Monkeying around

               I had my probation in 1989 in Wayanad Forest Division (bifurcation in to North and South Wayanad Division had not taken place by then). It was the only Forest Division in Kerala that required travel by train to cover its jurisdiction; it had a far flung Kasargode range. I had accompanied the DFO in train once to Kasargode where he had to conduct a timber auction. It was my first experience of the exciting spectacle and the accompanying thrill of oru tharam, rand tharam, moon tharam - a call given by the auctioneer in Malayalam exhorting the timber merchants to bid higher amount for a lot before it was confirmed to the previous highest bidder.

Wayanad Divisional Forest Officer, Shri S. K. Khanduri, hailing from Uttarakhand (it was still Uttar Pradesh then), used to live with his wife and one-year-old son, Shaurya, in a palatial official accommodation in Division headquarter at Mananthwady. It was difficult to say as to who, between him and his wife, had a more radiant smile. The same could be said about the hospitality that they extended regularly not only to me and my family but also to the neighboring IFS officers who were posted in Bathery that was about forty kilometers away.  

               DFO’s bungalow was mostly a wooden house that was constructed in 1888 using teak and kambakkam and was probably the largest residential building in Kerala at that time. As you entered the official bungalow through the main door you crossed the camp office on the left and came across a central hall lined with huge glass windows. Sipping hot tea during rainy days and watching, through those misty glass windows, the heavy downpour drenching the outside greenery was a heavenly pleasure. At night, low intensity lights glowed in all the windows giving a very eerie ambience to the surroundings in that small hilly town. British had a fancy for fireplaces and provided them wherever they stayed and this bungalow was no exception. That fireplace and the chimney must had seen many fires crackling prior to independence but Shaurya found it a comfortable place to invariably crawl into and play with his toys.

               The office of the Division too was located in the same forested compound that also housed few staff quarters. You had to climb the wooden staircase, creaking under your steps, to reach the DFO’s chamber that was located on the first floor. His room was not very spacious but still there was no cramped feeling because a small window opening on one wall brought not only bright light and fresh air but also a nice view of the sylvan surroundings. A huge tree with its sprawling branches used to tower above and around the office room. Interestingly, there was a trophy of a leopard, sitting on its haunches with its forelegs extended before it, placed near the window with a steel grill.

               I spent a couple of days in that room as a part of my training. I observed that a bonnet macaque (rhesus macaque or common monkey is found in North India while its close cousin, bonnet macaque, is endemic to south India) was a regular visitor on the adjoining tree. The monkey not only happily fed and frolicked, as monkeys usually do, on the tree but spent quite some time gazing through the window at the stuffed leopard. In nature, monkeys are natural prey of leopards but this particular monkey probably had some karmic relationship with our leopard. With watchful eyes it used to look very attentively at the leopard trophy. I was told that it also dared to hop from the tree branch and land at the window sill, slide its hand between the window grill and pull the leopard’s ears before returning to its watch post with a big grin. Playfulness is one thing but this conduct was sheer daredevilry on its part assuming that the monkey brain could not possibly determine whether the leopard was dead or alive. Either the boredom prompted it to indulge in this prank or it was bequeathed with a spirit of wild and riotous adventure. What else would explain that behavior? It was certainly not instinctual.

While still in Mussoorie, undergoing the last phase of training in Lal Bahadur Shastri Academy (LBSNAA), I received a letter from Shri Khanduri, welcoming me to the cadre and to the division. It was a matter of pride because many of my batch mates from other cadres had not received such a communication from their states. I wrote back thanking him profusely and requested for help in getting an accommodation at Mananthwady in view of the fact that I had married just a month before. I had made that request to him despite his gentle advice in the welcome letter that I would be required to travel a lot during probation for various attachments therefore I should come without family, if any! He was still kind enough to allot me a vacant Range Officer’s quarter on my arrival with my wife.

  Food was distributed in those days to forest laborers in lieu of a nominal deduction from their wages and that vacant quarter had been earlier used to store World Food Program ration. Occasionally we used to see a plump black rat moving in and out of the locked room that stored the ration. The robust health of the rodent was proof of the high protein diet that it was pilfering. I wondered whether our cohabitation disturbed its peace for a few months. The opposite was indeed obvious, to say the least.

My temporary accommodation was a typical Kerala type construction with a sloping tiled roof. It had a large compound with half a dozen coconut trees. Till then I only had a fleeting familiarity with Malayalam because of the forty lecture sessions given by Shri Unnithan in LBSNAA. Due to this handicap there were huge problems in communication sometimes with hilarious consequences. Within a week of taking possession of the quarter I was visited one morning by two men, probably a father- son duo. The father gesticulated towards the coconut trees of my compound and said something that was incomprehensible to me. With the help of abundant body language and my house maid, Geeta, a young girl in late teens, I could gather that he was asking whether I wanted the coconuts to be plucked from the trees. I could just catch the words, Patt rupa (ten rupees), to which I nodded my agreement feigning, quite unconvincingly of course, as if I knew the language and such a negotiation was my daily chore.

The younger man then climbed one tree dexterously and it was indeed a sight for me.  Never before had I seen how a small coir or jute string looped around the two ankles could act as a clamp for holding a leg grip on the vertical tree trunk for hauling up oneself using only the strength of hands. The boy was up at the crown in a jiffy like a primate, plucked and dropped four coconuts one after another on the ground. Before he could proceed further, I raised my arm like a muthalali (employer / capitalist) and shouted authoritatively from the ground, “Madi” (enough), convinced that four coconuts would be sufficient for me and my wife. The coconut climber obediently slid down immediately and once on the ground both men gave me a perplexed look that I could not really understand. I paid them ten rupees as settled earlier and they walked off merrily.

Later when I shared this incident with Khanduri sir he laughed heartily and informed that ten rupees was actually the charge of plucking all the coconuts from one tree. I ended up paying the market price of four coconuts even when they came from a tree in my own compound! I realized that I had to learn the language as early as possible to avoid such nutty situations in future.