I Spent Three Days & Three Nights in the Jungle: Here’s What Happened

Life is unpredictable. Realities change in a day. But we still calculate odds. We like to think that we’ve done the math. Got it right this time. But it turns out, we’ve been counting backwards all along. The curveballs of life keep us guessing. With time, we learn to duck. Until the sneaky ones hit us. And we fall flat on our face. Unable to move a limb.

I heard this somewhere – “No shock lasts longer than 48 hours. There’s too much appetite for the next one”. I think that’s where the beauty lies. In how we stand back up knowing that we’re going to take a hit again. And again. Never knowing when.

Life is mostly melancholic. I wonder if it was built that way to keep us grounded. My mother-in-law once said something at the dinner table that I will never forget – “জীবনে যতটুকু আনন্দ পাবি, চেটে পুটে নিবি” It roughly translates to – extract as much as you can from the fleeting moments of happiness life gives you.

So when the cosmic dice rolled my way in the beginning of 2023, I decided to take a vacation with my family. This trip happened at a very low point in my life. I’m glad it happened because it gave my subconscious the chance to feed off a change in perspective. It was a healing moment I didn’t know I needed.

From the moment you decide to take a vacation to the moment the tickets are booked, a lot of planning takes place. Like pick a location, list down possible activities, agree on a duration, find a palace to stay (wait, did I write “palace”? My husband would be amused because I am fussy about hotel bathrooms). Anyway, the point is, that’s where the journey begins.

So after everyone had checked in with their ball and chain, no time was wasted. The tickets were booked quicker than you can finish saying “vacation”. This time we were going to an unexplored territory for us – the jungle. (Do you also feel that “jungle” sounds more exotic than “forest”?)

Gorumara jungle, resting at the foot of the Himalayas in our very own state of Bengal. (Please take note of the pride.)

Since we didn’t book well ahead, the train tickets were sold out. So we took the bus. Greenline business class (sleeper) is an experience in itself. Luxurious, chilled two-tier berths with velcro-lock curtains, faux-leather-wrapped pillows, clean blankets – the entire premium shindig. Amber lights light up the inside of the bus making the passengers look like museum artefacts through its full-length glass windows to the passersby.

So one humid evening towards the end of April, after gulping down a “bhaar” of “cha” each, the five of us boarded the bus from Esplanade. This is a good place to mention that for a quintessential Bengali, our “cha” is short for “charm”. Be it a wake-up routine, mid-work break, gossip, or even the prologue to an adventure, “cha” is a staple you cannot miss. Cha has been known to cure heartbreaks and headaches alike. A steaming cup forges bonds like no other beverage. And in our case, it was the start of something new – the first trip with my entire family. Much like smashing a coconut.

The bus reached Siliguri around 7 in the morning. Some of us slept soundly. I have given up on trying to sleep inside anything in motion. But my husband was out cold.

Our stay at Gorumara was a government lodge, Neora Jungle Camp Resort, well inside the jungle. To be honest, we let these government lodges decide our vacation spots. First-hand experience over the years has led us to believe that government property is the cream of any vacation destination. They have unbeatable locations and top-of-the line facilities at reasonable prices. And we were proved right yet again. You’ll find out why soon. Along with the hotel, we had also booked a car for the entire trip. This was primarily to avoid inconveniencing the family with wait times, shared cabs, the heat, etc.

From Siliguri, our car took us through the straightest road, sandwiched neatly between the Teesta-Mahananda canal and the jungle. There were signs on the road that read “Elephant Crossing Zone” that got us excited. After a while, the serene surroundings gave way to a locality. We saw a bunch of hotels, shops, houses, and offices on both sides of the road. We loaded up on our supply of water and snacks here and climbed back into the car. We had only begun to take in the scenery of the quaint town and before we knew it, the locality had disappeared and tall trees had taken its place. We were in the jungle. The canopies hid the sky. It was cool and dark at 9 in the morning. It was the real deal.

The car was moving fast through the smooth pitch road. We kept our eyes peeled for signs of wildlife. Finally, the car slowed to take a left. We noticed the board announcing the entry point of the hotel. This is where the smooth pitch gave way to a dirt road, reducing our movement to a jerky ride. A few hundred metres later, our driver slowed down and motioned for us to look to the left. And there we saw it – our first wildlife spotting – a majestic peacock with its bright, flowing train, strolling carelessly. Bothered by the traffic, it moved quietly inside the jungle.

We covered the remaining kilometre in awe. Then the jungle opened up to a clearing with a wide circular one-storey structure (which is the dining area) and a watchtower. The lower level of the watchtower is divided into the staff quarter and the kitchen. The second level has four guest rooms. And finally the third level is where the magic is – an uninterrupted view of the paradise around us. Farther back into the jungle away from this clearing stood five little cottages surrounded by electric fencing. Three of those were to be our stay for the trip. 

