Pristine Love in the Woods

In the first millennium, BC two important social reformations took place independently in India and Persia. Zoarastrar, the great philosopher and poet emerged with zed avesta. All over the world, it is reckoned as the first religion of the world and the mother of all religions. (Swami Vivekananda made an erroneous claim in Chicago in the late 19th century that Hinduism was the mother of all religions. Vedic religion was not Hinduism and Brahminical Hinduism evolved only after 500 BC.) The opposing duality of good and evil, light and darkness were introduced by him, all the western religions and even Islam got their concept of good and evil from him. Ahura Mazda and Ahreeman represented the opposing forces that controlled the universe. He was indeed influenced by Hammurabi, the enlightened despot of Babylon.

A few hundred years later, in the sixth century, the Buddha came with a stupendous social engineering mission. The Buddha struck at the root of colour discrimination. From this point on, both cultures parted ways owing to purely historic reasons. Still, the Persian influence continued in India, up to 300 BC parts of NW India were under Darius III. The Mauryan Empire was strongly under Persian influence and many Persian scholars were in his court. From the fourth century, BC India came under strong Greek influence.

Thousands of Greeks settled in NW India and Kashmir. For the next one thousand years, Greek was one of the official languages and Greek architecture dominated the construction of the era. Almost all of the edicts of this period are seen in Greek and also in India. Real Hinduism with a brahminical overlordship evolved when Buddhism began to decay and decline in India. The Bhagavat Gita was written around 500 BC and the pure Persians who had enjoyed an upper hand in the pre-Buddhist era asserted themselves with a grand strategy enthroning themselves at the apex of the social pyramid.

The newly fanged religion, brahminical Hinduism had shaped up a garish pantheon and an intriguing holy trinity. In this process, both the cultures separated by the deserts of Baluchistan had inadvertently alienated themselves. The new religion retained many of the trappings of the savage forest tribes.

But to outsmart Buddhism, they introduced catchy canons and enchanting liturgy as well. The pyramidal structure of the society with the Persian apex riding a gullible and fawning African mass base was perfectly consolidated. The social engineering piloted by the priest class has had a long-lasting impact on India. The artisans, craftsmen, and the gifted working-class happened to be looked down upon. The one who does not work and makes a living by lip service was venerated. This social consciousness has cast a long and debilitating shadow on the country.

But the Brahmin class could resonate with the British being at par with them in terms of intellectual prowess when the era of western colonialism dawned on India in 1600 CE. The ghost of Brahminism, however, still manacles the progress of the country and obese laziness is the common pastime of the nation. This process was embellished and bolstered with a precocious philosophical foundation and a lucid vision. Maya and non-duality are indeed marvelous contributions of India to the rest of the world. This happened when the Persian Diaspora in India came of age and were on their own.

The Persian influence in India took a new phase in the Islamic period. In 651 AD the Sassanid dynasty was wiped out and Persia eclipsed into the gloom. But persianized Islam spread all over central Asia and Persian continued to be the language of the elite. In 712 Ad the first Islamic conquest of India happened under Muhammed Bin Qasim. It was not an expedition with imperial or territorial designs. He wanted to suppress the festering pirate nuisance on the Arabian Sea.

The period of the Delhi sultanate began at least three centuries later. All the Muslim dynasties which ruled the country for seven hundred years, right down to 1860, promoted Persian as the court language. The sultans heavily depended on engineers architects and scholars from Persia all through the Islamic period. Even the famous queens of the sultans, including Muntaz, were from Persia. But that is a different story.

In the present day world, Persian and north Indian languages like Gujrati, Kashmiri, Punjabi, Hindi, and particularly Urdu are so similar that all these nations can understand each other, as Tamilians and Malayalis understand each other. There is another fallacy of Indo-European languages. There are many words in common among Sanskrit, Persian, Greek, Latin, and derivatives thereof. It is because Persian and Sanskrit are the same, Greek Latin and Persian happened to have many words in common because of continuous interaction, exchanges, and social intercourse. It is not because of a common philological root or a common Aryan father deep somewhere in the frozen northern steppes.'

