The calming wild of The Bison Resort
There are some places that will forever reside in your heart simply because it brought so much tranquility. Where the hot saturation of gulmohar flowers made them ebb like beating hearts from the blood of the soil. Or the quiet of birdsong and the incandescent witch-works of jasmine flowers at night, a night so total and quiet that it waits like a predator right outside the periphery of the light. A generous predator, nevertheless, bringing you gifts like starlight and fireflies. Inviting you to get a little more comfortable with silence and darkness that are a presence by themselves. and there’s no better place to experience this than The Bison Resort.
First let me get this over with. No, we did not see any big cats on the safari. Though in all probability some big cats might have spotted us. But what we did see was a forest lush and recuperated from the summer by the first rains. Just before monsoon came in with its tantrums and moody sulks. But I am getting ahead of myself here. Let’s begin again.
The summer of 2019 was a busy and hot one. By the end of May we were quite wrung out and very, very ready for a holiday. A nice, quick getaway. I’d been eyeing The Bison Resort for a long time, not in the least because of Shaaz Jung’s amazing photography and just as we were mulling over our plans, the resort dropped their monsoon package like hot, peri-peri french fries. And of course, we pounced on it like one ought to pounce on hot, peri-peri french fries, even if it is metaphoric (and cost a far lot more) Also, Shaaz being an extremely nice guy, gave us an added director discount. Instagram stalking for the win!
Early June is a mystic in these parts. This window of time, when the earth and rain have coyly renewed their vows, is an interesting time to visit Kabini. This beautiful honeymoon spell when these new lovers walk preciously on eggshells around each other. The river hasn’t yet begun to reassert her claim over the dried-up wet lands, yet has begun to stretch her languorous limbs, slowing taking the earth to her wet embrace. The summer flowers, all fired up from the first rains with their hot-bright renewed ardor, burn your eyes with colour - a long, lingering lover’s parting kiss - so that you’ll remember them, long for them and pine until they return next summer. The green glistens with vitality after the nourishing rains. And the air is translucent with freshness.
The Bison Resort is an easy 220 km drive from Bangalore. The roads are good and there is good connectivity save for a few spots in between. The place is relatively easy to find. We arrived a little before lunch and were taken to our tents. The River View Tents offer a delicious view - grasslands that stretched and rolled for miles and then abruptly disappeared into a thicket of dense forest. In the far distance, separating the forest and the grassland, a silver ribbon of water played peek-a-boo with the sun. On the said grassland, cattle by the seeming hundreds peacefully grazed. All day. Non-stop. Throughout the day. Dawn to dusk level of all day. Herbivores eat a lot, I must say.
The tents themselves were all-out colonial hunting lodge romance. Canvas tents (yeah the tents are actually tents) four poster beds, wooden floors that murmur softly under your feet, white linen, full-length mirror, arm chairs, hurricane lantern type fittings, muslin bed curtains, a writing desk, from which if you raised a writers-block-clogged head, would be treated to such a view, that inspiration would have no trouble finding you. The balcony is the stuff of dreams that go best with a bottomless glass of wine. Right in front of the tent is a little fenced-off mini pasture-like pen with adorable little hobbit horsies. The platinum blond one with the smooth hair, I decided to name Britney Spears, a villainous one I named Escobar and then there was one with a mangled foot and undaunted, fearless spirit - was Superstar. No, those are not their real names. Yes, they have better names. They clearly didn’t look like joyride horses. Turns out that the resort’s premises are also a sanctuary for abandoned horses. The Backwater Sanctuary, as the initiative is called, is home to several horses - beautiful horses, lovingly rehabilitated and given a second life by the mighty hearts that run the place. To see these horses and their fancy glossy coats, one has a hard time associating them with the mangy refugees that once may have untrustingly come through these gates.
Lunch was delicious but not lavish. It was like good, home-cooked food - just the kind of fare you would expect on a safari holiday. There was enough variety without being wasteful and it sat quite well in the stomach. We aided our digestion by lounging at the Observation Deck. Just to have this space to yourself is a very good reason to visit the resort on a weekday. The soft afternoon breeze was one hell of a tranquilliser and we stared for a while at these new troll-like shapes on the other side of the waterbody that weren’t there before.
ELEPHANTS!!
Obviously we had to get a closer look. But for a closer look, we had to walk through grazing cows and bulls and calves and the potential threat of their horns. It was a bit unnerving to walk past these fellows, especially after a lifetime of watching The Lion King. We learnt a lot about playing it cool during that walk. We also learnt that what’s extra mossy on top is boggy at the bottom. Likith learned that the hard and fast sticky way that when it comes to former wetlands, stay off the lush grass.
