TRAVEL IN BAD LANDS

Chambal: Into The Bandit KingdomAlok Tomar

A languid crowd negotiates the narrow streets of the bazaar. Jalebi, Pepsi and kulfi provide excuses to continue centuries-old relations. A shopkeeper’s tape recorder howls like a couple of Pomeranians on heat through overused weather-beaten speakers that produce more static than sound. A redoubtable publicist on a cycle-rickshaw screams through a hailer, soliciting prospective viewers for a film released at least three years ago. This could be a scene from any town in northern India. Look again: there’s a difference. Every third shoulder has a gun hanging from it, nonchalantly. Conversation usually revolves around dates of court hearings. Section 302 (murder) or section 307 (attempt to murder) of the Indian Penal Code find frequent mention over casual glasses of tea. If you listen carefully to the tape recorder, the song playing is Mar diya jaye, Ya chhod diya jaye. The movie being advertised is Kachhe Dhaage or Chambal ki Kasam. The inhabitants learn of their international fame only through newspapers and movies. Welcome to Bhind in Madhya Pradesh’s Chambal valley. Travel 60 km from Agra in Uttar Pradesh or 20 km from Dhaulpur in Rajasthan, and you can dip your feet in the crystal clear waters of the Chambal river. Cross it, and you’ll enter another world of mysterious ravines. But the Chambal valley proper is defined by Bhind-Morena, so let’s begin there. On the way from Gwalior to Bhind, after you’ve gone past the boards of multinational corporations at the Malanpur Industrial Area, you arrive at a dusty crossroads. Turn right, and go straight past the bazaar, and after about six km the road ends. You stand in front of a hill with a ruined fort at the top. This is Gohad, and until the end of the 17th century, Gwalior was governed from here by Gujjar generals who had taken over after the Mughal power declined. If you are willing to walk ten km along a trail, you’ll reach a cemetery on the banks of a dry rivulet. The British soldiers and officers who rest here were killed in a revolt that took place in Maharajpur, near Gwalior, 13 years before the Revolt of 1857.A narrow road with green vistas takes you from Bhind to Ater, the border of Chambal valley. If you look out from the Ater fort, you can see the ravines extending into Bateshwar, Uttar Pradesh. The fort itself is worth a visit, its bright colours having survived the harsh sun and dust for 400 years. Being close to Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, Ater has been a favourite sanctuary for bandits. But the crime rate here is low — even dacoits don’t want strife in their backyard. A very old banyan tree is the focus of an annual mela, and anyone interested in the unlikely sight of bullock-cart races should come here around Diwali. Back to Bhind, once the capital of Bhadauriya Rajputs. All that remains of those times is a fort on a hill where the district collector used to sit till recently. Two canons in the fort tell a tale of deceit — a treacherous general filled them up with millet instead of gunpowder, leading to its fall. Incidentally, Bhind was the last of the kingdoms in the region to fall into the hands of the colonising British. The terrain was tough and only the tough lived here. Much earlier, Prithviraj Chauhan came here to get married after abducting Sanyukta. If you look even deeper into the details of history, you will find the Tomars, who came to Chambal from Delhi following their skirmishes with Chauhan. And with this, the Chambal valley became a refuge for rebels and bandits.If you feel like embarking on a daring campaign, travel to Lahar, 40 km from Bhind, and then another 25 km to Panchnada. The single-lane road is a driver’s nightmare. But at the end of the trail lies a prize: you will behold the confluence of five rivers, including the Yamuna and the Chambal. There are buses connecting Bhind to Ater and Lahar, and you can hire a jeep as well. On a good day, you can get a lift in a tractor. But there are no facilities for a tourist here. For the insistent traveller, however, circuit houses of the irrigation and forest departments may be available.On the road from Gwalior to Agra, half an hour will bring you to Morena, a sleepy township that pretends to be a city. There is a circuit house here and three hotels, some with air-conditioned rooms. Power supply, however, is uncertain. The reason for risking a visit is the opportunity to witness an entirely different face of Chambal’s cultural kaleidoscope. In Kanakmath, 20 km from Morena, are a clutch of 12th century temples that are no less impressive than Khajuraho. The same erotic postures, the same problem of statues being plundered. Since the Archaeological Survey of India took over the maintenance of these temples, it has been identifying and bringing back statues from farms. Of course, it is impossible to bring back statues that have found new life paving drains and houses. There are other such temples in Mitavali, Padavali and Shanichara. While their architecture is quite different from what you see in Khajuraho and Kanakmath, there is little dispute about their historic importance. From Kanakmath, you can experience the raw Chambal by travelling 30 km to Barwai, the village of Putli Bai, the first bandit queen and grandmother of Rashid, an underworld major of Kolkata. Putli Bai’s brother Aladdin can still be seen doing the rounds selling bangles in the area. That’s not his only occupation. He is an elected member of the municipal committee. If you are still determined to visit another difficult area and have the stamina to trek three or four km, then you must go to Pahargarh. Six football teams can play in the courtyard of the magnificent fort here. The royal family’s pockets, unfortunately, are not very deep, and it shows in the state of maintenance. But members of the royal family take pride in listing the names of movies that were shot in the fort. The real wonder, however, lies another eight km away (four of which have to be done on foot). Walk over the hardened, rocky soil, liberally decorated with thorns and other objects of discomfort, and in about 45 minutes you will travel thousands of years back in history to an unnamed river cradled in a green valley with hundreds of caves. Prehistoric humans have left their messages in hieroglyphics, providing employment to several researchers who are trying to crack their meaning. A little bit of luck and lots of hard work could reveal an ancient civilisation in the Chambal. (If there ever was such a thing, civilisation and Chambal developed an entirely new set of relationships after its disappearance.) A journey to Pahargarh is best begun around dawn and finished before dusk. Spending the night in a car or a jeep could turn out to be an experience you could well do without.On to Gwalior, one of the first places in India to see the railways thanks to the Scindias’ penchant for locomotion. In fact, they had a silver toy train running on the dining table to serve guests. The story goes that this once malfunctioned, and the diners, including English royalty, had their clothes redecorated. Until recently, two railway lines, narrower than narrow gauge, used to ply through the ravines between Gwalior and Bhind and Gwalior and Morena. The Bhind line is closed now, but the toy train to Morena can be seen twice a day today. If you are on a cycle, you don’t have to be a professional to beat the train. If you’d rather enjoy a ride on this train, you can sit either in the coach or on top of it. Either way, be prepared for company that can vary from humans to goats and sheep. Why this train hasn’t been identified as a heritage line, as in the case of Darjeeling, is beyond comprehension.Gwalior has several tourist attractions. About 102 km away is Shivpuri, which used to be the summer capital of the Scindia rulers. In a protected forest close by, there is a castle which was built on top of a hill for George V to rest in. On the banks of the picturesque Chambal, in the dense forest of Senwda tehsil of Datiya district, is a temple to goddess Kali. For an authentic experience of the empire of bandits, you can read the etchings on the numerous bells. It was essential for any self-respecting bandit to present a bell to the goddess. Kind of goes with the image, doesn’t it?