Day 3 Andaman - The road to Rangat

 Feb 12th 2024

Continued from here.

A strange day it was, with so many new experiences, some amazing, some frustrating, some bewildering and of course some hilarious!  The plan - travel to Rangat in Middle Andamans on The Andaman Trunk Road - ATR - now rechristened as NH4.  This required us to go in a convoy through the Jarawa reserve, then ferry across the Middle Straits, and then continue again, though some more Reserve before coming to the settler town of Rangat.

In the debriefing, it was stressed to us that we had to get to the head of the convoy, or else the cars wouldn't make it quickly on the ferry across and then that would delay us.

And so, we woke up at 3am to leave at 4am!  The 8 of us were down and ready, and bundled into our respective cars by 4 am.  It was still dark, but there was a bit of activity on the streets - visits to other islands also have early departures, so the tourism business is an early-to-rise affair in the Andamans.

We were to pick up Jabili- and went to her lane at 415 or so - and there was no sign of her.  I wonder if she thought we would not be ready or she overslept.  We hung around her place on the road for a good half hour before she showed up.  Since we were driving in the dark and then through the Reserve where we could not stop, Jabili was consigned to the rear - and she slept all through.  Clever girl.

Anyways, we reached Jirkatang - the convoy starting point at 530 instead of 5, and so we didn’t make it to the head of the convoy and we were waaaay back

Dawn was breaking, and I was dazed at the long and orderly line of cars, lined up on the left of the road.

The Islander is more orderly than the Mainlander for sure.  There was no traffic jam, no honking.

 

Drivers were going off to submit the necessary papers - we had to fill a form with the usual bureaucratic details of where we were coming from, whether we had murdered anybody etc.  

We were all told to go eat something, find a toilet etc etc.  Each of the little shacks had a bunch of 2-3  pay and use toilets, all were clean, and there was no smell of pee on the roadsides!  What happened to the Indian male in Andaman?  Most mercifully and thankfully, the world was not their toilet here, it appeared.  

Of course our gang gravitated to a lady selling idlies - she was a feisty no-nonsense sort - must have seen people like us by the dozens.  She was most affronted that we were not demanding her "poo-poley" (flower-like) idlies, but were falling on all the fried food instead.  I desisted and refrained from putting anything into my stomach - a very wise decision in hindsight.

Travelling through the Jarawa reserve and the convoys

From:  The damned road of Andamans

Every morning at 6 am, the gates to the Jarawa Tribal Reserve, located in the Middle Straits of the Andamans, are thrown open with a loud pre-recorded voice reading out instructions of social conduct to be followed inside the forests. Following this, a convoy of cars and buses cross into the forests from the hamlet of Jirkatang, the last housing settlement towards Baratang Island, a less popular attraction for tourists. En route the convoy crosses another that approaches Jirkatang from Baratang. Throughout the day, six more convoys enter the reservation from either side at three hour intervals.

In the beginning of the 18th century, the Jarawas inhabited the South Andamans while being at war with the Aka-Bea-da tribe. The Jangils, who bore some relation to the Jarawa, were situated further south on Rutland Island. The first colonisers of the land, the British East India Company, built their townships around Chatham and Ross Island, cleared the forests starting with southeast Andamans and managed to push the tribal demographic towards the north. They frequently attempted to make contact and engaged in the practice of 'gift-giving' with Jarawas, efforts which were sometimes reciprocated with hostility. As the number of colonial villages and forestry expeditions increased, small battles between the tribe and the police or bandits became common. While the other two tribes perished into extinction, the Jarawas survived the exodus. In 1957, their habitation area from the southwestern forests of Constance Bay through the Middle Straits into the Middle Andamans and the marina around it was declared a tribal reserve under the Andaman and Nicobar (Protection of Aboriginal Tribes) Regulation Act, 1956.

The settlers who came to the North and Middle Andamans with the establishment of penal colonies and later the refugees of Partition lived in a mortal fear of the sea. The development of the Andaman Trunk Road through the tribal reserve was sanctioned in the early 1970s as a result of their nautical discomfort. The Jarawas have resisted the building of the road since then. In fact, the convoy system was initiated as a way to protect the Public Works Department workers constructing the road from arrows shot by the natives. Existing folklores even account for a number of Jarawa deaths as a result of electric wires laid down by the state. Out of fear, no official complaint of such deaths were ever made, but the tribal elders have recorded them in their oral history. The construction of the road was completed two decades later while the convoys continued to protect the intruding travellers.

Today, the upkeep of this road faces no opposition from the Jarawas. In a reversal of history, the convoy system is now in place to prevent tourist intrusion into tribal lives. The police bikes that tail the convoys keep all passengers from straying off the road and establishing any contact with the tribe. 

(The SC has asked for the road to be closed, then the other Islanders appealed, and it seems the decision was reversed.)

For the next couple of hours, we drove through a super smooth road (for the most part), with our cameras tucked away (no photography allowed, as also no stopping, speeding, honking), looking at the green forests, the valleys dropping off behind the tree cover, the streams glinting in the sun, flashes in between trees.  I tried to consign to memory the green, the clean streams, the ravines.  Every now and then there would be tree logging - a cell tower was  being installed.  

Conversation ebbed and flowed in between napping - the quiet was causing everyone to drop off, nodding heads all around.   Our driver told us about how the Jarawas received rice and sugar from the government, how they get health checks, how many know and understand Hindi now.  There is a legendary story of a little Jarawa boy breaking a bone and being healed in one of the district hospital, making friends, learning to communicate with the settlers, and being the bridge that reduced hostilities between the Jarawas and the settlers.  

Middle Straits and Baratang

Around 8am and we were at the other side of the reserve, at Middle Strait jetty.  The original plan was to board the ferries in the cars and go off to the other side - Baratang.

