done house, and cater to the diverse, and persistently conflicting culinary demands of her family of five who had different schedules and came to the dining table at different hours. One was a vegetarian, another a foodie, two abhorred vegetables, while the other two were omnivorous senior citizens focussed on healthy eating.
Assisted by a part-time cook, she served an amazing variety of desi, home-cooked fare – aromatic Sonepur (now Subarnapur) moong-dal lightly roasted at home, santula – a mildly-seasoned vegetable stew, tawa-fried drum-stick fingers, badi, and saag – my all-time favourite -  personally procured by my friend the first thing in the morning from the daily market not far from his home.
The saag is, indeed, very tasty. I complimented the lady. ‘Well-made, no doubt,’ said my friend, taking care not to annoy the spouse, ‘but the raw material, procured by yours truly, is excellent.’
‘Do you know, a bunch of saag with a faint fishy odour taste the best?’ I didn’t. In fact, I never bought if the saag smelled. Try it next time, he said, you won’t be disappointed. I made a mental note.
But the best came a day later. Fresh catch of Jarda, a delicious fresh-water fish, from the Hirakud Dam Reservoir, only a few kilometres away from the town. This fish is so much in demand that the day’s catch is sold out in less than an hour. My friend had placed an advance order and got it from the fisherman especially for me. Nearly twice more costly than Rohu.

My friend’s wife made a curry in mustard gravy, and a tawa-fry; both delicious, especially as I savoured it after decades. During my childhood in the village, the fishermen regularly harvested jarda, thuro, and mahrel from Jira river and Palsha Jor (a seasonal rivulet).
She also served a Guler-phool curry which I ate for the first time.
My friend got for me home-made rashi and moongphali laddoo, and Sarsatia. I had graduated from G.M. College, Sambalpur, and had taught there for about two-and-a-half years; yet I had never heard of Sarsatia – a unique sweet made by a few families in Jhadua para, and not found in the small eateries on the college street which we frequented.
Thanks, Dear Friend, for your wonderful hospitality - for the food and the food for thought.

***

 

Olive: Named in Jest, Flourishing in Joy

We had first seen her when she was a tiny, precarious, underweight baby in an incubator. She will be eleven in a few months.

A bright girl, she tops her class even though she isn’t particularly fond of maths. She has been training in Bharatanatyam for five years and has already performed at national and international venues, winning several awards.

Prisha Mishra (Olive) performing at Cheo Theatre, Hanoi, Vietnam.

“Why named Olive?” I asked her grandma.

“Well,” she smiled, “during his high school years her father was addicted to cartoon serials on TV — particularly Popeye. Annoyed and exasperated, I had threatened to name his first-born after a cartoon character. And lo and behold, he fathered a skinny, frail girl. As vowed, I named her Olive.”

Olive — named after Olive Oyl, the adorable cartoon character created by E.C. Segar in 1919 — is true to her name.

Garrulous, hyper-active, and a sheer bundle of joy.
A fan of Master Chef shows, and already into cooking solo as a hobby.

“Today my friends are coming home for a dance rehearsal. We’ll perform remotely for our Dance Guru, who is getting married next week in Bhubaneswar. Our loving present for her! And for my friends, I’m making chilli paneer,” she briefed me in a single breath.

“How old is your Guru?” I asked.

“Don’t know, never asked. Maybe 28.”

“Mama, there is no capsicum in the fridge, please order some right away, or my dish will not be ready when my friends arrive!” she hollered from the kitchen, where she was all by herself dicing paneer into neat cubes.

What could grandma do but rush someone to fetch the vegetable from a nearby vendor?

Mama was mildly annoyed.
“Why must you spend so much time in the kitchen? Have you even finished your homework? And why do you need to wash your hands so often and spill water all over the floor?”

“Sorry, Mama. Can you please mop the floor for me? I’m busy cooking, don’t you see? Thanks, I love you so much!”

I don’t much fancy paneer, but I sampled a few pieces. It was rather good, considering she had made it herself, following a recipe from a Master Chef episode.

The next day she presented another creation — apple slices dipped in melted chocolate and frozen.

“Try a piece or two; the rest are for me and my friends.”

That too was yummy.

“Did you use chocolate powder?” I asked.

“No, I just melted a slab of real chocolate.”

What fascinates me is her adorable versatility and easy confidence. She is often jittery before a performance, said her mother, but once she steps onto the stage, she is calm and confident. 

She raids the kitchen, negotiates grocery shortages, manages rehearsal logistics, and balances homework with choreography, all with the assurance of someone far older. Yet she remains, unmistakably, eleven: quick to chatter, quicker to laugh, and entirely unburdened by self-consciousness.

Olive Oyl, from the old Popeye cartoons, was tall, cheerful, and a little bit silly — yet large-hearted and resilient. Being unique was her defining trait. The name has travelled across a century and continents, from American newsprint to an Indian household, shedding caricature and acquiring affection along the way.

