Dudhsagar Falls
The drive is long and dusty
to Dughsadar Falls.
Through forest thick the truck
hops along the rutted road,
past leaf hidden shanties
The tang of fermenting cashews
Is strong enough to choke.
We journey on, deeper into the unknown.
Our driver points out the railway,
numbers the dead.
Halting, we are guided through
the trees by a cousin.
Warned to watch our step
lest snakes lie basking
in the tropical warmth.
We pass by a pool,
a mini-fall bursting with native children,
the thunderous roar out of place.
The guide laughs at our conceit,
points upwards.
We clamber over boulders,
escorted by monkeys
greedy for human delicacies,
to see this creamy torrent
fall to its ruin in a glassy pool.
We are not alone.
Red and gold fish dart and
weave through a seething
horde of rowdy tourists
bathing in sun dappled water.
A whoop. The monkey man calls
down his minions.
'Cashew, Cashew, 50 rupee'.
Survival of the strongest,
the ruthless, the most commercial.
We bask until near dusk.
Until the dust of four wheel drives
settles and the light dims.
The journey home is humdrum,
lacking desire.