Disappointed that I couldn't visit the weekly Onkadelli market, I walked to Jeypore's bus station the morning of the 6th to see about buses west to Jagdalpur, in Chhattisgarh state. My hotel had told me there was a bus every hour or half hour, but at the station they said the next one would be at 1 in the afternoon. I spent a leisurely morning at the hotel and then walked to the bus station before 1. There was no bus at 1, but I was told there would be one at 2 or 2:30. I think perhaps the Naxalites were still threatening buses. Rather than wait any more at that fly-blown bus station, I made my way to the railway station and bought a ten rupee (less than twenty cents) ticket to Jagdalpur. The train arrived about 3, only 35 minutes late (it had been two hours late the day before), and I hopped on and enjoyed the pleasant late afternoon journey past more rice fields, most already harvested, and reapers and threshers. Arriving in Jagdalpur, at somwhat under 2000 feet elevation, at 4:30, I was asked by an Indian guy also getting off the train, "Are you going to the Rainbow Hotel? Are you traveling with the Lonely Planet?" We headed to the hotel together. Rahul, from Pune, is a medical doctor who later studied anthropology and now works as a consultant in advertising.
Early the next morning, I walked to the whitewashed, blue trimmed former local palace that now seems to be a school, passing a multi-story statue of the monkey god Hanuman along the way. I also saw a huge, derelict wooden cart, with wooden wheels maybe three or four feet in diameter. Perhaps it has been used for religious processions. After breakfast, Rahul and I went to a crafts emporium, with some very fine, and quite inexpensive, tribal crafts. At 11 we caught a small bus headed west to Chitrakote Falls, about 25 miles to the west, on the Indravati River, a tributary of the Godavari. The trip took about an hour and a half through flat, dry landscape, much of it harvested rice fields. The bus dropped us right at the falls, India's broadest, about 1000 feet wide (at least during and just after the monsoon), in a semicircular curve. They are said to be two thirds the size of Niagara. The falls are much diminished from their monsoon breadth, but still are very impressive. An immense amount of water crashes down more than 100 feet over the steep semicircular cliffs. Now there are two separate plunges of water, side by side. From photographs, I can see that there are at least two more (now dry) at the height of the monsoon. You can walk right up to the top of the falls. The Indian tourists there were friendly and I was photographed quite a lot. I walked down to the river at the base of the falls, passing soldiers with rifles on the way, no doubt protecting us from Naxalites. You can take a boat ride and get immersed in the mist at the base of the falls. I walked all over and sat here and there and enjoyed the views before boarding the bus for the very crowded trip back to town at 4. (Rahul had arranged to spend the night at a hotel near the falls.)
The next morning I tried without success to get a bus to one of the weekly tribal markets, or haats, at Mardum, near Jagdalpur. I had no success and eventually gave up and spent most of the afternoon at an internet cafe. Later, sitting in my hotel lobby reading newspapers about 6, I heard music and drumming and went to investigate. A wedding procession was forming, setting out from a men's wear shop. The white horse and about ten large light standards were waiting on the road off to the side, and several older men, some in colorful turbans with long tails, were sitting and standing in front of the shop. Sweets were being passed out to them. After a short while, the horse was brought up to the shop (where it proceeded to deposit a large pile of manure), women placed the light standards on their heads, and the turbaned groom emerged from the shop and mounted the horse via a plastic chair. Some of the wedding party pulled me out from the crowd to get a good vantage point for photographing the groom on his horse, and then I was photographed with the groom and horse. Finally, I was pulled into the knot of dancing men in the procession, where I participated briefly, no doubt to great amusement, before melting back into the crowd.
Rahul was back in town the next morning and about 9:30 the next morning he and I left on a chartered autorickshaw and headed generally southeast from Jagdalpur about 25 miles towards Kanger National Park and the Kutumsar Cave. We left the plains surrounding Jagdalpur and entered hilly terrain covered with sal forest in the park. At one spot we had a view across the jungle to Tirathghar Falls, another hundred foot or so waterfall. We passed a tribal village surrounded by mustard fields in the park not too far from the cave. The cave has a very narrow entrance, only discovered by the local people by the presence of bats. The limestone cave reaches about 70 feet below the surface and is quite long, about 1000 feet. We had a guide with a strong light who guided up through. I think I enjoyed the ride through the forest more than the cave. The only animals we saw were macaques.