Who, then, had the last laugh — the grandmother who named her Olive to tease her son, or the little girl who is graceful on the dancing stage, and as much at home in the kitchen as the oil after which she was named?

A name given in jest, it became prophetic in a way. 

Little Olive, bright and sweet,
From tiny steps to dancing feet;
Fills her home with delightful chatter,
Warmth, love, and sparkling laughter.

A precious parting gift I got on Feb 14 from Olive, my newest Valentine!

***

 

 

The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny

Club Literati

On 20th February, Club Literati, Bhopal hosted a discussion on Kiran Desai’s new novel, The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny. The attendance was rather thin — inversely proportional to the formidable size of the book. The discussion, however, was lively, notwithstanding the fact that only a few had completed the novel, some were midway through it, and others were still undecided whether to embark on the 670-page journey.

This blogger, the lead discussant, made a few opening remarks and read select passages. What followed was a wide-ranging conversation on the book, the author, and its central concerns: loneliness and love; the challenge, thrill, triumph and trauma of migration; alienation and uprootedness; the pull of disparate cultures; and the inescapable tug of familial bonds, even as the joint family frays.

A reader sensed a strong autobiographical undercurrent. Another observed that every author necessarily draws from lived experience. Someone felt that the lengthy excursions into art, artists and galleries did not always appear integral to the story.

The matchmaking letter to the Colonel — in which Dadaji thoughtfully lists Sonia’s many redeeming virtues while cancelling out her “cons” (too tall, too dark, hot-tempered) — reminded this blogger of that memorable scene from Sholay, where Amitabh Bachchan meets Mausi and solicits Basanti’s hand in marriage for his buddy Dharmendra – not a most-eligible bachelor.

“Why are you reading only from the early chapters?” asked a watchful participant.

“So as not to reveal the climax. Why play spoiler? Better that readers discover for themselves whether love trumps loneliness — and whether Sonia and Sunny live happily ever after.”

A Few Observations

The novel is a tome: 21 Parts, 75 Chapters, 670 pages. To assist navigation, it lists members of the three key families — including no fewer than thirteen house staff — along with the pets: Babayaga (cat) and Pasha (dog).

If one loves fiction, the size need not deter. It is an enjoyable read: vivid character sketches, evocative nature writing, and sparkling prose. The plot unfolds at a languid pace; yet the gifted storyteller sustains interest. Some may find it unputdownable. I read my hardcover intermittently over three weeks, savouring the journey through its narrative maze.

This is not a book to rush. There is no murder mystery to solve. It is best consumed in measured sittings, allowing its variegated strands to settle and its kaleidoscope to reveal a panoramic view.

The novel arrives two decades after Desai’s Booker-winning The Inheritance of Loss. Unlike her mother and mentor, Anita Desai, who has been prolific, Kiran Desai writes at a slower, more deliberate pace. Loss was the defining motif of her earlier work; here, loneliness assumes that role.

Loneliness is the novel’s overarching theme. Sonia and Sunny are young, educated, ambitious, and privileged. Why, then, are they so adrift? Why do stable, soulful relationships elude them?

Is their loneliness exceptional? Or is loneliness the common inheritance of modern life — each person lonely in her own way, to borrow and slightly bend Tolstoy?

The novel opens with Sonia’s loneliness; soon, the solitude of Sunny, Illan, Ulla, Babita, Seher and Mina Foi emerges. Like a creeping smog, it threatens to envelop and suffocate them all — past and present alike.

Sonia, an aspiring writer, hopes to produce a novel but makes little headway. Her stories meander, criss-cross, dissolve. The centre does not hold. One wonders whether this mirrors the author’s ambitious attempt to stitch together multiple plots, sub-plots, continents, characters, art, philosophy and memory into a single, sprawling canvas.

After college in chilly Vermont, Sonia lives with Illan, a rising artist who treats her as a creative catalyst for his paintings. She is enamoured, almost in thrall; he is volatile and self-absorbed. In a fit of rage, he humiliates her, expels her from his flat at three in the morning, and ends her apprenticeship. Yet she struggles to free herself from his shadow — a ghost hound that pursues her across continents.

Sunny, meanwhile, is a struggling journalist, low in the professional pecking order and uncertain of his future. His relationship with Ulla seems fragile from the outset. His domineering mother Babita’s presence lingers over him — from Jackson Heights to Venice, Mexico to India.

Their loneliness persists despite these provisional attachments. Is it merely personal? Or does it spring from deeper roots — culture, migration, family expectation, history?

Does love dispel loneliness? Or do the two simply learn to coexist — no longer at war, yet never entirely reconciled?

Or are we, as human beings, condemned to carry loneliness as our inseparable shadow?

