Jaitapur - A Travelogue

On Rohidas Gaekwad: Part One- Reaching Jaitapur

I will never know as to how I landed in Jaitapur at the first place… as I have always said that traveling offbeat and at a shoestring, always opens up a diverse experience…which a person would not get if he was tucked away in a comfortable corner of a starred hotel by a reliable tour operator. These experiences are both bad and good, and I am willing to suffer ten such bad experiences for a good one.

It all started in Pawas, a quaint little town in Ratnagiri district- and abode of Swami Swaroopanand, where I spent one night in the Ashram’s dharamshala- and thereafter in the morning wanted to move southwards towards any place- having no idea of what will be in store.

Earlier during the wandering, I did the same at Velneshwar (famous for its old Shiva temple) and Hedvi (Lokmanya Tilak’s birthplace) and had a frightening experience, when I was stranded in a forest with a creek in front of me… luckily, I saw a boat and urged for help… I was rescued by one Ninad Sawant, personnel of Mumbai Police and a resident of Jaigad- who was holidaying and going back to Jaigad after purchasing fish from a nearby village. But as a result, I saw a beautiful fort of Jaigad, spent one of the most memorable nights in the Fort rest house and the morning next saw Malgund…. a beautiful village that is the birthplace of poet Keshavsut. Now if I had not taken these chances, there was a remote possibility that I would have done the same….in the normal course of events, I would have reached Ganapatipule and spent a night over there and rest would have been lost.

When leaving Pawas, the only handy information I had at hand was that south of Pawas is the fort of Purnagad… and I wanted to see it before venturing anywhere further south.

Pawas is on the banks of a beautiful river of Gautami… and in the morning I just sat on one of its banks, watching the scenery around… there was something very spiritual about the place. I sat there for hours together and then lay down a newspaper and slept on it. (I carry a lot of old newspapers while traveling and use them as disposable bed sheets… sleeping bags are too bulky and are not all that interesting… in fact one of the most interesting things a person can do is read old newspapers and try and relate it with the expanded information one has about the event reported in it, since it was first reported. In my childhood, I remember having my daily quota of Jalebis and Samosas in Allahabad on small pieces of newspapers- and how I used to read the news items on them. Ever since, the eco-unfriendly disposable plastic plates have become a norm).

I woke after four hours, well past the time- when the morning bus to Purnagad was gone. I cursed myself, because traveling by the afternoon bus meant that I stand the danger of being stranded somewhere near Purnagad yet again. But then traveling doesn’t need courage, it needs a faith.

I boarded the bus to Purnagad and reached there in an hour and a half… the fort itself is located on a hillock, but is a gentle climb… from atop the fort one can see the sea- the deep blue sea. And some small fishing villages. It was an impressive sight and if I had not seen Gopalgad fort south-west of Vedlur and Dabhol (where the famous or rather infamous Enron power plant is located) then I would have been moved by the vantage… but Gopalgad was definitely better. Gopalgad was a Portuguese fort and depicting the advanced technique of fort making, with three rows of defenses against the approaching naval forces and perched atop a steep hill top, making it virtually impregnable. On the other hand, Purnagad was a Maratha fort, much before they became a naval power… and was having one line of defense, located atop a gentle hill top… it was nowhere compared to other Maratha sea forts I saw, say in Vijaydurg or the best at Sindhudurg, later during my wanderings. Analysis of Maratha forts in a chronological fashion can tell us a lot of things about how a bunch of Gorilla fighters became a formidable force and then later weakened by their own infighting.

So Purnagad was not a revelation, today the fort is used by village kids for playing cricket and is not particularly well kept.

It was nearing the time of sunset, when I left the place… I asked the gatekeeper of the place about any place to stay… and he told me about a place called Musakazi Bandar… Bandar in these areas is a generic term used for a port. He told me that in half an hour, I will get a bus for the place and it will take one hour to reach there. And that there are a few hotels in the place. I boarded the bus to Musakazi Bandar and sat beside a local lad… on my way I started a casual conversation with him, and it turned out that he was speaking very fluent and clear Hindi. He was a resident of Musakazi and a Muslim.

It has been my experience that go anywhere in India, if one needs to get around the place speaking Hindi… then it is better to get hold of a Muslim. It is strange but true that Muslims in any locality are more verse with Hindi/Urdu than the Hindu natives of a place. I remember that happening to me in Coimbatore, in Vishakapatnam. And then one of my friend, an old resident of Bangalore and a kannadiga, told me that till a few years ago- if one had to find his way out in Bangalore while speaking Hindi- Muslims, with their knowledge of Hindi came very handy.

I asked him, if there was any hotel in Musakazi or not. He counter-questioned whether I was a Hindu and Muslim. For a moment I was taken aback but then I realized that he had a concern for me in his heart. He told me that Musakazi is a Muslim village and it might be a good idea, if I go to the other side of the creek to Jaitapur, which is a Hindu village.