It felt like a picturesque hiding place. All you can see around is the dark green of the jungle and a little farther away, the glistening greyish blue of the Neora river. The only people there apart from us were the ever-smiling staff. The only sound was of birds chirping, occasionally interrupted by the staff chatting and the clanking of utensils. Everything around us was wild. The birds, the trees, the animals, the air. It seemed like a different world altogether. 

Neora Jungle Camp is one of the few properties in West Bengal that’s inside a jungle. It sits right on the Gorumara elephant corridor, which makes it an ideal place for tusker spotting. Quite naturally, it is also one of the stops for the jungle safari tours. For the three days we stayed there, we saw several safari jeeps roll up to the dining hall area at three specific times during the day. People tumbled out of those and hurriedly climbed up the watchtower with cameras and binoculars slung around their necks in the hopes of spotting wildlife. During these times, the staff at the hotel scrambled to make tea, hand out water bottles and provide directions to the washroom.

When the jeeps left, the property fell back to its slow movements. The feeling of “off the grid” was restored. We could again hear the leaves rustling, the birds chirping. Even the three resident dogs were calmer and fell back to sleep.

Slow living is a luxury in the city. You’re always late for something. There’s always another thing you need to do “yesterday”. But inside a jungle, the whole scene changes. All of a sudden you have no to-do list! So you’re forced to slow your pace. The moment you do that, you begin to take stock of the nature around you. And the nature within you. Your thoughts slow down. You have more clarity. You notice the sun rays making patterns on the ground and on the trees. Your ears begin to pick up and distinguish between different bird songs. And you hum a little tune you had long forgotten.

How beautiful life can be if we could just slow down a little.

The day we arrived, Tathagata and I decided to hike down to the Neora river. It wasn’t far. A few steps down from the watchtower area led us to a narrow embankment covered with drooping, lush green ferns. On the right of the embankment was a field of grass that had grown wild. Nature looks good unkempt. On the other side was a small pond. And from it, ensued a chorus of unbothered croaking. Across the pond, I noticed a village woman collecting leaves and stuffing them into her tattered cross-body bag. She stopped when she saw us and stood up straight. Sun-burnt skin. Big eyes. They don’t smile much. Life is tough in the jungle.

We later realized that she was probably there for the “ঢেকি শাক”, (dheki shaak) a delicacy that grew in abundance in the jungle. From the watchtower, we had often noticed Bishnu and another hotel staff go deep into the jungle in search of these leaves that they cooked for us with love. And that’s because we signed up for whatever they like to eat when they were taking food requests. No regrets there. 

Back to the river hike. We kept walking until the embankment ended with a rocky dip in the ground. We used our hands to pull ourselves down the uneven slope, feeling the rocks and the dirt under our fingers. At the bottom, the landscape opened up into a stretch of white sand scattered with puddles. These puddles were surrounded by touch-me-nots. I was amazed at the stark contrast in the terrains we had covered to reach this point. The river lay just ahead, sparkling under the midday sun, beckoning. But we were late for lunch, for “dheki shaak”. So we decided to return the next day.

The next day we went on an early morning jungle safari to Chapramari. The trip was more adventurous than the spotting. But we didn’t do too badly in the latter either. We saw a couple of wild boars, a barking deer, Madan Tak (a type of stork which is also the largest bird indigenous to West Bengal), and a couple of peacocks. By this time, peacock sightings had become so common that it started to feel like less of a feat. Like spotting a crow in the city. But the stars of Dooars – tusker, one-horned rhino, bison – continued to elude us.

By the time we returned, it was late morning and we had our river expedition due. So we hurriedly shovelled down breakfast, changed clothes and were back on track. We crossed the lush green, then the somewhat rocky and then the white sand and we plunged into the river at speed. One of the resident dogs accompanied us on this day. The water was crystal clear and cool. We brought back a beautifully patterned rock from the river bed.

The next day, we had a day excursion planned for a few nearby tourist spots. Rocky island, Bindu, Jhalong river, Samsing, Suntalekhola (tea garden), and Murti river. Not in that order. We took a tea break at Applestone viewpoint. It’s a wonder how Nature can make an enormous rock look exactly like a bitten apple, hence the name. We lunched at Bindu, the last village of West Bengal, sitting on the India-Bhutan border and brought back Bhutanese chocolate.

It was late evening by the time we returned. Back in our cottages, when we were busy plugging in our almost-dead phones, we heard the staff shouting “হাতি আসতেছে” (Elephant is coming) as they ran up to our cottages. Hearts pounding, we dropped everything and ran behind them to the back of the watchtower all the way to the electric fence and stood still, straining our eyes. It was getting dark. And then we saw it. About a hundred metres inside the jungle, two tuskers stood a few metres apart from each other, large ears waving – skin, the colour of the jungle in the evening. It was unbelievable! The staff remarked “সাক্ষাৎ ভগবান” (God, Himself).