***

 

Chidi Kho Trek and The Jungle Book

I

The Trek

It was the third weekend of January, a long one. The morning in Bhopal was predictably chilly, though the light fog lifted within an hour. A motley group of about fifty trekkers—young and energetic, old but sportive, serving officers and pensioners, homemakers enjoying a brief respite from the routines of home, and a few children, the youngest still shy of four—set out for Chidi Kho Wildlife Sanctuary, seventy kilometres away. Most reached before nine; a few straggled in soon after.

Bhagavati Prasad Sharma, a short, stocky man in his early forties, was our guide. He worked part-time, as visitors came mostly on winter weekends. Summers were too harsh, and weekdays too quiet to sustain a full-time livelihood. That morning, he seemed both excited and slightly flustered by the size of the group, which included several veteran forest officers.

Before the trek began, he gathered us under a sprawling banyan tree and delivered a brief welcome.

“Jai Raghunath Ji ki. That is how we begin any enterprise in these parts. The ruler of Narsinghgarh never called himself king. Raghunath Ji was the King, and the ruler only his Dewan.

“I grew up in a nearby village. This forest has nourished me, and I owe a debt to it. I guide visitors because of my attachment to these woods.”

He might have continued, but a senior officer cut him short.
“Enough about yourself. Tell us a little about the flora and fauna—in two or three minutes.”

Most trekkers had already skimmed the glossy brochure handed out at the entrance and were in no mood for a lecture. Each picked up a complimentary green cap, a slender bamboo staff, and a small water bottle, and we began the walk.

“It’s rather late to sight animals,” the guide warned. “But you will feel their presence.”

The trek turned out to be more of a leisurely walk. The initial climb to Chacko Point was modest, and the descent at the end posed no challenge even for the senior citizens. Much of the five-kilometre trail ran across a rocky plateau with sparse vegetation—varieties of jungle grass and scattered palash, khair, mahua, saja, and amaltas trees, all sturdy survivors of the tropical deciduous climate.

We had walked less than a hundred metres when the guide stopped and pointed to a small heap in the middle of the dusty track.

“That’s sai poop—porcupine, in English. Plenty of them here. They are nocturnal, rarely seen during the day.”

A little further, he pointed to diagonal marks on a tree trunk.

“Those are from a sambar. After shedding old antlers, the new ones come covered in velvet. They rub against trees to remove it.”

Soon the trail began to tell a more dramatic story. We saw several droppings of panthers and many more of nilgais—both carnivore and herbivore appearing to compete in a relay race to claim the trail with their markings.

“Both animals mark territory through dung and urine,” a senior forest official explained.

Then we came upon a substantial heap where nilgais had been defecating for weeks. On top of this communal mound lay a fresh deposit from a panther.

“That’s unusual,” the officer said. “Cats usually scrape the earth, defecate, and cover it. This one chose to dump directly on the nilgai heap.”

The implication was clear: a territorial message.

Go elsewhere. My territory is not your toilet.

At other spots, panther droppings lay uncovered on the rocky ground. There simply wasn’t enough loose soil to hide them. But here, the animal had carefully avoided pawing the nilgai heap. It was beneath his dignity, perhaps.

At another point, we found a scrape where the soil was still damp.

“She was here early this morning,” said the guide. “Maybe two hours ago.”

On a north-western slope stood a pale, leafless tree.

“Ghost tree,” someone said. Sterculia urens. Its smooth, white bark glowed faintly, even in daylight. Often leafless for months, it survives on the quiet labour of its pale skin, turning sunlight into food.

Nearby, jungle rats had dug a maze of tunnels with multiple exits—escape routes from snakes and other predators. A rock lizard basked on a stone, refusing to move when an over-curious trekker tried to shoo her away with a stick. She seemed more intrigued than frightened—an old resident tolerating an intrusive visitor.

Midway through the trek lay the Dheeng Dev cave, an optional detour. It required a careful descent using a thick nylon rope tied around tree trunks, with helpers steadying those unsure of their footing.

Inside was a Jain cave with a headless Tirthankar, carved from a single rock. A student of history in the group pointed out the ratna on the chest.

“A Tirthankar, no doubt,” she said.

The head, someone explained, had likely been hacked off by plunderers. And as if the beheading were not enough, semi-literate vandals had scrawled their names across the torso.

Mahavira had preached a life of non-violence. His followers carved statues of the twenty-four Tirthankars so their teachings would endure. The vandals had added their signatures in search of a two-minute taste of renown and immortality.

On an adjacent hill lay Karbatia cave—a narrow cleft between two towering rocks, negotiable only by walking sideways. It was not for the claustrophobic.

The forest guard narrated local folklore. In Sat Yuga, he said, the Devi temple had been built in a single night by Vishwakarma, the divine architect. A rakshasa once tried to plunder the goddess’s ornaments, but when she raised her trident, he fled—tearing apart the mountain as he escaped. The narrow cleft, he said, was the mark of his desperate flight.

Hidden among the hills were caves with ancient rock paintings. A local guide offered an enthusiastic interpretation—battle scenes between rival rulers, caged birds, their release. The king on a horse painted in red, the queen on a camel in yellow. Folklore, perhaps, rather than archaeology.