We watched the elephants for a while, marvelling how we really were on the very edge on the man-animal conflict zone. We were literally surrounded by a big-cat buffet spread. And Shashank the naturalist had informed us that they had spotted a crocodile that morning during the routine nature walk like it was no big deal. A tiger or leopard has been known to come by and lounge in these waters - generally freaking everybody out, i’m guessing. And here we were, sitting on the grass, watching elephants, far (and close) enough to find the calf among them cute, taking some photos and just about drinking in the beauty of the place.
Early June is probably the best time to do this, in pleasant weather. Any earlier in the year, and the sun might fry you and any later, you can’t do this at all, because the monsoons reclaim the grasslands. But this early June greenscape is just pastoral perfection. In the distance, as if to complete the picture, we spotted a couple of gorgeous horses. While one grazed majestically - the very picture of equine majesty - the other one gambolled on its back like a massive (still majestic) puppy. Lunch was slowly taking its effect on us and a nap seemed like a very pleasant idea. One more round of hoping that the sour-eyed bovine fellows didn’t smell fear on me and then onto the next program on our tight schedule. Siesta.
Let me tell you this, there is no siesta like a siesta out here. We were sharing the resort with a rowdy (read moronic) bunch of kids who insisted on wrecking the afternoon with the latest repetitive “Baby Doll” nonsense from M/s. Bollywood. But the very zen of this place, the boss in this parts, got under my skin and softened me such that I didn’t feel even the slightest inclination to go over and kill them - which is so not me. I’m generally very sensitive and protective about the vibe and all. But out here, I really couldn’t care less. Play your insipid nonsense all you like, I was above these things.
Post nap was safari time. Safaris are charged extra as they are conducted by the forest department. We were sitting with our cameras all ready to shoot a tiger or two, when Shashank walked into the vehicle and squelched us all with a camera fitted with a super-mega-megaphone-sized lens. A word about Shashank - this soft-spoken naturalist with a passion for wildlife conservation, casts a really long shadow and would not be out of place in a wrestling ring. He’s big enough to discourage a tiger from, you know, taking a sudden notion for let’s say, human bhajjis or something for teatime snacks. He gave us an estimation of animals to expect (possibility of disappointment included) and presently we were bouncing along happily in the big safari vehicle towards Nagarhole. No sooner had we entered the gates, the bar of expectation was set high as we were greeted by a tusker. Kind of a small but with really impressive tusks - pretty cool for the first ten minutes. But after that, try as we did, strain our eyes as we did, hope and pray as we did, we didn’t spot any big cats. Nope.
But what we saw was the magic and mystery of a forest at sundown. The way sunbeams caressed the trees, casting bashful shadows on the mossy ground, aghast at its audacity. It probably does the same exercise every day, but there is such respect and softness, like it just discovered this new trick. We saw peafowl darting in and out of the shadows. We saw the red earth, a serpentine and vein-like gash, cutting through the deep green of the grass. We saw a couple more of elephants, and startled one enough to make a half-hearted attempt at charging at us. We saw twisted trees, barks that must have some violent spirit imprisoned inside. We saw bison - sized like mini trucks - and they gave us little more than a bored side-eye. We saw herds of spotted deer with fallen stars spread along their backs - stars that began to come alive in the fading light. We saw great serpent eagles, we saw furtive mongoose hobbling into the thicket, we saw sullen langoors and so many kinds of birds. We saw a forest that was teeming and alive. We also saw a couple of disappointed wildlife photographers who shrugged their helpless shoulders. At the end of the safari, Shashank apologised and I wondered “Whatever for!”
We returned to the resort just as a rhubarb sunset was spreading itself like syrup over the horizon. I made a beeline for the Observation Deck. To my slight disappointment, somebody was already there. But to my immediately improved state of mind, the somebody turned out to be a really interesting person. Meet naturalist Mr. Robin. He handed me a pair of binoculars to get a better view of the elephants that were still hanging around the watering hole. This resort seems to have an added speciality of interesting people and Mr. Robin, no less is full of stories. We had a very pleasant conversation about forests and elephants and big cats and cities. Meanwhile the horizon melted into a dense blackness.
Night does not come on silent feet in these parts. It’s far from quiet - the night insects are like drunken singers. And yet, the thickness of the dark that hangs before you is so definite, you can almost touch it, reminds you of your insignificance. The sky was overcast, so there were no stars. Without the light that held us, gave us shape, addressed our substance, we would melt right into that darkness. is that why we blind ourselves with so much distracting light in the city that we’ve managed to blank out the stars? To keep this predator dark from the door? I watched a vehicle make its way across the field, now an expanse of pitch blackness with two tents of yellow lights and the grunt of an engine making its way across. To be that comfortable with the dark, that one had the gall to knife through that uncertainty with headlights, knowing exactly where to go and not land up in a bog or even the water, knowing exactly that the dark does not hold terrors. That would be something.