Early in the morning, at 5 AM, we were ready. While changing, she invited me to clasp her bra from behind. It was the most thrilling event of my whole life. I trembled with kinky excitement. She was busy tucking the supple sensitive marvels in the cups waiting for me to put the hooks in place. I could touch her body momentarily while delivering the mission. Before starting, she opened her bag and pulled out a revolver. I was stunned, I had seen that kind of lethal weapon only in the movies.

'To be on the safer side,' she winked and pushed the killing machine into her pocket.

'Will it protect us from wild animals, madam?' I asked innocently.

'No dear, wild animals are not interested in us. I will not kill them, never. And I do not mistrust the tribals, they have a fundamental morality and value. They respect mother nature and the superiority of women. I never trust the sons of man, I can shoot them with a grin,' she declared.

Suddenly a sexual passion I was bathed in, and I wanted to lay my head on that breasts. I wanted to be safe up there.

When the car rolled its way along the deserted road, I sat close to her, seeking her protection in the wilderness. She held my hand and a warmth passed from her poetic body to mine.

On a cool morning, when mountain mist had shrouded the hills with a thick blanket of puffy cotton balls, we reached Mukkali, the entrance to Attappady from the western side. There is another entrance from the Tamilnadu side from Coimbatore. Our car had climbed like a whirring puny beetle up the mountain road, negotiating the one after the other hairpin curves. We were diving through a thick forest, with the tall canopy whispering to the blue infinity of the early morning.

The car driver politely left pulled out our baggage, wished us good luck, and went back downhill. The junction was still sleepy. There was a small teashop, active. We ordered steaming tea and observed the environment. The gentle rays of the sun, filtering through the towering ancient canopies, were fighting the mist. We were in a deluge of green mansions.

The highway slithered its way east to Coimbatore across Attapady heartland. Another road swerved northwest, to the world-famous Silent Valley protected biosphere. There was a major forest department check post and the khaki clad man with a muffler and monkey cap was dozing his duty away. We sipped tea. I stood behind my goddess and made love to her magnificent backside with my eyes. She had put on a pair of black pants and a white shirt. I had an urge to run my fingers along that curvaceously sculptured cleavage between those magnificent butts.

The jeep drivers thronged around us when they got the hint that we were to the Kurumba hamlets.

We came to know that four-wheel drive jeeps were available for hire. One driver explained that if we waited for a couple of hours, passengers would come, and we could go at the rate of hundred rupees per head. But if we wanted to hail a taxi, it will be a thousand rupees. That meant, they would pack at least ten passengers into that tiny jeep and rattle us all the way.

'It will be packed?' I asked.

'Yea, with their sundry luggage it will be a sight. But you could camouflage among the passengers and the forest officers will not flag you and pull you out. It is a restricted area, outsiders are not permitted.'

'Don't worry about forest officers, we want to travel comfortably,' Neha said.

Jeeps go turn-wise, we cannot engage a jeet of our choice. The driver helped us to put the bags into the jeep. I thought of taking the back seat, in the hope of sitting just behind her and getting my face closer to her cloud of hair.

'Come to the front seat, the drive is quite hazardous, you will be tossed up and down,' the driver said.

I joined Neha in the front seat. Her thighs kissed mine. The aroma of her hair enveloped me. We started. After a hundred meters we reached another forest check post. The furious forest official came out maliciously staring at the driver. His body language screamed violence. He was used to bullying and frightening the tribal people.

'Where you are going, what do you want?' he growled.

Neha looked straight into his face. He observed her from top to bottom, and suddenly his stance thawed. He was dwarfed by the glory of the divine feminine. His mustache was suddenly drooping.

'Look mister, I have permission from the CCF,' she pulled out a paper from her classy bag.

He did not want to read it. He saluted her and obsequiously opened the gate.

'Madam, forgive me. Many strange people from different parts of the world come this way to reach the tribal woman who treats cancer. I thought you were one among them.'

The jeep lurched forward. We were entering a strange feral world. Shortly we passed the sprawling compound of the tribal doctor, who had become fairly rich. On the one side the Bhavani river, hollering down from the Nilgiris, streaked silver. It crashed against the unfeeling boulders. The Malleeswarn peak majestically looked down on us from a height of 6600 feet. The sun could not penetrate the thick canopy. Shortly the road began to show its true colours.