When we finished the trek late afternoon, we had not seen a single large animal. Yet the forest was alive with presences.

The porcupine’s pellets, the sambar’s scratch marks, the leopard’s scrape—each was an entry in a silent record.

It struck me then that the jungle is not silent at all. It is simply written in a language most visitors cannot read.

---

II

The Jungle Book

Chidi Kho sanctuary is rather quiet and understated; not a forest of towering sal or uninterrupted teak, but a mixed deciduous mosaic—grassland edges, scrub, and scattered trees thriving on rocky soil and modest rainfall. A large lake and several waterholes in the valleys sustain the animals.

Here, presence is not proclaimed loudly. It is inferred.

A rubbed trunk, a dung heap placed with intention, a spray of urine—these are the sanctuary’s punctuation marks. To read them is to understand how different species claim space without fences or flags.

The jungle, in fact, is a journal.

To the casual visitor, it is only a green mass of trees, shadows, and occasional movement. But to a trained trekker or forester, it is a text—constantly being written, revised, and annotated by its inhabitants. Every animal that passes leaves an entry.

A forest track is a logbook. It records who passed, when, and in what condition.

A set of fresh pugmarks may tell you that a leopard crossed at dawn, walking, not stalking, probably a male, heading toward water. Hoofprints nearby might reveal that a herd of chital passed earlier, their tracks overlapping in the soft soil. Sharp edges mean recent passage; blurred ones suggest time has passed.

The jungle also keeps a ledger—a record of claims and boundaries.

A leopard’s scrape on a path, a jackal’s scent mark on a rock, a nilgai’s dung heap—each is an entry in this ledger. These are not aggressive declarations, but courteous notices:

I was here. I use this route. Let us avoid unnecessary conflict.

The ledger is maintained not by fences, but by scent and sign.

Then there is the jungle’s gazetteer—its record of place.

Porcupine quills near rocky outcrops suggest nearby burrows. Scratched mahua trees hint at sloth bears. Repeated alarm calls of langurs warn of a predator’s movement. Without a map or GPS, a forest guard can describe the landscape simply by reading these signs. The jungle has already written the gazetteer; he merely recites it.

Most visitors cannot read it.

They see only a tree, a patch of mud, a pile of dung. The trained eye sees species, age, direction, intention—and often the story that links them. Reading the jungle requires patience, practice, and a willingness to look down at the ground as often as up at the canopy. It is like learning an ancient script. At first it is meaningless; then letters emerge; finally, whole sentences speak.

What makes the jungle’s journal remarkable is its honesty. There are no lies in it.

In human society, records can be altered, accounts manipulated, stories embellished. But the forest keeps an incorruptible archive. It records everything without bias or exaggeration.

The jungle is always writing, but it never speaks aloud. It expects its readers to come prepared—with quiet steps, sharp eyes, and a patient mind.

A good forester, tracker, or trekker is not a conqueror of the jungle, but its reader. He walks slowly, head slightly bowed, as if reading a long manuscript. Every few steps he pauses, noticing a faint scrape, a pellet heap, a disturbed patch of dust. To him, these are not random signs but sentences in a familiar language.

By the end of the walk, he can narrate what happened during the previous night.

The jungle does not hide its secrets.
It only writes them in a script that must be learned.

And in places like Chidi Kho, the book lies open for anyone patient enough to read.

***

Dudhraj (Indian Paradise Flycatcher)- 

State Bird of Madhya Pradesh, is often found in Chidi Kho.

Panther: Source-Chidi Kho Brochure

Dheeng Dev-Photo by blogger

Rock Cave Painting-Photo by blogger

Jagdish Jatiya, a colleague and an accomplished bird-photographer, shared on blogger's request a few of his photos from Chidi Kho. Grateful.

Short-toed Snake Eagle

Spotted Deer

Black Stork

Common Lora

***

 

Raag Darbari: A Reenactment

(Note: 

1. Hindi readers may like to read the Hindi version placed below. Since refined, Sanskritized Hindi is much in vogue in government offices in M.P., a reference to Prashashanik Shabdakosh may at times be needed.

2. A reading of Shrilal Shukl's 'Raag Darbari' - a delightful satire on bureaucracy - is recommended.)

A Citizen’s Complaint

 A young and energetic officer, in her first posting as District Collector somewhere in Madhya Pradesh - determined to provide prompt, hassle-free service to citizens, and with zero-tolerance for corruption - received the following complaint from a citizen:

“Dear Sir,

I had submitted an application for a certified copy of the Misal Bandobast (1929–30) relating to our ancestral agricultural holding, required as evidence in a matter presently pending before the Hon’ble High Court.

I regret to submit that even after three months, the requested copy has not been supplied.