On the way back to Jagdalpur, we stopped about 1 o'clock at the weekly Pamela haat about six miles from town. At these haats, held weekly in various spots, the tribal people come from their villages to trade and socialize. Chhattisgarh is, by percentage, the most heavily tribal state in India, with 42 different tribes. This haat is held in a lovely grove of sal trees beside the road and was filled with cattle and water buffalo for sale. We were told a big cow would go for about $500. Besides the livestock area tended by men, there was a produce and fried food section tended mainly by women, most of them with interesting nose rings. People were friendly and didn't seem to mind being photographed. We were the only tourists there. Palm toddy, called salfi, and a stronger liquor called mahwa made from the flowers of the tree of the same name were on sale, dispensed from plastic jugs and old beer bottles. I had a sip or so of each. The milky palm toddy was not very alcoholic and tasted good. The clear mahwa was stronger, but not all that strong, and without as pleasant a taste. (When I declined to drink more, Rahul told me one of the men asked him about me, "What does he do for enjoyment in life?") We wandered around, watching all the activity and trying to avoid the tipsy guy who tried to latch onto us. Quite a few men were holding their prize fighting cocks, preparing for the cock fights to take place later in the afternoon in a circular area limited by barbed wire.
We watched several of the cockfights, attended by large numbers of men pressed against the outside of the barbed wire. Many were betting on them. I saw hundred rupee notes being waved around. In the center of the ring, two men would hold their cocks opposite each other, spurring them to confront each other. Each cock had a sharp blade, maybe two inches long, attached to one leg. Finally, the two cocks were put on the ground and went at each other. Sometimes the fights were intense, with flapping wings and a lot of action. Other times it seemed to be over rather quickly, with one cock making a decisive, quick attack. The first drawing of blood ends the fight. One or two of the cocks died rather quickly after being wounded, but others seemed to survive and were taken away. The dead ones were left on the floor of the ring. We were told there might be 25 cockfights in all, but we left after maybe five of them. We headed back to town soon after 3, as Rahul had a bus to catch to Raipur, on his way back to Pune. After he left I looked around the weekly Jagdalpur market, near the hotel. It was quite large, with tribal women also, but not nearly as atmospheric as the Pamela market.
The next day I chartered another autorickshaw to take me to another weekly haat, this one at Tokapal, about 11 miles from Jagdalpur. I got there about 1 and it was much larger than the Pamela haat. There were thousands of tribal people, a very colorful affair. There were no livestock (other than chickens and ducks) and no cock fighting that I saw. On sale were all sorts of produce, including mahwa flowers and the sticks used for brushing teeth. I wandered all around in the sun, seeking shade when I could find it. I noticed that almost all the older women were tattooed (usually just dots) while almost all the younger women were not. Again, there were lots of elaborate nose rings. Few of the older women wore the short upper garment, called a choli, I think, that Indian women usually wear under their sari.
Among the many things on sale were huge baskets, maybe six feet high, clay pots (I saw one sold for ten rupees), and the bell-metal objects made through the lost wax process by the Ghadawa people. There were bells, cows, elephants and other figures and I would have liked to have bought some if I didn't have to carry them for months. I watched people bringing sacks or even shopping bags full of unhusked rice to be weighed on a large scale. A man with a handfull of cash paid them after the weighing, and then the rice was dumped onto a large pile behind the scales while the sellers would go off to spend their new cash. Nearby, chickens were being sold, 70 rupees (about $1.30) a chicken. Purchasers would pick them out of their baskets by their legs or wings and examine them before buying.
