Soulwalk in the Woods

Last Sunday I drove thirty kilometres from Mhow with my son to an old, little known stone fort called Kushalgarh. According to an inscription painted on a board near the entrance, it was built by a local chieftain, Kushal Singh Rajput in the 16th century. The fort has high stone walls, with citadel like watch towers on every corner and is spread over two acres. ?

Yadav, the retired caretaker of the fort is an old man of indeterminate age, probably no less than ninety years old. He said he was a hundred. He told us all about the fort and some of the visitors he had conducted over a tenure of nearly fifty years as watchman. A younger caretaker, Deokaran, told us that Yadav retired long ago, but stood in whenever his son, who was now a caretaker, couldn’t come.

A forest trail leads down seven kilometres from the fort, to Kalakund, a hamlet of a few houses with a quaint railway station. A heritage train runs from Mhow to this place and back every day, a trip I took a few months earlier. We decided to trek down leaving our car parked near the fort. The old man assured us it would be safe.

Taking a small back pack we set out on foot. The trail was easy for the first kilometre after which it descended steeply. Covered with loose stones and teak leaves from the forest we walked through, one needed sure footing to keep from falling. Halfway down we took a drink from a small stream with clear water flowing over a rock.

Out and about away from habitation I often drink from clear streams and water. In recent years many of us only drink purified water. It is devoid of minerals and has sterilized our gut. Exposing our gut flora periodically to untreated, clean water and food helps keep it healthy and disease resistant. Whatever my theory is worth, I hardly ever fall sick and am very rarely unwell.

?The Heritage Train was pulling out of the station as we approached Kalakund. Some of the station buildings and the walls of a row of drab toilet blocks had been painted in cheerful colours, making the place look like something out of a child’s story. The steel train tracks running past them, and away into the distance suggested a mysterious journey with undiscovered experiences. On the platform, a stray dog came up and put his front paws up on my leg, wagging his tail. He had absolutely no wariness of strangers. People on the tourist train probably gave him tidbits.

It was late afternoon and the sun would set in a couple of hours. We looked around the station, took a few pictures and then started back. It was a mildly strenuous trek uphill but seemed to take less time than the way down. Unknown trails often seem to take longer.

Exerting as we were, the cold stream water felt like an elixir. As we resumed climbing the trail, I spotted what looked like leopard scat. This was later confirmed by Vinit, a friend who spends a lot of time tracking and photographing wildlife across India. ?

?We got back to the fort just after five. The two caretakers were relieved to see us. They had mentioned that they stayed at the fort till five. Old Yadav-ji praised us for having the "himmat" (courage) to walk all the way to Kalakund and back. When I said I hoped we had not kept him, he vigorously asserted he would have stayed near our car till we got back.

?We had a small thermos of coffee with us. We nearly had it down at the train station, but decided we would enjoy it more after the trek. We offered the old man and Deokaran some. They politely declined, we politely insisted and soon they were sipping hot coffee from two small steel glasses I had in my knapsack.

?Yadav told us he was a young man when the British were "chased out" of India.?According to him, they were given an ultimatum by Mahatma Gandhi to leave the country within two days. According to him, they all left in twenty-four hours, by “hawai jahaz” (aeroplane)! Very few ever came back, he added.

There was something so uncomplicated and positive about this old man. His voice was strong, his hearing seemed fine and he was mentally alert and engaging. He said he didn’t eat much now but all his life had walked the hills, tended his fields. He added he used to drink milk and eat butter from his cows. I asked if he had any family left. He had grandchildren and their families, he said. “We were five brothers, five. It’s just me now”. His words were, “Sab shaant ho gaye ab” (They have all attained peace now). What a fine way of looking at life and death.

When old Yadav was born, and even more recently, death was a common experience, a part of life. It was always round the corner. Many died in childhood from illness and other causes and very few reached old age. Their longevity seen as blessed and rare, the elderly were genuinely revered.

In the way of village folk, the two men asked for water and rinsed out their glasses before handing them back. The old man said they were honoured that we had shared our coffee with them. He said he had told the young man earlier that they would stay with our car till we returned because he knew, “Achchey log hain” (they are good people).?He added that some souls are kindred and he thought we probably were. I felt indescribably blessed hearing this from him.

He told us he suffered a heart attack some years ago. He was taken to hospital, where he could hear people saying he was dead. The doctors did something and his eyes fluttered open.?They were amazed and one asked him, "Baba kya kya dekh kar aye ho upar?"?(Respected one, what all have you seen up there?). They refused to take any fees and one bowed and touched his feet.?

The sun was low in the west by now, and it would soon be dusk. Before we left, I asked Yadav-ji if he needed anything. He said he was happy and needed nothing, before asking, “Aisi?kettli la dogey,?jismey chai garam rehti hai?"?(Could you bring me a kettle like yours, that keeps tea hot?)

?I understood he was referring to the thermos flask we had poured coffee from. I gave it to him. Who could tell when our kindred souls might meet again? He looked at it in his hand, chuckled and thanked us.

We drove away uplifted and grateful for having met such a radiant and lovely soul.