The Record Room (RR) Prabhari is uncooperative, unhelpful, and persistently rude. It is reliably learnt that whenever certain touts— lolling under the banyan tree in front of the RR and chewing paan liberally laced with zarda—are engaged, the relevant record materialises spontaneously and the copy is supplied with remarkable promptitude, often well within the seven-day period prescribed under the Citizens’ Service Guarantee.

The facilitation fee, as confided by a few applicants, is no longer paid in cash, but digitally, through the QR code at the paan-gumti around the corner.

If an applicant refuses to pay the bribe, that specific record performs a miraculous Houdini-escape and disappears under a heap in a dark corner, untraceable till a tout gives a nod and a wink.

You would agree, Sir, that something is rotten in the Record Room—and I am not referring merely to the dead lizards, rats, and bats.

I request that a copy of the said record be provided to me at the earliest; that the murky dealings of the Record Room Prabhari be enquired into; and that suitable steps be taken to improve the functioning of the Record Room in the interest of long-suffering citizens.

Faithfully yours,
Sd/-
(Name of the Applicant)”

Show-Cause Notice

To
The Prabhari,
Record Room,
District — XXX

Memo No. XXXX  Date: DD-MM-YYYY

Subject: Show-Cause Notice under Rule 14 of the Madhya Pradesh Civil Services (Classification, Control and Appeal) Rules, 1966.

Upon receipt of a serious complaint from a citizen regarding the functioning of the Record Room, a preliminary enquiry was conducted. Prima facie, it has been found that you are guilty of negligence, inefficiency, and gross dereliction of duty. The brief charges are as follows:

1.   The citizen applied for a certified copy of a record. Under the Citizens’ Service Guarantee, you were required to supply the same within seven days, which you failed to do.

2.   When the applicant enquired about the likely date of supply, you repeatedly replied, “Search is under progress,” thereby indulging in deliberate opacity and causing wilful harassment.

3.   Your conduct towards the applicant was unfriendly, uncooperative, and exceptionally rude, contrary to the standards expected of a public servant.

4.   Review of disposal in the Record Room over the past six months reveals dismal performance, clearly demonstrating incompetence, inefficiency, and lack of a sense of duty.

You are hereby required to show cause within fifteen days of receipt of this notice as to why appropriate major penalty should not be imposed upon you.

Failure to submit a reply within the stipulated period shall be deemed acceptance of the charges, and further action shall follow as per rules.

You may peruse the Enquiry Report attached to the file by contacting the undersigned.

Sincerely,
Sd/-
Disciplinary Authority

---

Reply by Record Room Prabhari

To
The Disciplinary Authority

Date: DD-MM-YYYY

Subject: Reply to Show-Cause Notice
Reference: Memo No. XXXX - Date: DD-MM-YYYY

Respected Sir,

I acknowledge receipt of the aforesaid show-cause notice. At the outset, I categorically deny the charges, which are entirely baseless, misconceived, and devoid of appreciation of ground realities.

My point-wise reply is submitted below, without prejudice to my right to submit further explanations at later stages:

1.   It is admitted that an application for a copy was received, and that the same was not delivered within seven days. However, it is emphatically denied that the delay arose from negligence or dereliction of duty. Retrieval of records of 1929–30 is no easy task, requires intensive search, and takes much time.

2.   It is admitted that the applicant was informed of the status of his application. Initially, he was informed that “Search is under progress,” which was factually correct. Subsequently, he was informed that “Intensive search is under progress,” which was also factually correct. Transparency was thus maintained on all occasions.

3.   The applicant was polite to begin with, but rude later, and very rude thereafter. When he met the undersigned for the third time, and was informed of the ongoing intensive search, he was much agitated and proclaimed in a voice loud enough to be heard by my colleagues in the adjacent rooms, and the public milling around the corridor, ‘I am like the langad in Raag Darbari. I will pay no bribe,’ even though I or my Assistant had made no monetary demand from him. Despite the applicant’s unwarranted, inappropriate literary allusion (since he is not a pwd!), and insulting  insinuation, the undersigned maintained his composure, and promised to continue the search for the relevant record with a view to helping the applicant.

4.   The undersigned admits that the high level of stress at work worsens his high BP, and gives him a terrible headache on most days owing to which he is unable to smile as much as he unfailingly did when he was previously dealing with ‘arms licence’ section. This may not be misconstrued as rudeness. The undersigned is a public servant, and is never rude or disrespectful to his master – the public.

In view of the above, the charges are unfounded and merit summary dismissal.

It is further submitted that after prolonged and untiring search, the record sought by the applicant has now been located and the copy prepared. The applicant may collect the same during office hours on any working day, after submitting a written undertaking that the copy was received without payment of any bribe.

The undersigned takes the liberty of submitting his humble suggestions for improving RR productivity as Enclosure -1.