I walked all around, but spent most of my time near the women selling palm toddy and mahwa at one end of the market. The sellers that I saw were all women, selling the stuff from plastic jugs, metal pots, and old beer bottles. Most of it was poured into green leafs pinched at one end to make a cup, the leaves discarded after drinking. Another woman was selling slices of potato, dipped into batter, and then deep fried. A field of rice stubble nearby was filled with people, almost all women, drinking. Towards 3 o'clock I noticed that streams of people, mostly women, were leaving the market, but many of them stopped off to drink toddy or mahwa before going. I even saw one mother give some mahwa to her maybe ten or twelve year old son. It was all quite a scene and I enjoyed it. People were friendly, though mostly shy. There were no other tourists there. In fact, I haven't seen any western tourists here in Jagdalpur. My driver came and got me around 3:30 and we left about 4. These haats are said to end about nightfall. As we headed back to town, we passed groups of mostly barefoot women walking along the highway, returning to their villages after the haat.
Early the next morning, I walked to the whitewashed, blue trimmed former local palace that now seems to be a school, passing a multi-story statue of the monkey god Hanuman along the way. I also saw a huge, derelict wooden cart, with wooden wheels maybe three or four feet in diameter. Perhaps it has been used for religious processions. After breakfast, Rahul and I went to a crafts emporium, with some very fine, and quite inexpensive, tribal crafts. At 11 we caught a small bus headed west to Chitrakote Falls, about 25 miles to the west, on the Indravati River, a tributary of the Godavari. The trip took about an hour and a half through flat, dry landscape, much of it harvested rice fields. The bus dropped us right at the falls, India's broadest, about 1000 feet wide (at least during and just after the monsoon), in a semicircular curve. They are said to be two thirds the size of Niagara. The falls are much diminished from their monsoon breadth, but still are very impressive. An immense amount of water crashes down more than 100 feet over the steep semicircular cliffs. Now there are two separate plunges of water, side by side. From photographs, I can see that there are at least two more (now dry) at the height of the monsoon. You can walk right up to the top of the falls. The Indian tourists there were friendly and I was photographed quite a lot. I walked down to the river at the base of the falls, passing soldiers with rifles on the way, no doubt protecting us from Naxalites. You can take a boat ride and get immersed in the mist at the base of the falls. I walked all over and sat here and there and enjoyed the views before boarding the bus for the very crowded trip back to town at 4. (Rahul had arranged to spend the night at a hotel near the falls.)
The next morning I tried without success to get a bus to one of the weekly tribal markets, or haats, at Mardum, near Jagdalpur. I had no success and eventually gave up and spent most of the afternoon at an internet cafe. Later, sitting in my hotel lobby reading newspapers about 6, I heard music and drumming and went to investigate. A wedding procession was forming, setting out from a men's wear shop. The white horse and about ten large light standards were waiting on the road off to the side, and several older men, some in colorful turbans with long tails, were sitting and standing in front of the shop. Sweets were being passed out to them. After a short while, the horse was brought up to the shop (where it proceeded to deposit a large pile of manure), women placed the light standards on their heads, and the turbaned groom emerged from the shop and mounted the horse via a plastic chair. Some of the wedding party pulled me out from the crowd to get a good vantage point for photographing the groom on his horse, and then I was photographed with the groom and horse. Finally, I was pulled into the knot of dancing men in the procession, where I participated briefly, no doubt to great amusement, before melting back into the crowd.
Rahul was back in town the next morning and about 9:30 the next morning he and I left on a chartered autorickshaw and headed generally southeast from Jagdalpur about 25 miles towards Kanger National Park and the Kutumsar Cave. We left the plains surrounding Jagdalpur and entered hilly terrain covered with sal forest in the park. At one spot we had a view across the jungle to Tirathghar Falls, another hundred foot or so waterfall. We passed a tribal village surrounded by mustard fields in the park not too far from the cave. The cave has a very narrow entrance, only discovered by the local people by the presence of bats. The limestone cave reaches about 70 feet below the surface and is quite long, about 1000 feet. We had a guide with a strong light who guided up through. I think I enjoyed the ride through the forest more than the cave. The only animals we saw were macaques.
