A Room In The Woods

The drive up the hill for a stretch of three kilometres is rough. We park our car at the forest check post and take the departmental Bolero jeep with four-wheel drive to negotiate the boulder-strewn path with sharp, steep bends. A porcupine crossing the road is caught briefly in the headlight. It raises its quills in alarm and scampers into the bushes. After a five-minute drive, a desolate, old, Mangalore-tiled building greets us at the summit of a hillock. The Forest Rest House (FRH) of Makuta looks diminished since my last visit sixteen years ago. Our small batch of nine students was here in 1997 taking part in a project work. We had thoroughly enjoyed our short stay at Makuta. There was no electricity then but now, solar lamps are working quite fine. Raghavendra, the caretaker is not sure about the year of construction of the building but points to the pediment where the number ‘36’ is inscribed. ‘Might be 1936’, he says and adds that ‘the British built this rest house’.

Makuta in Coorg

 The charm of an old FRH is unparalleled. I say old because the new or the ‘renovated’ concrete structures are bereft of any appeal even though they are full of modern-day amenities. There are three most important considerations for a lovely FRH - location, location, location. (Ok, I filched this. Somebody has told the same about hotels).  Even in the remote corners of the country, where you cannot find a single tea-shop within a radius of five kilometres, you come across colonial-era forest buildings. They surprise you with their elegance and muted beauty. You are walking or driving through muddy forest track and then suddenly the edifice appears at the end of a turn. They materialize in the middle of nothingness. A brown or brick red façade against a background of green wash. The chowkidar, if he is present, would offer you ‘lal chai’ and a couple of Parle or Marie biscuits. No light, no TV, no music, no running tap. You dump your luggage in one of the bedrooms, located on either side of the central dining hall. The bedsheets are clean even though the room is a bit musty. There are wooden pegs on the wall to hang your dress or hat. On the way to the bathroom, you pass through a spacious dressing room with a mirror on a tall wooden stand. A long cloth stand with two crossbars, again made of wood, stands in a corner. The bathroom is spacious enough to be a bedroom in Bangalore and the water closet seems to have survived the tests of time, at least in existence if not in functionality.

Near Agartala

As darkness descends, you settle in front of the glowing fireplace in the dining room on a cane chair with a cup of lal chai (or a peg) and turn the pages of the timeworn FRH register. If the book is well-maintained, you might spot the names of some British officers complaining about leaking roof or commenting on the flora along the bridle path. If you are lucky, there could be interesting observations about forests of the area or sighting of tigers by some officers or other visitors. The cook announces that the dinner is ready. It is a simple fare of roti, dal, sabji and rice. The ambiance makes the food wonderfully delicious and you devour as if you have not eaten for days. Then you read a book for a while under the lantern or venture out for a brief night walk. You sleep to the lullaby of owls and the distant alarm calls of a barking deer. This joy of an FRH experience is without equal.

A 'hut' at Eravikulam National Park

My profession has given me opportunities to visit some of the most beautiful and secluded forest guest houses across the country. I find the FRHs of the Himalayas and the Western Ghats to be most alluring. The old buildings of the Central India, I feel, are falling prey to the growing menace of ‘renovation’. What happens in this tragic exercise is that regal cane or wooden furniture are replaced with flashy and gaudy sofa sets; pillars of huge, round, supporting timber give way to cement poles; air-conditioners are installed and so are satellite TV sets. Mercifully, this renovation bug has not bitten the foresters of other parts much.

Inside an FRH near Ooty

In the Himalayas, you feel privileged to stay in ancient forest buildings and to gaze at the white peaks when you come out in the morning! The crisp temperate air, towering firs and deodars and the view of the Himalayas take your breath away. Apart from the physical beauty of the place and the building, the FRHs play a vital role in forest protection and management. Officers camp here and conduct field inspections. It is arguable whether forest officers still halt at FRHs regularly or prefer to return to the comforts of their homes. I think we can safely say that the frequency of stay at FRH has reduced over the years but most of the young officers still do camp.

Devban in Uttaranchal

On several occasions, I have been witness to interesting conversations among foresters about allowing public to access the remotely located FRH. The conservationists argue that with more visitors, the sanctity of the place is destroyed as most people treat FRHs as a place to picnic with liquor, meat and loud music. Many tourists behave rudely with the local people and the forest staff and leave behind a trail of garbage. The other group argues that by involving people and by exposing them to our beautiful natural heritage, we can promote the cause of conservation. There is a sizeable percentage of public who is responsible, environmentally aware and assiduously follows the forest ethics. Such citizens deserve to experience the delight of forest stay as they would be able to appreciate the importance and fragility of such places. But the difficult part is prejudging whether a person is a true lover of the wilderness or not!