Yours faithfully,
Sd/-
(Name)
Record Room Prabhari

Enclosure-1

Humble Suggestions for Improving Record Room Efficiency

The Record Room operates under severe constraints. Repeated representations for infrastructure improvement and staff welfare have been submitted over the years, with no tangible outcome. Productivity inevitably suffers under such conditions.

a.   Immediate repair of the leaking roof.

b.   Suspension of further file transfers until additional rooms and racks are provided.

c.    Installation of at least two air-conditioners, as summer temperatures cross 46°C, posing a serious fire hazard to bone-dry ancient papers.

d.   Ensure that RR is snake-free. The inept and timid municipal snake-catcher demanded removal of all the files from the RR – an astonishing and impractical demand – before he inspected the room for reptiles. A professional snake-charmer may be hired – to be paid on success-fee basis per snake caught. Lest the undersigned be accused of creating a bogey, please find attached a shed snake-skin which was recently recovered from RR, and a panchnama was made to attest its veracity.

e.   Local newspapers have reported that the district hospital has run out of anti-snake venom vaccine. At least two dosages - for the undersigned and his Assistant - should be reserved on all working days.

f.     Personal Accidental Death Insurance cover for Record Room employees.

g.   Installation of CCTV cameras to document threats, abuses, and occasional physical assaults by agitated applicants.

h.   Installation of an AQI monitor to measure PM-2.5 and PM-10 levels.

i.     Quarterly lung-function tests for Record Room staff.

j.     Posting of senior officers, assisted by the most efficient babus from Arms Licence, Excise, Mining, and Food & Civil Supplies sections, in the Record Room for one day each week, with comparative productivity analysis.

***

 राग दरबारी की पुनरावृत्ति

एक शिकायत

मध्य प्रदेश के किसी जिले में पदस्थ, अपनी पहली पदस्थापना में नियुक्त, एक युवा एवं ऊर्जावान जिला कलेक्टर—जो नागरिकों को त्वरित, निर्बाध सेवा प्रदान करने के लिए संकल्पित थीं तथा भ्रष्टाचार के प्रति शून्य-सहिष्णुता की नीति में पूर्ण विश्वास रखती थीं—को एक नागरिक से निम्नलिखित शिकायत प्राप्त हुई:

मान्यवर,

मैंने अपने पैतृक कृषि भूमि से संबंधित मिसल बंदोबस्त (1929–30) की प्रमाणित प्रति प्राप्त करने हेतु आवेदन प्रस्तुत किया था, जो कि माननीय उच्च न्यायालय में वर्तमान में विचाराधीन एक प्रकरण में साक्ष्य के रूप में आवश्यक है।

यह निवेदन करते हुए खेद हो रहा है कि तीन माह व्यतीत हो जाने के उपरांत भी उक्त अभिलेख की प्रति उपलब्ध नहीं कराई गई है।

अभिलेखागार (रिकॉर्ड रूम) के प्रभारी अधिकारी असंवेदनशील, अड़ियल  तथा निरंतर असभ्य व्यवहार करने वाले हैं। विश्वसनीय सूत्रों से यह  ज्ञात हुआ है कि जब भी कुछ बिचौलिये—जो रिकॉर्ड रूम के सामने स्थित बरगद के पेड़ के नीचे पान चबाते हुए पाए जाते हैं— नियोजित किए जाते हैं, तो संबंधित अभिलेख स्वतः प्रकट हो जाता है तथा नागरिक सेवा गारंटी अधिनियम के अंतर्गत निर्धारित सात दिवस से पहले ही प्रति उपलब्ध हो जाती है।

कुछ आवेदकों द्वारा यह भी बताया गया है कि सुविधा शुल्क अब नकद न लेकर, कोने में स्थित पान-गुमटी के क्यूआर कोड के माध्यम से डिजिटल रूप से लिया जाता है।

यदि कोई आवेदक रिश्वत देने से इंकार करता है, तो सम्बन्धित अभिलेख किसी अंधेरे कोने में ढेर के नीचे अदृश्य हो जाता है और तब तक अनुपलब्ध रहता है, जब तक कोई बिचौलिया अनुकूल संकेत न दे दे।

आप सहमत होंगे, महोदय, कि रिकॉर्ड रूम में कुछ न कुछ सड़ा हुआ अवश्य है—और मेरा संकेत केवल मृत छिपकलियों, चूहों और चमगादड़ों तक सीमित नहीं है।

अतः निवेदन है कि उपर्युक्त अभिलेख की प्रति यथाशीघ्र उपलब्ध कराई जाए; रिकॉर्ड रूम प्रभारी की संदिग्ध गतिविधियों की जांच कराई जाए; तथा दीर्घकाल से पीड़ित नागरिकों के हित में रिकॉर्ड रूम की कार्यप्रणाली में सुधार हेतु उपयुक्त कदम उठाए जाएँ।

भवदीय,

हस्ताक्षर

(आवेदक का नाम)

