Into the Wild: My Motorcycle Quest to the Mysterious
Sundarbans
There are trips that you plan.
Then, there are rides which call to you.
The Sundarbans was more than a place on a map, it was something you dreamt of, something that you heard about and thought of as a whisper of wildness, a place where tigers go without making any noise and rivers shift with the moon.
The Ride: Kolkata to the Unknown
It was five thirty in the morning. It was still morning under the hazy skies of Kolkata when I started my 100cc motor cycle. She was not long tour material, but she had a heart,--and that was all I wanted.
With my helmet on and gloves strapped, I bid farewell to the traffic signals and started off to the Basanti Highway with a straight shot to Godkhali- the fringe of the Sundarbans.
The highway wound between sleepy villages, and across fields, and across rustic bridges. And each step the air seemed new--as though the wilderness were nearer.
Roadside Moments:
At Canning I rested at tea. And a neighbor on my side told me, Going to the jungle on that bike? Be careful. Sundarban is more than trees and water and it has its mood.”
He was not mistaken.
At noon I arrived at Godkhali Ferry Ghat, where the end of the road meets the beginning of the rivers.
Boats to the Jungle:
I locked my bike up and sat on a wooden ferry that after a few minutes I could not see land anymore. There was nothing but green mangroves, mud channels and so deep silence that there was an echo.
Sundarbans is not a noisy place. It is quiet, conservative, and old.
I booked a home stay in Satjelia Island. No cellular connection. No traffic. Just nature.
I investigated on the following two days:
Dobanki Canopy Walk - a canopy walkway on a forest territory.
Sudhanyakhali Watchtower-I searched the woods with my eyes until tiger appeared.
Mangrove Boat Safari: memorable touring through the snarled roots.
The natives used a low tone. They were aware the forest listened.
The tales of the fishermen who had never come back, of the sighting of tigers just beyond the village, were rife in the air at night. By the lantern,... sitting on the floor and eating rice and fish, I felt very much one with the scene... and a bit ghostly.
Three days on I went back to my bike. The dusty but faithful waited.
When I was riding back to Kolkata, something had changed. I was still the same rider yet no longer the same man.
What the jungle will tell you a city does not.
Final Words:
A biking rider with a soul of mystery,
Does thee love riverside roads,
When all you hear is silence as opposed to honks--
Drive to Sundarbans.
Not just to have the kicks. Without the transformation though.
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