Muslim village-Hindu village? … Lord Curzon, you have done a wonderful work for an empire where sun never used to set!!!!!!! 

On Rohidas Gaekwad: Part Two- Meeting Rohidas

By the time, I reached Jaitapur it was already dark…this was the month of December and it used to get dark by 5-6 pm itself. I was worried about where to stay.

Jaitapur is a small village, with a row of houses tightly hugging the arterial lane. There are a few lanes and by-lanes, but hardly much otherwise. Seeing it, my first reaction was- can there possibly be any hotel in this small village. I was right, this place had no hotel... and the place that Muslim boy referred was actually a small restaurant that used to lend a table and a mat in its premises at night for sleeping to wandering souls… but last year due to some theft, he had stopped doing it. The owner of that place regretted but promised me to give some place- outside his restaurant in the street, in case I am not able to find anywhere to sleep.

I wandered in the by-lanes of the village- I saw a mosque that had a madarassa in its premises. I wondered if I can find a place to stay over there. I was about to ask for shelter, when something stopped me from doing so… after all I was a non-Muslim, having hardly any knowledge of the customs- and what if I hurt their feeling?.

I wandered further… asked somebody if there was a temple in the village, where I can sleep. As it turned out, Jaitapur has a temple of Betal (the deity of ghosts, often used in tantric Hinduism). I went to the temple, with a hope of finding a shelter. The chief priest of the temple allowed me to stay in the temple for the night. I was both happy and worried. Happy, for I finally had a shelter and worried that the shelter is actually a temple of ghosts. Imagine growing up hearing stories about ghosts, and how they live in villages and then imagine spending a night in temple of ghosts. But then I thought, if the priest is sleeping here in the night, I hardly have anything to be worried about.

Though, the biggest surprise came when at around 9 in the night; the priest himself started packing his wares with intent of going off. I realized that the priest spends only the day in the temple and goes off to his house in the village for the night. This sounded ominous to me… howsoever rational I may be, but spending a night in the temple of ghosts was unacceptable… and a frightening proposition. After a moment of thought, I decided and left the place with the priest and rushed to the restaurant, where I was promised a place to sleep outside the shop. But as luck would have it, the restaurant owner has closed the shop for the day and had gone to his house.

Now here I was, in the dread of night, wondering where to go. I caught hold of a village man and asked if there is any police station or a bank or a post office or a forest office or a Panchayat office or even a school in the vicinity, where I can find a place to stay. There was none. Jaitapur was devoid of any presence of government. And when I was about to loose hope, the village man said something that was music to my ears- Jaitapur village has a Custom Outpost.

Apparently Musakazi is a port and some boats carrying wares from high seas come over to the port. They have to necessarily interact with Custom officials before landing their goods, who levy some customs charges as per the law of the land. To avoid any leakage in this practice, the custom department also maintains an outpost to counter illegal trafficking of wares. There are two such outposts, one in the Musakazi Bandar and the other here in Jaitapur.

My last hope was to get a place to stay in the Jaitapur Custom Outpost, otherwise I had resigned to the fact that I may have to spend the night sitting somewhere in the lanes of Jaitapur. Walking towards the Custom Outpost that is located in the outer edges of the village, I passed through the mosque- it was also closed by now.

The Outpost was a big hall-like structure, with a small lawn in front and then the creek. It had a very few seating arrangements, indicating that there are very few personnel working in this Outpost. On the backside of the Outpost building, there were residential quarters for the personnel working over there.

I entered the building and walked towards the seat, where there was the biggest table and pile of paper. In governance, it means the head of the office. I took out my IIT Bombay identity card and expressed my problem. To my bewilderment, this was not the first time he had encountered a person like me- in fact he kept on bumping people who got stuck at Jaitapur and asked for help. He recounted that last year around Christmas time, a white couple came cycling to Jaitapur and slept in the Custom Outpost before embarking on their journey further. He told me that he will make some arrangements for me. Later after a while, he gave me a bench and a cushion to sleep.

Half my worries were over, I had a place to stay for the night- but it was since the evening I hadn’t had anything to eat… I was feeling hungry. I checked my bag for anything edible… and could only locate a pack of Parle-G. (I always carry a few packs of Parle-G with me; they are cheap, nutritious and safe to eat). Though I have had enough of biscuits during the last few days and wanted to eat something tastier. I shoved the pack back into my bag and cribbed over the state I am into.

And then I heard a voice calling- "Aapne Khana Khaya" (Have you eaten food). I looked back… to find a smiling dark complexioned fair built person…

He was Rohidas Gaekwad.