On the way back to Jagdalpur, we stopped about 1 o'clock at the weekly Pamela haat about six miles from town. At these haats, held weekly in various spots, the tribal people come from their villages to trade and socialize. Chhattisgarh is, by percentage, the most heavily tribal state in India, with 42 different tribes. This haat is held in a lovely grove of sal trees beside the road and was filled with cattle and water buffalo for sale. We were told a big cow would go for about $500. Besides the livestock area tended by men, there was a produce and fried food section tended mainly by women, most of them with interesting nose rings. People were friendly and didn't seem to mind being photographed. We were the only tourists there. Palm toddy, called salfi, and a stronger liquor called mahwa made from the flowers of the tree of the same name were on sale, dispensed from plastic jugs and old beer bottles. I had a sip or so of each. The milky palm toddy was not very alcoholic and tasted good. The clear mahwa was stronger, but not all that strong, and without as pleasant a taste. (When I declined to drink more, Rahul told me one of the men asked him about me, "What does he do for enjoyment in life?") We wandered around, watching all the activity and trying to avoid the tipsy guy who tried to latch onto us. Quite a few men were holding their prize fighting cocks, preparing for the cock fights to take place later in the afternoon in a circular area limited by barbed wire.
We watched several of the cockfights, attended by large numbers of men pressed against the outside of the barbed wire. Many were betting on them. I saw hundred rupee notes being waved around. In the center of the ring, two men would hold their cocks opposite each other, spurring them to confront each other. Each cock had a sharp blade, maybe two inches long, attached to one leg. Finally, the two cocks were put on the ground and went at each other. Sometimes the fights were intense, with flapping wings and a lot of action. Other times it seemed to be over rather quickly, with one cock making a decisive, quick attack. The first drawing of blood ends the fight. One or two of the cocks died rather quickly after being wounded, but others seemed to survive and were taken away. The dead ones were left on the floor of the ring. We were told there might be 25 cockfights in all, but we left after maybe five of them. We headed back to town soon after 3, as Rahul had a bus to catch to Raipur, on his way back to Pune. After he left I looked around the weekly Jagdalpur market, near the hotel. It was quite large, with tribal women also, but not nearly as atmospheric as the Pamela market.
The next day I chartered another autorickshaw to take me to another weekly haat, this one at Tokapal, about 11 miles from Jagdalpur. I got there about 1 and it was much larger than the Pamela haat. There were thousands of tribal people, a very colorful affair. There were no livestock (other than chickens and ducks) and no cock fighting that I saw. On sale were all sorts of produce, including mahwa flowers and the sticks used for brushing teeth. I wandered all around in the sun, seeking shade when I could find it. I noticed that almost all the older women were tattooed (usually just dots) while almost all the younger women were not. Again, there were lots of elaborate nose rings. Few of the older women wore the short upper garment, called a choli, I think, that Indian women usually wear under their sari.
Among the many things on sale were huge baskets, maybe six feet high, clay pots (I saw one sold for ten rupees), and the bell-metal objects made through the lost wax process by the Ghadawa people. There were bells, cows, elephants and other figures and I would have liked to have bought some if I didn't have to carry them for months. I watched people bringing sacks or even shopping bags full of unhusked rice to be weighed on a large scale. A man with a handfull of cash paid them after the weighing, and then the rice was dumped onto a large pile behind the scales while the sellers would go off to spend their new cash. Nearby, chickens were being sold, 70 rupees (about $1.30) a chicken. Purchasers would pick them out of their baskets by their legs or wings and examine them before buying.
I walked all around, but spent most of my time near the women selling palm toddy and mahwa at one end of the market. The sellers that I saw were all women, selling the stuff from plastic jugs, metal pots, and old beer bottles. Most of it was poured into green leafs pinched at one end to make a cup, the leaves discarded after drinking. Another woman was selling slices of potato, dipped into batter, and then deep fried. A field of rice stubble nearby was filled with people, almost all women, drinking. Towards 3 o'clock I noticed that streams of people, mostly women, were leaving the market, but many of them stopped off to drink toddy or mahwa before going. I even saw one mother give some mahwa to her maybe ten or twelve year old son. It was all quite a scene and I enjoyed it. People were friendly, though mostly shy. There were no other tourists there. In fact, I haven't seen any western tourists here in Jagdalpur. My driver came and got me around 3:30 and we left about 4. These haats are said to end about nightfall. As we headed back to town, we passed groups of mostly barefoot women walking along the highway, returning to their villages after the haat.
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