After a few kilometers were reached a small tribal hamlet, Chindakki, which was still asleep. We were not interested in such colonies in the gray region. Then the difficult climb began. We were tossed and bumped. The jeep panted and huffed. The dust of the road blasted in. We were choking, the driver muffled his face with a towel. Across the veil of dust raked up, we could see the distant verdant horizon kissing the heavens. After a long tortuous drive, we reached to crown of a hill, buried deep in the forest. The first tribal hamlet in the woods, tucked deep in the wilderness, was staring at us. The driver parked the car on the road.

We followed a grassy footpath and after a hundred meters across the covert, we were dramatically in the hamlet. It was a latticework of mushroom-shaped huts, straddling the slope. There were cow sheds in between. Around the residential area, there were sprawling agricultural lands, which we visited and took photographs. The stupendous peak, Malleeswaran, again looked down on us. It was glowing like pure gold in the sun. thousands of feet below, in the dark ravine the Bhavani was riotously laughing. The ancient woods basked in the gentle November sun. I congratulated myself, because Neha had put on a white shirt, on which a thin film of dust had formed. But during the exploration, her body was perspiring, and the wet shirt offered the most precious visual feat. The bra was starkly highlighted and the breasts were very conspicuous. I could see delicious pearls of sweat adding an ethereal glow to the twin peaks. Sweat was joining forces to graduate into a cute stream in the harrow valley between the towering breasts. I was squirming with a strange impotent excitement.

She looked at Malleeswaran peak and took multiple photographs. Malleeswaran is petrified god. Centuries ago, when his daughter was born, he went on a long journey into the Himalayas. By the time he had returned, his daughter had become a beautiful young woman. Upon seeing her, he could not control himself and tried to make love. When he touched his daughter, he turned into a peak, which the tribes venerate. Every March, around the Sivarathri the region of Attappadi will be agog with celebrations. And the peak is the center of gravity of tribal life. All but one of the 189 hamlets are facing the peak. They wake up and end the day worshipping the guardian deity, the peak.

Neha was briskly walking and interviewing the farmers and women. Women thronged around her marveling at her breasts and complexion. Her face looked like a fresh rose. The men of the hamlet were all too happy to show their farm. Women and children jostled to put their faces in the photographs. Women, mesmerized and simple they are, looked at her breasts and blinked. The glory of the breasts was blinding them. She promised to come again and offered packets of chocolates to the colony. The whole hamlet was excited, a goddess visited them and offered them manna!

The jeep trundled its way down. The drive was torturous. I held Neha's hand for support. She was strong stealthy and confident. Shortly we reached a sky-high bamboo forest. It was a cool and moist valley. Strange birds hooted and sounded alarms. Then we reached a mountain river, which had a strange bridge. It was originally designed as a footbridge. But it did not have railings. The hazardous part of the bridge was its breadth. The breadth of the bridge was exactly as large as the jeet. A slight miscalculation will push you to the river, which was flowing in its primordial rage.

The challenge did not end there. The bridge was at right angles to the approach road. I held her hand and closed my eyes, I could imagine the river thirsting for us. Even if the front wheels are aligned properly there is no guarantee that the back wheels would follow the suit. I admired the skill of the driver. When we crossed the river, Naha patted me protectively. I shivered and snuggled closer. Again, our uphill climb began.

By midday, we emerged from the cool shade of the rainforest, and we could see the farmlands. Here farmlands do not mean traditional farmlands. It was quasi forest and quasi farmland. Shortly we were at Anavai, the first habitat of Kurumbas. We paid the driver and collected our goods. The hamlet was basking in the cool sun. The chieftain and his wife received us. We were in the lap of mother nature. We discussed and took photographs. We stood at the tomb of Mudda Mooppan, the legendary chieftain of Kurumbas, who was a philosopher and a seer. Great scholars once used to come to him to get insights into his wisdom, he had passed away a few years ago at the age of 120. The tomb was under the shadow of the venerated peak.

In the afternoon, after having an exotic lunch with the chieftain's wife, who is as powerful as the chieftain, we started again. We had braced for a long march into the mysteries of the woods. A solitary footpath lay in front of us. Shortly we plunged into the silence of pathless woods. The heady scent of her sweet body musk and perfume wafted in the air. The rigors of the journey did not bother me, I was in a hypnotic trance, and I was in a strong presence. A strong camaraderie had evolved. We were holding hands. We discussed the traditional tribal economy.