On Rohidas Gaekwad: Part Three- Interactions with him

Rohidas was of a medium built, dark complexioned and an ever smiling person. There was a certain degree of innocence and thoughtfulness in his looks. The moment I saw him, I was convinced that he is a very friendly person. He was working in the clerical cadre of the office. And they had to work in shifts through out the night… shifts of 8 hours each. Rohidas’ shift was from 10 pm till 6 am, I was therefore, lucky in a sense.

The moment Rohidas realized that I haven’t had any food since the afternoon… he sent a message to his house to arrange something for me to eat… he then busied himself with the taking over the charge and other formalities. Meanwhile, I had a wonderful dinner, it was the first time I had Kokam Sherbet and Soul Curry… the Konkani delicacies… as I further went southwards, it became my staple eatables.

Nights in that Outpost used to be lonely, with only one person present in the office… and therefore boring too…. But Rohidas told me that he loves Night Shift because he gets a lot of free time for himself… to read and to write…

After a while, he came over and sat with me… and we started once of the most enriching conversations of my life... which had drastically altered the way I have viewed a lot of things in life

Rohidas was born and brought up in Ratnagiri... his father was a teacher... after his initial schooling and then the graduation in Ratnagiri itself, he went to Poona to study journalism and came in contact with an ex-Civil Servant Mr. Avinash Dharmadhikari… being with him, altered his entire life… he transformed from a village simpleton to a voracious reader and social thinker… and started writing for vernacular press… but one day left this job to join government because of the reasons of stability and because he wanted to come back to his roots… the village.

A word about Avinash Dharmadhikari… He was born and brought up in Maharashtra… in his youth he extensively traveled India, especially in Punjab during the time of insurgency… and wrote for newspapers, he also wrote his memoirs ’Aswastha Dashakachi Diary’ (Chronicles of an Ill Decade) in which he gives details about his travels throughout India … his meeting with important people and his reflection about the country as such… he later joined the Indian Administrative Service in 1986 and worked in Maharashtra government- in 1996 he resigned from the service and started pursuing his dream of creating a new generation of youth… he started something called Chankya Mandals in various parts of Maharashtra for inculcating a sense of confidence among the rural youth… Rohidas incidentally joined the Poona chapter of this same Mandal…

Meeting Rohidas left me wondering, if a disciple of this man has such a strongly fresh thinking then what the real man would be like… I wish to meet him once in my lifetime…

We kept on talking throughout the night about the various issues of life… IIT and the brain drain… Corporate India and its responsibilities… my travels…. Villages and its economy… development in Konkan…. Maratha and Indian history…. Social reforms in Maharashtra…. Comparison of Gandhi with Ambedkar… and many more.

This was the time when I was preparing for the Civil Services Examination and was reading so many diverse topics and subjects that I was totally humbled… before that I used to think that Social Sciences do not have a dynamism… and are merely descriptive… but my first brush with Sociology left me speechless… for I realized that Descriptive Approach is just one of the dozen of approaches in Social Sciences… and actually any Social Science, howsoever rigid it may be (say for example History…considering that historical facts don’t have an ability to morph) is always in a state of flux…

Listening to Rohidas gave me a new approach, the post-modernism…way of looking into social phenomena… One simple question that he posed and which became one of my most pressing analysis point was whether an individual wants to be rich or happy… because the two are not conjoined and often work at cross purpose… today when debates about economic growth and development rages… it is essential to test our progress with this poser… are we becoming an increasingly happier society in wake of economic boom… Sadly, we are not…

Rohidas had extensively traveled Konkans during his childhood… he recalled how every Sunday, he used to cycle alone from Ratngiri to Bhatye (a small yet beautiful beach on the outskirts of Ratnagiri town) and spend hours seeing the sea…

While talking about all these things… Rohidas had a spark in his eyes… a conviction… that I haven’t seen since then…sitting in a small corner of India… he had an amazing ability to visualize entire India… and form an opinion about it…

In the dread of night, he invited me to come over for his nightly inspection… we walked along the sea shore for a while… it was the time of High Tide and I could hear the roar of the splashing waves... Resonating within me…

He told me a lot of offbeat places in the Konkans and Sahyadris… showed me the virgin beach of Jaitapur… and then at 2 in the night I went for a sleep…

In the morning at 6 am he accompanied me to such a point where I could get a conveyance for a place from where I can get a ferry for Vijaydurg…. The most formidable fort I saw during my wandering… (incidentally it was the last Maratha sea/amphibious fort to fall, Maratha Navy was indomitable under Kanhoji Angre...but after his demise...his son were made Naval chieftains- a wrong practice...much like our caste system...and they were no match for the European meritocracy...the Maratha navy perished after the mighty Kanhoji Angre)

I wish to meet Rohidas once again…. May be he is still there in Jaitapur, reading his book and helping wanderers… or may be he has moved ahead in life…

Today the government is constructing a Nuclear Power Plant in Jaitapur.... I am reminded of the words of Rohidas..."when a bus from city comes to a village, it brings hope but in the barter takes away the innocence"....

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