From here to eternity

"Panchlingeshwar"?! asked my colleague one October evening in 2001 as we prepared for an outbound stress management programme which the office had organised. It was the first time that such a programme had been arranged and the two of us felt a little peeved at being chosen as lambs for the slaughter.

Left with no choice and with very little time, we reluctantly completed the required formalities and handed over our papers to our HR department for their doing the needful. The next evening, sharp at six, we reported at the tour organisers’ office for the briefing session.

Run by two enterprising sisters, Sona and Mimi, Oriental Travel Wing specialises in these kind of programmes for corporate houses. Soon, the other participants from various offices across Kolkata, trickled in one by one and the elder of the two sisters Mimi, began telling us what lay in store. "Rock climbing and counselling would comprise the main activities of our programme" she said, "and in between we shall have a few sessions thrown in for relaxation, when you can chat among yourselves or listen to music or do whatever you feel like "Counselling is fine and so is chatting but what about rock climbing"? we asked ourselves, the butterflies already fluttering in our stomachs. She seemed to have read our minds quite well, for she continued "Chandan, here, will be your guide for the next two days as far as rock climbing is concerned. He is an expert mountaineer and along with his assistant Somnath he will take you through the rock climbing sessions smoothly and safely. Our hearts were in our mouths, but the big fellow grinned from side to side as if to say "Got you in my grip, you lazy couchpotatoes". Among other chitchats, Chandan explained to us that we should not forget to take with us a pen knife, a torch, at least two tubes of mosquito repellents, caps, tracksuits, sneakers and sunglasses.

The next morning, the 3^rd of October, 2001 we, a group of 16 people, assembled at the Howrah station to board the Dhauli express which would take us to Balasore, the nearest rail station to Panchlingeshwar. As the train chugged out of platform no.13, we settled comfortably in our seats and soon the process of getting introduced and acquainted to each other started. When we reached Balasore at about 1.30 p.m. we had got to know ourselves fairly well, amidst friendly banter and mild doses of leg pulling. Before embarking on our journey, we had been told by the organisers that for the next three days we would be totally cut -off from our family and loved ones as mobile phones were not yet operational in Panchlingeshwar and the nearest STD/ISD booth would be at least 40 kilometre away from the OTDC lodge where we would be putting up. So, as soon as we got down at Balasore station, we dashed for the nearest telephone booth or switched on our soon to-be defunct mobiles to convey home the news of our safe arrival.

The sun was beating down in all its glory and there was not a speck of cloud in the sky; the weather was perfect. A gentle breeze was blowing and there was a whiff of freshness which filled our hearts with peace and serenity. After we were through with our phone calls and snacks and tea we clambered into the Tata Sumos which were to take us to the OTDC guest house in Panchlingeshwar. We left the bustling bazaars of Balasore behind and made our way through the winding metalled roads into the lap of nature. Undulating stretches of paddy fields, coconut trees, quaint little mud houses and dusty village roads were all that we could see around us. Suddenly, our eyes met the green hills looming large in front of us. It seemed to beckon us with a strange kind of friendliness and warmth, ready to welcome us in its huge embrace.

After some time our cars pulled up in front of what was supposed to be our home for the next few days ---the OTDC guest house A gravelled roadway with well manicured lawns and clump of mango trees on both sides led to a cluster of comfortable looking little single storeyed cottages nestled at the foot of green mountains. The setting was absolutely perfect for a group of weary city-dwellers like us and we began to soak in the sweet sunshine, the intoxicating scent of fresh flowers and the cool breeze coming down from the hills to our hearts 'content.

We freshened ourselves up and over cups of steaming hot tea and mouth-watering snacks got friendly with Brendon Maccarthaigh, an Irish Father, who was to take us through the counselling sessions. Brendon is a professional counsellor and he was there to take us to a level of mental fitness which would stand us in good stead once we went back to where we belonged. By late afternoon, the counselling session for the day was over and Chandan took over from where Brendon had left. He was to introduce us to the green mountains and unravel the mystery which lay inside it. Chandan had been to this part of the country many times over and knew the rocks as closely and minutely as he knew the back of his hand. He could tell the difference between the gradient of one rock and the other, suggest the shortest distance and mark the easiest way which could take us to the top of each boulder or rock. As we floundered our way through the dense scrub and thorny vegetation that covered the base of the rocks, trying to move up, Chandan was way ahead of us manouevering his way like a skilled ballet dancer. When we had reached the top of the designated boulders, we could no longer stand on our feet and squatted on the flat rock surface, panting heavily. By now, the sun had mellowed down and we could feel the coolness in the air. It was time to go down, Chandan told us, as the sun was setting. Darkness would soon envelop the hills in its mysterious veil and life would come to an absolute standstill in this quaint little hamlet.