The philosophy of living in the present and coexisting with the forest and farming seemed intriguing and interesting.

We plunged into a forest of huge bamboo, the path dived down like a cave in the clumps of Bamboo. Darkness had puddled up like elephants.

" Are you afraid dear?' she asked.

'Not when you are around, I feel very safe and happy in your presence,' I confessed.

'Smart girl,' she squeezed my hand. Sparks again.

'You are all wet and a sight,' I laughed.

'Indeed, a sight,' she glanced down her breasts, 'we are climbing down to the river I guess, there is a cool-off time down there.'

Certainly, we were on the river. The river laughed, showing her pure white teeth. Huge trees arched down to the river. The water was slithering down from the NIlgiri mountains, from freezing temperatures.

She sat on a smooth and glossy rock. The feathery ministrations across the millennia by the river had polished it. Love polished all asperities, I thought.

She removed her shoes and socks. Then she dipped her feet into the fleeting waters. The water swirled and kissed her feet and lingered around for more of that feeling. Then she lifted her feet, they were red and fatigued.

On an impulse, I picked up one foot and massaged the sole and ankle. Then I pulled at the toes. She closed her eyes and smiled in a relaxed mood. I was trembling with passion. I took a great risk of sabotaging the spell. I kissed the toes, which were like rose buds. Then I sucked on them. I was trembling like an aspen leaf. She opened her beautiful eyes, like a butterfly fluttering her wings.

She was surprised. She looked at me and said, 'oh.'

We were silent. Silence smothered us, silence suffocated us. I expected her to blast me.

'I am sorry, it was my mistake. Please forgive me,' I was on the verge of tears.

'It is alright dear, forget it, let us move on, the day is advancing,' she said.

We crossed the river flitting over the stones and boulders. The uphill climb began, it was a trying experience. We both were gasping and perspiring. We held hands for mutual support. I suppressed my indecent feelings.

We reached a tableland where the sun was caressing the vegetation, we could see tribal farmlands, interspersed with thick weed growth. Shortly we reached a cluster of thatched houses with an atrium in the middle. We were at Kadukumanna, one of the remotest hamlets. The women and children gathered around the see the goddess and her companion. The chieftain's wife received us with honey, wild honey. A funding agency was building new modern houses in the hamlet. But the people preferred their traditional ones. We were asked where we would like to stay, at the traditional house or the new one. We preferred the traditional one.

We were told that there was a point uphill where mobile connectivity was possible. We went uphill to reach out to the world. The towers in Ooty had covered that part also. Neha dialed a Delhi number. I heard her chattering excitedly in Hindi. I sat on the floor and surveyed the breathtaking landscape. The hills to the north touched the heavens. The mountain slopes were lush with thick vegetation. Suddenly my ears got tuned to her words. She was dwelling on the assumption that the southies do not understand Hindi. But there are exceptions, I could follow Hindi.

'.. yes, dear, it is at the end of the world. Yes, she is charming, a treasure and an intelligent girl for that matter... sure, she has marvelous breasts, ha ha, don't be jealous. Yes, my pussy was overflowing all day. My pants and gusset have had their full I guess... ha ha...yes naturally she is infatuated..'

Neha squinted at me, I pretended to be busy with my phone, trying various imaginary numbers. I had none to call.

I strained my ears, the lady from the other side was whispering, 'you lucky one. Does she look like Malathi Menon, the luscious lady you have a passion for?'

'She is of our age, this one is quite young, maybe twenty-three. Malathi's breasts are sagging you know, without proper support. This pair is terrific. I had been feasting on them the whole day.'

When we climbed downhill, the day was already melting into the night. We were exhausted. The chief lady offered us a dinner of sorts, made of strange vegetables, millet, and an exotic vegetable soup.

There was no light, except for the crescent moon. We were ushered to a dwelling place. The traditional architecture was amazing. The thatched roof dropped down to the floor, covering the mud wall. The floor and the wall were plastered with cow dung. The house was a cave, there was no ventilation. When the savage door was closed, it became a hermetically sealed chamber. In normal circumstances, it is dangerous, as oxygen scarcity could be a problem. But it was a windswept region, wind blew the whole night, pushing fresh air through the thick mat of thatch.