Jungu, the Baiga Princess Read online

  Jungu, The Baiga Princess

  When Sunil is sent to stay with his Uncle Vish, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. All he knows is that it’s a long way from the city to the jungles of Madhya Pradesh, and that his Uncle’s job is to protect the tigers that live there.

  Befriended by a little Adivasi girl called Jungu, Sunil soon has to face some tough questions. If the tigers are to survive, then the people must be moved out of the forest. But what will happen to Jungu and all the other Baiga villagers? Don’t they have a right to be there? And meanwhile, there’s a very real, very dangerous gang of poachers to be caught...

  Vithal Rajan’s delightful tale of an unusual friendship between a city boy and an Adivasi girl introduces children to the magical world of the Baigas, teaching them tolerance, respect and the importance of protecting the natural environment.

  Vithal Rajan executive director of the Right Livelihood Award [the ‘Alternative Nobel Prize’], Sweden, and was made an Officer Order of Canada for his life-long service to humanity. His other books include Holmes of the Raj, and The Year of High Treason.

  YOUNG ZUBAAN

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  First published by Young Zubaan, 2014

  Copyright © Vithal Rajan, 2014

  All rights reserved

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  eBook ISBN: 9789383074808

  Print source ISBN: 9789383074051

  This eBook is DRM-free.

  Zubaan is an independent feminist publishing house based in New Delhi with a strong academic and general list. It was set up as an imprint of India’s first feminist publishing house, Kali for Women, and carries forward Kali’s tradition of publishing world quality books to high editorial and production standards. Zubaan means tongue, voice, language, speech in Hindustani. Zubaan is a non-profit publisher, working in the areas of the humanities, social sciences, as well as in fiction, general non-fiction, and books for children and young adults under its Young Zubaan imprint.

  Typeset by Jojy Phillip, New Delhi 110 015

  Printed at Raj Press, R-3 Inderpuri, New Delhi 110 012

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  This book is dedicated to the survival and welfare of the tribal communities of India

  Contents

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note to the Reader

  Dedication

  The Blue Silk Coverlet with Stars

  Going to Baigaland

  The Jungly Girl

  The Bear Attack!

  Jungu meets Uncle Vish

  The Night Raid

  Uncle Vish has a Change of Heart

  An Afterword

  Glossary of Gondi Words and Phrases

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  The Blue Silk Coverlet with Stars

  ‘So you are going home to an empty house for Easter break?’

  Suddenly Miss Dhar was beside him on the railway station platform.

  Sunil dragged his feet, looking unhappy. ‘Well, I would have if Uncle Vish was not meeting me at the station. He is taking me to the jungle, somewhere,’ he said, trying to look on the bright side.

  A loud hurrah went up from all the boys who had been waiting impatiently on the platform. The doors of the train to Delhi had been opened. Shouting and laughing, the boys pushed their way into the compartments. Sunil ran into the crowd anxious to get a good seat by a window. In the vestibule of the train, boys were crowding past him, banging into him with their bags and water-bottles, cricket bats and things. Sunil was glad for a moment that he would not have to answer any more of Miss Dhar’s searching questions. Not that he didn’t like her. On the contrary, in fact. It was just that he didn’t want to talk about Dad and Mom pushing off to Ann Arbor to settle his elder sister Puja into her college, leaving him more or less to fend for himself.

  There was a lot of shouting and shoving going on all round him. Well, everyone was excited, but what was there to get worked up about? Just going home, that’s all. Big deal. He found his compartment, shoved his kit under the berth and put his elbows out a little to make some room for himself. He was crushed but he leaned back all the same to take a big breath.

  ‘Hello, Sunil! Hello there!’ Miss Dhar was peering at him through the bars of the window next to him. ‘I see you have found your seat all right.’

  Sunil nodded. He didn’t have anything to say. The boys in the compartment were all waving to Miss Dhar and shouting to her about the projects they were going to do back home. She was very popular, her classes were fun, and she took them adventure walking through the hills on weekends, telling them stories about animals, and history, and oh, so many things. In fact, quite a few boys had a crush on her for she was quite beautiful for an old person though no one could tell how old she was, really. She was speaking to him again, her eyes sparkling through large spectacles.

  ‘Sunil, this Uncle Vish is the Secretary for Environment, right?’

  ‘Yes, and I am to spend my holiday with him in Madhya Pradesh, or maybe Chhattisgarh, I’m not quite sure,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘You’ll have fun, Sunil!’ said Miss Dhar enthusiastically. ‘I am sure he will take you to those wonderful forests there, with all the animals you can dream of, and tribes who have been there as long, as long as history!’

  Sunil tried to show enthusiasm just to please her but he knew it was a poor effort. ‘Uncle Vish told me over the phone that it will be an “educational” trip,’ he said a little unhappily. ‘Really I am quite grateful, Miss Dhar, but I was hoping to have some fun at home, especially since I fell ill last time…’ His voice trailed off in self pity.