________________________________________

कारण बताओ सूचना

प्रति,

प्रभारी,

रिकॉर्ड रूम,

जिला — XXX

ज्ञापन क्रमांक: XXXX  दिनांक: DD-MM-YYYY

विषय: मध्य प्रदेश सिविल सेवा (वर्गीकरण, नियंत्रण एवं अपील) नियम, 1966 के नियम 14 के अंतर्गत कारण बताओ सूचना।

रिकॉर्ड रूम के कार्यप्रणाली के संबंध में एक नागरिक से प्राप्त गंभीर शिकायत के संदर्भ में प्रारंभिक जाँच कराई गई। प्रथम दृष्टया यह पाया गया है कि आप लापरवाही, अकुशलता एवं घोर कर्तव्यच्युति के दोषी हैं। संक्षिप्त आरोप निम्नानुसार हैं:

5. नागरिक द्वारा एक अभिलेख की प्रमाणित प्रति हेतु आवेदन प्रस्तुत किया गया था। नागरिक सेवा गारंटी के अंतर्गत आपको सात दिवस में प्रति उपलब्ध कराना अनिवार्य था, जिसे आप पूरा करने में विफल रहे।

6. जब आवेदक द्वारा आपूर्ति की संभावित तिथि के संबंध में जानकारी चाही गई, तो आपने बार-बार “खोज जारी है” कहकर जानबूझकर टालमटोल की तथा नागरिक को अनावश्यक रूप से प्रताड़ित किया।

7. आवेदक के प्रति आपका व्यवहार अमित्रवत्, असहयोगी एवं दुर्विनीत रहा, जो एक लोक सेवक से अपेक्षित आचरण के विपरीत है।

8. गत छह माह की अवधि में रिकॉर्ड रूम के निपटान की समीक्षा से अत्यंत निराशाजनक प्रदर्शन परिलक्षित होता है, जिससे आपकी अक्षमता, अकुशलता तथा कर्तव्य-बोध के अभाव का स्पष्ट संकेत मिलता है।

आपको निर्देशित किया जाता है कि इस सूचना की प्राप्ति से पंद्रह दिवस के भीतर यह स्पष्ट करें कि आपके विरुद्ध उपयुक्त गंभीर दंड क्यों न आरोपित किया जाए।

निर्धारित अवधि में उत्तर प्रस्तुत न किए जाने की स्थिति में यह माना जाएगा कि आप आरोपों को स्वीकार करते हैं तथा नियमों के अनुसार आगामी कार्रवाई की जाएगी।

संलग्न जाँच प्रतिवेदन का अवलोकन करने हेतु आप अधोहस्ताक्षरी से संपर्क कर सकते हैं।

भवदीय,

हस्ताक्षर

अनुशासनिक प्राधिकारी

________________________________________

रिकॉर्ड रूम प्रभारी का उत्तर

प्रति,

अनुशासनिक प्राधिकारी

दिनांक: DD-MM-YYYY

विषय: कारण बताओ सूचना का उत्तर

संदर्भ: ज्ञापन क्रमांक XXXX, दिनांक DD-MM-YYYY

मान्यवर,

उपर्युक्त कारण बताओ सूचना की प्राप्ति स्वीकार करता हूँ। प्रारंभ में ही यह निवेदन है कि लगाए गए सभी आरोप पूर्णतः निराधार तथा तथ्य विहीन होने से निरस्त योग्य हैं।

मेरा बिंदुवार उत्तर निम्नानुसार प्रस्तुत है, साथ ही भविष्य में अतिरिक्त स्पष्टीकरण प्रस्तुत करने का अधिकार सुरक्षित रखता हूँ:

1. यह स्वीकार किया जाता है कि प्रति हेतु आवेदन प्राप्त हुआ था तथा सात दिवस में प्रति उपलब्ध नहीं कराई जा सकी। तथापि, यह सशक्त रूप से अस्वीकार किया जाता है कि विलंब लापरवाही या कर्तव्यच्युति के कारण हुआ। वर्ष 1929–30 के अभिलेखों की खोज अत्यंत जटिल एवं समयसाध्य प्रक्रिया है, जिसके लिए गहन खोज आवश्यक होती है।

2. यह भी स्वीकार किया जाता है कि आवेदक को आवेदन की स्थिति से अवगत कराया गया। प्रारंभ में “खोज जारी है” तथा पश्चात “गहन खोज जारी है” की सूचना दी गई, जो दोनों ही तथ्यात्मक थीं। इस प्रकार पूर्ण पारदर्शिता बरती गई।

3. आवेदक का आचरण प्रारंभ में शिष्ट था, किंतु बाद में असभ्य तथा तत्पश्चात अत्यंत असभ्य हो गया। तृतीय भेंट के दौरान उसने ऊँचे स्वर में—जो आस-पास के कक्षों एवं गलियारे में उपस्थित जन-सामान्य द्वारा स्पष्ट रूप से सुना गया—घोषणा की कि “मैं राग दरबारी का लंगड़ हूँ, मैं कोई रिश्वत नहीं दूंगा”, जबकि मैंने अथवा मेरे सहायक ने किसी भी प्रकार की धन-मांग नहीं की गई थी। उक्त अनुचित साहित्यिक संदर्भ (विशेषतः जब वह दिव्यांग है ही नहीं!) तथा अपमानजनक संकेत के बावजूद, अधोहस्ताक्षरी ने धैर्य बनाए रखा और अभिलेख की खोज जारी रखने का आश्वासन दिया।

