Memories from Dalma — A Reunion in the Wild [concluding]

 Memories from Dalma — A Reunion in the Wild Part-III

Night descended lazily over Dalma. Under the full-moon sky, the entire landscape glowed in silver, and the Dalma range stood like a silent guardian. A few playful deer even ventured close enough to peek into our cottage, as if curious about the four city-dwellers invading their peaceful domain.

Shambhu, the restaurant boy, had arranged a dining table right inside my room. The four of us sat with glasses of Scotch in hand, and before long the years began to melt away. The spirited debates between Jaga and Souti and the trademark quirky arguments from Panja felt exactly like our engineering-college evenings of forty years ago. True, the script now calls us “responsible individuals” and not the jackass students we once were, but the sentiments swirling in that little room unmistakably belonged to those carefree days of youth. It was as though the moonlit hills outside had opened a little doorway to the past, letting our memories spill right in.

At times the present slipped into our conversations, but the pull of the past pushed it aside almost instantly. Time swirled around us unnoticed, until Shambhu knocked on the door to remind us it was time for dinner.

While Shambhu cleaned the room, we walked towards the dining hall. The entire campus was awash in bright moonlight. I was reminded of our days in Jalu, when on full-moon nights we sometimes ventured into the adjacent tea garden or sneaked around devi-choudhurani-temple to pluck  & steal bananas straight from the trees — youthful adventures that now feel like scenes from another lifetime!

After dinner, we retired for the night with the promise of going for a morning walk through the hills. 

On the 6th morning, while Jaga continued his daily puja and worship — a ritual that takes him nearly an hour — the three of us set off up the hill for our walk. Along the way, we noticed wild cocks running the field. Apart from a few common birds, we didn’t spot any other wildlife during our 4 km walk that morning. 

One undeniable advantage of travelling with Panja is his vast knowledge of Indian cars and the art of driving on Indian roads. The man is a terrific driver—sit beside him for a day and you automatically feel your own driving skills level up by at least a notch!

As the sun climbed higher, the temperature rose noticeably we decided it was wiser to make a quick dash to the nearby Chandil Dam before it became unbearably hot. 

Chandil Dam looks vast, cradled by the Dalma hills on all sides. The long rows of sal trees along the slopes near the visitor area add a quiet charm and naturally draw a good number of tourists. On one side of the lake, there are boating facilities, while on the other, floating fish hatcheries rest directly on the water.

Jungle safaris are usually the highlight of any forest trip. But at Dalma, where tourism is still sparse, it’s hard to gather the minimum eight people needed to fill a safari vehicle—unless you’re ready to book the whole thing yourself.

So, over breakfast, two different tourist groups approached us to share a vehicle. One wanted us to join the 12 noon slot, which I rejected instantly—at that blazing temperature, even the shadows refuse to come out, let alone any wild animals! The second group pressed us to join the 3 PM slot, and we finally agreed.

We reached the safari point at 3 PM, only to find that the group, worried we’d be late, had already tied up with someone else. That left us stranded without a quorum.

Panja, never one to waste an opportunity, quizzed the safari driver about the route—core area, buffer area, everything. The driver casually revealed that the vehicle no longer enters the forest at all because the roads are completely broken. Instead, it just goes uphill to the peak and comes back.

“Then why is this called a jungle safari?” Panja naturally asked. A little more probing made the whole ploy obvious—they were simply making fools of the tourists. The other waiting visitors caught on quickly, demanded cancellations and refunds, and after some reluctance, the authorities finally agreed.

Frustrated, we decided to attempt the impossible—driving to the top on our own with Panja behind the wheel. With immense effort, he manoeuvred my 1200 CC car up to about 2.7 km from the peak. The “road” was practically non-existent; finding space to place all four wheels at once felt like solving a puzzle on every turn.

On the way, we passed a tourist vehicle stranded with a flat tyre—an ominous reminder of the terrain. With dusk settling over the jungle and no trace of lighting anywhere, I finally decided to abort the climb and turn back. Souti and Jaga protested, but when I invited them to take the wheel, they immediately quietened down. Had we been in a 4×4 or even a sturdier 2000 CC vehicle, we might have pushed on.

Descending a little further, we spotted another guest house under the “Dalma Wildlife Sanctuary Group,” but one glance was enough to see that nobody really stays there and the upkeep was no good! 

However, from here, the valley view of Jamshedpur was absolutely exquisite.

After dinner that night, we fell back into our old hostel-style chats and kept talking almost until midnight.

The next morning, we walked along the fenced Deer Rescue Area, where we saw a huge number of deer. Then we took a small detour through a village farm area, joined the hillside road again, and then returned to our cottages.

We decided to have breakfast on the way, so we checked out a little early at 9 AM. After crossing Jamshedpur, we spotted a pleasant roadside dhaba and stopped for breakfast.

From there, we drove straight toward Kolaghat, where we stopped for lunch at a humble proletariat-style restaurant named Tripti Ghar. The place looked a bit shabby at first glance, but the taste and quality of the food were remarkably good. In fact, compared to the canteens we survived on during our engineering days, this felt almost like dining in a star-rated establishment!

Finally, after dropping off Panja, Jaga, and Souti, I reached home. The moment I opened the door, Daichi—my ever-faithful little fellow—pounced onto the sofa beside me and demanded a full 15 minutes of nonstop belly rubbing before officially declaring my trip over.

S. Bera