  She reached out and patted his shoulder. ‘Your parents had to escort Puja. You know that, Sunil. She may be your big sister and obnoxious like most big sisters – I should know, I am one!” she added with a grin, “but she is only eighteen and she has no idea what America is like.’

  Sunil tried to picture Puja as a frightened little girl but he just couldn’t.

  ‘Tell you what, I’ve brought you my blue silk coverlet. Whenever I feel sad or low I pull it over me at night. It’s given me such wonderful dreams and had me up in the morning full of beans, you would be amazed!’

  She pushed the bundled coverlet into his lap through the bars. He took it doubtfully. He couldn’t say no – no one ever said no to Miss Dhar, not even the Head, ever. It was quite short, more like a big shawl, and there were bright golden stars sewn on top around a silver moon.

  ‘Really, Miss Dhar, it’s okay,’ he started, ‘I can manage, really…’

  ‘That’s all right, Sunil,’ said Miss Dhar. ‘I know you will like having it on your trip. It was given to me in Kalimpong long ago by a soothsayer – she was half Tibetan and half Scottish – and it protected me during a hazardous journey. It will look after you now, and I expect an essay about y
our trip, whom you met, and what we should do!’ With those words and a big smile, she pulled her head back smartly from the window.

  ‘I will bring it back safe, Miss Dhar,’ called Sunil after her as she made her way through the crowd.

  Miss Dhar turned and waved goodbye cheerfully. ‘Or maybe you can give it to someone else who needs it,” she shouted back, and then she was gone.

  Sunil looked around a little uneasily, wondering if any of the boys around him would take a smart-alecky crack at him but he needn’t have worried. All the boys felt quite easy in Miss Dhar’s company and joked a lot with her but no one ever made fun of her, either in her presence or behind her back.

  After lights out, he snuggled into his bed, which the train attendant had made up. He pushed back the rough, brown Indian railways blanket and pulled the silk coverlet up. It did feel lovely. The rocking of the train lulled him to sleep and sure enough he dreamt of forested hills, and streams that flowed through them, and the animals, even tigers, that scampered past, though he was not the least bit afraid. That’s way it is with dreams. A tall tree with golden flowers dissolved into Miss Dhar who smiled at him through her huge golden glasses and then even as he started to wish her good morning she turned into a strange dark girl with big bright eyes, who wore a little red sari well above her knees, and not down to the ankles as the others did. The girl made such a sudden swipe at him with a sickle that he was startled but he soon realized that it was only the attendant shaking him awake. The train was pulling into the platform and the boys, half-asleep in their pajamas, were tumbling over each other in their hurry to get out into the early morning.

  Going to Baigaland

  Uncle Vish, looking masterful as ever, was standing on the platform surrounded by his driver, his liveried attendant, his camp clerk and two porters. He wasn’t Sunil’s real uncle, just a very good friend of his father’s. When he saw Sunil, he bent down to shake hands with him rather formally. He enquired how he was, whether it had been a comfortable journey, and how last term had turned out. Even as Sunil was mumbling some answers to these rapid-fire questions, Uncle Vish’s tall figure was striding away towards the exit with his clerk and attendant pushing the crowd away to make room. So Sunil tagged along behind with the porters who were carrying his school trunk, his sports kit and bags.

  Outside the station there was a lot of shouting, drivers tooting horns, beggars running alongside, people trying to get past autos, vans, and trolleys, porters gesticulating, and policemen blowing whistles. Suddenly Uncle Vish’s sleek black automobile drew up before them and Sunil followed him into the luxurious backseat of the car while the clerk and the attendant squeezed in up front beside the driver. Sunil sank back into the soft black leather and looked out of the window as they honked past other cars and raced away towards the wide roads of South Delhi that were mostly empty that early in the morning. Uncle Vish had opened his laptop and was busy tapping away.

  The government bungalow was huge and ramshackle and the dim dark rooms inside looked as ill-kept as the weed-grown garden outside. Mummy would never have permitted their flat to look like that, thought Sunil, though of course Aunty, being a government officer herself, had no time for her household. He didn’t expect to see her; she had already left for her office.

  ‘Sunil! Twenty minutes!’ shouted Uncle Vish going into

  his own room. ‘Wash, get ready, repack just a few things into that carry-on bag Ayya will give you – stout socks, remember, we are going to do a lot of walking in rough terrain; your walking shoes of course; just one pullover – it might get chilly at nights – and that’s it. Don’t dilly-dally – we are catching a plane for Raipur!’