4. यह सत्य है कि कार्य-दबाव के कारण उच्च रक्तचाप की समस्या बढ़ जाती है, जिससे अधिकांश दिनों में तीव्र सिरदर्द रहता है, और इस कारण मैं उतना मुस्कुरा नहीं पाता जितना कि पूर्व में शस्त्र अनुज्ञा अनुभाग में पदस्थ रहते हुए मुस्कुराया करता था। इसे किसी भी स्थिति में असभ्यता न माना जाए। अधोहस्ताक्षरी एक लोक सेवक है और अपने स्वामी—जनता—के प्रति कभी असम्मानजनक नहीं हो सकता।

उपरोक्त तथ्यों के आलोक में आरोप निराधार हैं तथा त्वरित निरस्तीकरण योग्य हैं।

यह भी निवेदन है कि दीर्घ एवं अथक प्रयासों के उपरांत आवेदक द्वारा चाहा गया अभिलेख प्राप्त कर लिया गया है तथा प्रति तैयार है। आवेदक किसी भी कार्य दिवस में कार्यालयीन समय में उक्त प्रति प्राप्त कर सकता है, बशर्ते वह लिखित रूप में यह प्रतिज्ञा प्रस्तुत करे कि प्रति बिना किसी रिश्वत के प्राप्त की गई है।

रिकॉर्ड रूम की उत्पादकता में सुधार हेतु विनम्र सुझाव संलग्नक-1 में प्रस्तुत किए जा रहे हैं।

भवदीय,

हस्ताक्षर

(नाम)

रिकॉर्ड रूम प्रभारी

________________________________________

**संलग्नक-1

रिकॉर्ड रूम की कार्यक्षमता सुधारने हेतु विनम्र सुझाव**

रिकॉर्ड रूम अत्यंत सीमित संसाधनों में कार्य कर रहा है। आधारभूत संरचना एवं कर्मचारियों के कल्याण हेतु वर्षों से प्रतिवेदन प्रस्तुत किए गए हैं, किंतु कोई ठोस परिणाम नहीं निकला है। ऐसे में उत्पादकता प्रभावित होना स्वाभाविक है।

क. टपकती छत की त्वरित मरम्मत।

ख. अतिरिक्त कक्ष एवं रैक उपलब्ध कराए जाने तक नई फाइलों का आगमन स्थगित किया जाए।

ग. ग्रीष्मकाल में तापमान 46° सेल्सियस से अधिक हो जाता है। अतः  दो वातानुकूलक अनिवार्य रूप से स्थापित किए जाएं, जिससे अति ज्वलनशील प्राचीन काग़ज़ों में स्वतः दहन का जोखिम न रहे।

घ. रिकॉर्ड रूम को सर्प-मुक्त किया जाए। कहीं मुझ पर सांपों से अहेतुक भय या अनावश्यक डर फैलाने का आरोप न लगे, इसलिए मैं पक्के सबूत के तौर पर, रिकॉर्ड रूम में हाल ही में मिली एक सांप की केंचुली - जिसके मिलने की पुष्टि करने वाला पंचनामा भी साथ में है - संलग्न कर रहा हूँ  ।

नगर निगम का सर्प-पकड़ने वाला पहले सभी फाइलें हटाने की अव्यावहारिक माँग कर चुका है। सफलता-आधारित शुल्क पर किसी पेशेवर सपेरे की सेवाएँ ली जाए। 

ङ. जिला चिकित्सालय में एंटी-स्नेक वेनम की उपलब्धता सुनिश्चित की जाए;  रिकॉर्ड रूम कर्मियों हेतु कम से कम दो डोज़ सर्वथा आरक्षित रखी जाए।

च. रिकॉर्ड रूम कर्मियों हेतु व्यक्तिगत दुर्घटना बीमा।

छ. आवेदकों द्वारा दी जाने वाली गालियों, धमकियों एवं यदा-कदा होने वाले शारीरिक हमलों के अभिलेखन हेतु सीसीटीवी।

ज. पीएम-2.5 एवं पीएम-10 मापन हेतु वायु गुणवत्ता सूचक।

झ. त्रैमासिक फेफड़ा-परीक्षण।

ञ. शस्त्र अनुज्ञा, आबकारी, खनन तथा खाद्य एवं नागरिक आपूर्ति अनुभागों के सर्वाधिक दक्ष बाबुओं के साथ वरिष्ठ अधिकारियों की साप्ताहिक रोटेशनल तैनाती, एवं तुलनात्मक उत्पादकता विश्लेषण।