At night, on all the three nights, electricity was a goner at the Neora Jungle Camp Resort. Electricity inside the jungle is anyway a luxury. But there’s an explanation for the power outage, which we learnt from a visiting ranger on the final night of our stay. The wood poles in the jungle that support the transmission lines double up as back-scratching tools for the elephants. This usually happens in the evenings when the elephants mistake these for trees in the dark. And these poles can barely do both jobs. Hence the blackouts. Other times, it’s just an elephant having some fun. Or venting frustration. And the electricity department is too scared to risk venturing into the jungle in the dark to fix the poles.

A dark evening in the jungle is a picturesque sight. There’s a chill in the air after sundown. We used to sit with piping hot tea under the moonlight. It used to take some time for our eyes to adjust to the darkness and when it did, we could see the moon light up the entire clearing. Bathed under the soft, shimmering light, we had front-row seats to a firefly light show in the dark of the jungle. And then when the chill got the better of us, we would bundle back inside the dining hall and talk about “shongshaar” by the candlelight. 

Dinner would be finished by 9 pm. And then we would gather courage for the walk back to our cottages along the pitch-black road, the jungle looming ominously on both sides. Bundled together, we used to move like a unit on a mission. Pumped with adrenaline, hair standing on end with every rustle, shivering with fear of what might pounce on us, never trusting the electric fence.

On the third night, we were jolted awake by a deafening sound of thunder. The room was dark, there was still no electricity. I could hear that it was raining heavily outside. I was squinting my eyes when I saw a blinding lightning followed by a loud rumble of thunder.

I realized that a thunderstorm in the jungle is a completely different affair than in the city. The wind was strong and it whistled differently. The thunder seemed louder. I could hear unknown noises from the jungle and that scared me stiff. Or maybe it was my imagination. My mind was conjuring up images of jungle ghosts, pulling from the unsettling stories that our tour guide had shared on the excursion. Fully regretting listening to those stories now.

We were constantly afraid that a tree would fall on the roof and the cottage would collapse. My sleepy brain also somehow inferred that the roof could be blown off! None of that happened. But something way beyond our expectations happened the morning after.

We were up at dawn like every day, soaking in the fresh, rain-washed greens around us. My mother-in-law too had stepped out of her cottage, trying to estimate damages from last night’s storm. Surprisingly, there was none that we could see. And then all three of us heard rustling of leaves, as if someone was walking in the jungle close by. It was about 5 am. The staff doesn’t wake up this early. The power was on in the solar-powered electric fencing, so no one could have ventured beyond it. So if anyone was to walk in the jungle at that time, they would have to be out there since last evening before the electric fence was powered up. 

We were scared but also mighty curious – usually a dangerous combination. Only my mother-in-law had the courage to act on her curiosity. She quietly stepped down from the cottage patio, walked a few steps towards the fencing and craned her neck towards the jungle behind the last cottage. Tathagata and I were watching her from our cottage patio. We saw her stand motionless for a second and then she gestured for us to come quickly. We went as quietly as we could. What we saw still gives me goosebumps.

Standing just metres away, separated by nothing more than an electric fence, stood a majestic tusker! Only the electric fence separated us. We could almost touch it! The elephant had its back to us and was munching on leaves, wagging its tail, waving its large ears, tusks glistening. A wild, gentle beauty. The proximity had my heart racing. The adrenaline hit me like a tidal wave. But it also rooted me to the spot. I was frozen by the magnificence of the moment.

It sensed our presence and started to turn towards us. I held my breath. The air, thick with tension. A minute or so later, probably deciding that we were more of a nuisance than a threat, it ditched breakfast for privacy and moved slowly into the jungle, still waving its ears. Now that was an experience of a lifetime! Luckily, we recovered our senses enough and in time to get it on camera.

When the elephant left, it strangely felt like I had been standing there for ages looking at it. I felt this way more than once there. Most of it during the afternoons spent on top of the watchtower. And while watching the sunset. Or following a peacock moving from branch to branch. And also the late morning spent at the Neora river. I’m not clear on the dynamics of it but I’m sure time moves slower in the jungle. 

My relationship with time has always been characterised by anxiety. What time is it now? How much time do I have left to finish what I’m doing? But in the jungle I had an intensely cathartic encounter with the passage of time. I felt the extraordinary power of sitting and doing nothing. It’s almost meditative. I soon realized that when you become untethered from your accustomed time orientation, you forget what time it is or how much time you have left to finish what you’re doing. That is the most liberating feeling in the world.

Sometimes I would find myself reaching for my phone to take pictures or post something online. But Tathagata would protest. The point of being in the jungle was to be “in the jungle”. And not violate the spirit of the wilderness by looking at it through a phone screen. He was right.

So what did I do sitting in that jungle for three days and three evenings? I spent a lot of time looking at the trees. The leaves and their delicate webbings. I touched the early morning dewdrops on the grass. I observed the flowers and the tiny insects that would inhabit them. I became receptive to the information from nature – the whispering of the leaves, the chattering of the birds, the movement of the sunrays. It is strangely peaceful. And I think this is what people mean when they talk about the presence of God.