Back in the guest house, our evening counselling session began under the canopy of a star studded sky. Mats were spread out on the sprawling verandahs and we lay prostrate on our backs trying to get rid of the aches and cramps which we had acquired thanks to the gruelling rock climbing session. Soothing music played in the background and Brendon asked us to close our eyes and count backwards from 100 to 1 forgetting our very existence and trying to be one with nature ------ with the skies above and the darkness all around.He called it the ‘star gazing’ session. When I had finished counting up to 1, I opened my eyes to realize that all the pain and cramps had gone and the mind was as refreshed as ever. I was game for another rock climbing session.

The next morning would be our real encounter with the rocks and we were all getting familiarised with the technical terms of mountaineering. Rappelling is one such term I distinctly remember. The morning of 4^th October, 2001 dawned on Panchlingeshwar in all its brightness and glory. A sense of excitement hung in the air and the rocks in the background waited in anticipation, eager to have a close look at its guests. As we trudged our way through the dusty road and in between the paddy fields to the foothills, we could see Chandan at a distance, on top of one of the huge boulders. He was hitting the rock hard with a hammer like equipment, trying to fix huge iron hooks to which would be tied thick sturdy ropes. On the rock just opposite, Chandan’s assistant was doing just the same thing, putting in place our ropeway ( or death-way?) from the top of one boulder to the top of another. Rock climbing is fun and so is rappelling as we realised later on when the session ended. The rock climbing session gave us lessons in physical endurance, skill, stamina and will power. It also showed us from very close quarters that, when faced with the ruggedness and challenges of nature, we pale into insignificance, surrendering our bloated egos and false sense of superiority.

After another evening spent in the company of stars, gentle breeze, song of the crickets and the reassuring presence of the green mountains, we entered the last day of our programme. We had set this day aside for visiting the temple from which this place has got its name – the Panchlingeshwar Temple. The temple is located a little distance away from the OTDC guest house and it took us quite some time to reach the place because we walked it all through. On our way, we observed Panchlingeshwar, in all its simplicity and untainted beauty.

On the last evening of our short trip, Brendon said that he would take us to that part of Panchlingeshwar which he had fondly named ‘Table Mountain’. He said that the cluster of rocks here were a miniature replica of the original Table Mountain of Cape Town, South Africa. Since none of us had been to Cape Town, we were pretty much interested and so followed him like obedient pupils. Through broken paths, narrow creeks and dense foliage, Brendon, assisted by Chandan and Somnath, led us on the way to the Table Mountains. We could never have believed that such a place existed in this otherwise nondescript village, if we had not seen it with our own eyes. The ‘Table Mountain’ is set in a breathtakingly beautiful surrounding and no words would be apt to describe its grandeur and magnificence. The broken path that we had been following suddenly led us into a valley of a thick and velvety carpet of green grass. And on that patch of grassland, were strewn sand coloured boulders of all shapes and sizes. The biggest of these boulders was lying almost at the centre, its flat surface resembling a table top. We now knew why Brendon had called it the Table Mountain

We collected twigs and dry leaves and made them into heaps – four, five, six of them- I don’t exactly remember. We then burnt each one of these heaps and as the fire began to leap into flames and the dry leaves and the twigs crackled, Brendon asked each one of us to recount a memorable incident from our lives. We sat in groups on the boulders and did as he told us, one after the other, with the hope of coming back to this enchanting place, once again. Dusk descended on the Table Mountains, the sky assumed a purple and crimson hue and the fire burned ………. the fire, in the glow of which we saw the majesty and the aura of the Table Mountain all over again.