But within the fenced off palm of the resort, yellow light glowed warm and friendly. A merry bonfire crackled throwing up sparks and laughter of those sitting around it. The resort arranges a bonfire every night. But no way were we going to hang out with the Bollywood bunch. Instead we sat in our tents and hung out with a drink and snackies, feeling good in each others’ company.
Day 2 5 AM. I’m wide awake. Bored and slightly unnerved by the darkness skulking outside the tent. There is this thing I have to tell you about holiday-Sahit. Holiday-Sahit is very inclined to be as horizontal as possible. And holiday-me is pumped up on the steroids of FOMO! I simply have to see and experience all that there is see and experience. So naturally on holidays, I am a pain-in-the-ass early riser. So here I was, wide awake. I sat and watched as the sun made a slow crawl, turning the sky into an ombre of blues. Then I got bored and decided to try my luck with getting some tea. The grounds were covered in dew breath and the frangipani and jasmine flowers glowed in the half-light.
I found Shashank at the dining room. Poor wrong-place-wrong-time fellow! Of course i pounced on the opportunity of asking him a hundred and one questions - hundred and one too many questions to answer before one has had breakfast, I’m willing to wager. I had been making an inventory of all the sounds I’d been hearing and all the birdies of varying descriptions -
Owl sounds. Rowdy Crickets at an auction. The shiver of banyan trees who appear so sentient. Invisible peacocks. lizards clicking their tongues like admonishing critical aunties. Chittering frogs. Chatty birds that goes raucous and bawdy with no warning. The enthusiastic bird with its enthusiastic whoop. The intermittent glug of an unseen water pump that punctuates the passing of time. Machine-gun bird. Another lizard judges me. That scratchy throated bird like it’s always retching out something distasteful. The kroooo krooo of a bird with a sore throat or whose voice hasn’t broken yet. This small, smart tuxedo bird. With its tie and cap. The complain box bird
- all burning questions that demanded answers.
Naturalists have the most interesting stories, and if you don’t use your chance, you’re the dumbo.
An hour of rescue stories of pythons to porcupines (he got harpooned by the said porcupine as well) later he left for the nature walk. I didn’t fancy being out in the sun, so I went back to the tents. And I hear meditation music coming from the next tent! Shiva was playing meditation music - to meditate - here - right HERE, the bosom of peace and tranquility - a bit animal-man conflict type tranquility, but tranquility nevertheless. She was playing meditation music. Sahit looked up groggily from under the covers and asks “Am I imagining that annoying calming music!” Combination of words I never thought I would hear!
We spent the whole morning just doing sweet nothing, seeping in the essence of the place. We were lounging in font of the tent when a tall horse just raced past us. I don’t know how to put into words the assured freedom in those limbs, the way it takes your breath away, and that “did a huge horse just race past me?” gasp. It’s not something I’m accustomed to, given my urban South Indian lifescape. I’m not accustomed to open spaces. I’m not accustomed to the generosities and the often pettiness of nature. I’m not used to silences that can be heard.
The sun and the wind invited to me take a walk before the bovines came to graze. It’s a walk that will stay with me for a long, long time. The absoluteness of this quality of silence where you can hear the sun beams weaving through the wefts of whipping wind and droning bees, broken by some occasional hysteric of a waterbird - it was the stuff that prayers dream of becoming. Walking among the spirits of a river gone dry, tiny blades of grass with the memory of waves in their spines, filigreed at the top with a soft fuzz of purple. Tiny incoherent baby lisps of flowers, bringing bees to a lake’s bosom. It was both scary (I have something of a reputation of getting stung by bees) and meditative.
Soon the cows would come to graze, in a few hours we would decide to go on a pointless excursion to a (summer-decimated) waterfall which would be redeemed by the sight of elephants with foliage up their ears, trampling around like great grey boulders in the bottle green of forest-distilled light and some wading in the cool pools of the waterfall. We would drive through Kerala and binge on some yummy pazhamporis and sughiyans. We would come back to a jacaranda sunset and watch the horses come home. And the cows go home, minus the proverbial argument. Some of us would splash happily in the pool, while some of us (me) would curse themselves for not bringing a swimsuit. Time would pour languid from a crystal decanter of unique, singular experience. We would sit around a far more peaceful bonfire, punctuated by cricket song and our laughter. We would remember this pause, this sweet long drawn, ironically calming breath that was our time out here in the wild.