  No time for a long hot bath then, thought Sunil. He brushed his teeth hurriedly, stood under the hot shower for exactly five minutes soaping and washing himself, and then after struggling to close the leaky taps and giving up, he dried himself with a large soft Turkish towel, dressed and emerged back into the bedroom to pack the carry-on he was permitted to take. But the Ayya had already done so and was carefully putting all his things back into his trunk. She had folded up Miss Dhar’s blue silk coverlet and was pushing it down into the trunk but before she could close the lid, Sunil snatched it back and thrust it into his bulging hand luggage. Uncle Vish was already calling for him from the dining room and he dashed out, lacing his shoes.

  Breakfast was South Indian – of course he should have expected that, and though he didn’t care for idlis, he was hungry and wolfed them down, pushing away memories of hot aloo-parathas his mother would make. Fortified, he looked forward cheerfully to any adventure the trip would bring and started to imagine daring encounters with tigers as the car raced along through the cool morning towards the airport.

  At the airport, Uncle Vish got very busy as usual, talking to his staff , and signing papers. He ignored Sunil completely. Sunil didn’t mind one bit. Airports and planes always fascinated Sunil, though he had been several times by air to Bombay with his parents, or on holidays to Goa or Kerala. This day was no exception he was caught up looking at all the wonders the spanking new airport had to offer – the glittering shops, the security check-points, the smart, tall flight attendants, the long aero-bridges that snaked out to the huge airplanes. He was thrilled to discover he had the window seat A-1 in business class; his feet could hardly reach the footrests if he stretched back! An elderly gent whom they had met in the departure hall was buckling his seatbelt next to him while Uncle Vish was seated across the aisle with his already open laptop on the empty seat beside him. The camp clerk had disappeared behind the curtain into economy class.

  Sunil had been gazing raptly at the fields below but soon they were above the clouds and the seatbelt sign had been switched off . The flight attendant fussed about laying another breakfast before him, a proper one this time. Sunil noticed that Uncle Vish had accepted only a glass of coconut water and returned to his laptop.

  ‘Sunil, we are taking you to a land of magic,’ said the old gent next to him, tucking into an omelette. He continued without waiting for any response, ‘I have been visiting Baiga territory, oh, for the last fifty – no, forty-five – years, and it never fails to enchant me. Such wonderful people!’ He leaned back and took a sip of his orange juice. Sunil looked at his companion. He was old, with long, curly white hair in an untidy mess above a high forehead, and light blue eyes, and a wide mouth that was smiling at him.

  Sunil felt a response was needed. ‘Why do you go there, Sir?’ he asked.

  The old man’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Your uncle Vishwanath told you when we first met – I see, you were too busy looking round to take in stuff like introductions to old people. Let’s start again, Sunil. I am Lambert, Mathieu Lambert, or Matt between friends, a professor of anthropology from Réunion. Do you know where Reunion is?’

  Sunil was totally interested, and nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full of toast. The man was a French – he should have guessed right away from the way he spoke – and Réunion was a magical island in the blue Indian Ocean close to Mauritius. Sunil had always loved poring over maps at school, and had daydreamed about going there and having adventures with pirates!

  ‘Sir, an anthro – an anthro-po-logist studies wild tribes, doesn’t he, Sir? Th … that live in dense jungles and fight with tigers and crocodiles, don’t they, Sir?’

  ‘Call me Matt,’ said Professor Lambert patting his hand confidentially. ‘Yes and no. The Baigas did live in dense jungles once upon a time, but the jungles are all cut down now, and they never fought with animals. They always lived in harmony with Nature.’

  Well, that sounded dull. Worse, it was preaching, and Sunil was disappointed in his newfound friend. ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun,’ he said glumly. ‘Not like Réunion, with pirates and sharks and typhoons.’

  Professor Lambert laughed happily, genuinely enjoying what he had said, not in that snooty way adults had. ‘You must come and stay with me in R�
�union and meet my family – Anjalie my wife, and my two daughters, Claire and little Sunita. Suni talks just like you! Réunion is idyllic, you will see, with honest, happy people – not too many pirates, I’m afraid! I have always preferred my island to Paris because of the people. They are just like my Baigas though of course, very different in every other way.’

  Sunil could make nothing of this. It didn’t seem to make any sense. ‘I don’t…quite…understand, Sir.’ he stammered.

  ‘Matt,’ said Professor Lambert. ‘They are similar because they live close to nature and understand its magic – in Réunion, the magic of the sea; in Baigaland, the magic of forests!’

  Sunil took in a sharp breath. ‘There is magic where we are going?’

  ‘Of course! What is left of it. The government doesn’t want any of it though. Vish is going down to clear the few remaining Baigas from their ancestral forest and turn it into a tiger reserve. I am going along to help, or so the government thinks, but – between you and me – I’m actually going there to try and stop him, for surely it will kill the Baigas and the tigers as well!’ He gave Sunil a rueful, lopsided smile.

  ‘But Sir – I mean, Matt Uncle, um – surely reserves for tigers are very important,’ said Sunil anxiously. ‘We had a project in school about it. The tiger is our national animal and people kill them, so we must have reserves, Sir, we must!’