Middle Strait - from the ferry

 

However, the drivers told Jabili to take us across in the first ferry on foot - it seems all the tourists going to Baratang to the mud volcanoes etc, do this, and jump into waiting cabs on the other side.  And so we walked over and joined the tourists who were from everywhere.  Next to me was a young Telegu couple who had lived and worked for a few years in Chennai on OMR!

A short ride later we were at Baratang and walked in to the only eating establishment of repute there.

The little place delivered dosais and other such fast food, shared tables, no loitering, eat and move.  Once again there was a Tamil-speaking "boss" who kept the flow.  I had one plate dosai - there were two - I think Gasper was more adventurous - he had parottas and puris as well.

And now, we waited for our cars to come over in the ferry.  We waited.  I watched in fascination as a bus disembarked.  (The buses had a roller attached behind the end of their vehicles so their bottoms wouldn't get scraped off every time they came off the ferry.)

We watched the Pacific Swallows.  

Pacific Swallow Hirundo tahitica.  I wonder if this is subspecies javanica.  The red face and throat, and a streaked belly - differentiate it from the barn swallow - Umesh explained.  There's the streak-throated swallow - which has a white belly - I hope I've been a good student and remember this right.

This pair gave us a lot of joy.  They would come sit on the jetty, take off at the slightest disturbance, swoop over the water, return.  Repeat.  so fast were they, I could not take a video.  

Others watched us watching the swallows.  Doggies slept.  Tourists came and went.  And still we waited.

 

It was 1130 or so, by the time our cars came across, after the buses and the oil tankers.

We are all a bit tired and bored by now - and Jabili moved to the front to supposedly show us birding wonders - which meant that Sekar went back to the third row, and the import of this hit us later.

NH4 rock and roll, bump and groan.

"Ab road thoda karaab hoga", said our driver after we crossed Nilambur, which was the understatement of the year for sure.  There was no road!! No road, only holes. What bird, what sights, we each tried to hold onto something to prevent being tossed around like potatoes - the Mahindra Xylo's soft suspension adding to the feeling of being on a choppy sea rather than on terra firma.

When we spoke we warbled into gamakams that would have made any Carnatic singer proud, as our vocal chords followed the laws of inertia within our throats.

Do listen to the interesting conversations in the car.

And then suddenly, we came upon this first class bridge - Humphrey bridge across Humphrey Creek. How exciting, smooth tar, no rolling, and what a lovely view!  Of course we stopped and enjoyed the creek.  The bridge is 1.5 kms long and crosses between Gandhi Ghat and Uttara jetty.

 

Stretched our legs, straightened our backs and greeted the members of the other car as well.  Desigan had this most vivid description of the nodding heads in the other car, and being stuck in the middle - he was awestruck and in absolute wonderment as to how trough all that  roll and bump, Gasper, Suresh and Ravi slept.  His visualisations of their sleeping rolls along with the car's rocks kept me in splits.  The said seniors smiled benignly and said he would learn these skills when he reached their age!

Humphrey Creek

 

And then we looked at the signposts which said another 50kms more to Rangat! The drivers were in good cheer - oh to be young and chilled.

We crossed Kadamtala, and then immediately after, the road again became non existent once again. This was the second Reserve section.  At the moment, these roads do not see much traffic and this is a blessing.  

I understood why Madhuri of ANET said that the sea route was preferable.

It was 2pm by the time we reached Rangat, every km being ticked off inch by inch.

Further hilarities ensued at the Hotel Eden’s Garden

We arrived at Hotel Eden’s Garden and find not a single staff inside. Reception deserted, restaurant locked and two hotel guests sitting patiently in the lobby saying they were also wondering what happened. We were hungry and tired and not in the best of moods anyways. 

Then a housekeeping staff came marching down the stairs, banged firmly on a door which said 101. No response. Inderjeet, she called loudly and sternly. "Guests have come." That seems to have got Inderjeet’s attention. ‘Aa gaye?!’ He asked in a shocked voice from behind that door. After 5 minutes, he emerged in sleeveless banian and drawer shorts and behaved as if it was the most normal thing to be dressed like that.  He was in the ‘washroom’ he explained. 

Jabili the guide who is small made tried speaking to him. He spoke over her head and said ‘ek madam aana tha, woh kahaan hai?’ We all chorused -  this is her and he then looks down and says in a shocked voice - oh yeh ladki!  

Then he announced that our rooms were ready and said cheerily there is no restaurant though. The chef had not been appointed! 🫢 All this in banian and drawers, he bounced around, busily, calling loudly to the drivers, and I was filled with trepidation as to how the room in this garden of eden will be - what poisonous snake would emerge?  We clomped up the stairs and I turned to see Sekar with a Cheshire grin saying - I could never have imagined and written that reception incident!  Such is the joys and amusements of a writer and thankfully the room was real and actually quite nice and neat.  

The housekeeping lady was leaving for the day.  And Mr Inderjeet was our SPOC - very efficient. So he took us next door for lunch to a ‘Bengali restaurant first class’ sir and we got what’s called a thali.  Of course our group members are never fazed and were ever optimistic asking for various delicacies - fish fry?  fish curry?  chicken mein kya hai? At which point carnivorous Umesh bhai was so vexed he had a veg thali. Can you believe that?!  Food was decent, but nothing Bengali about it, please note - Sagarika - it had sambar, Bengali sambar.  

After an afternoon snooze, Ravi, Sekar and me went to Raman beach, Gasper stayed and rested, and the others went birding with Jabili.

Raman bageecha beach

We went to Raman bageecha beach. It was just beautiful, just the balm my body and soul needed.  Cool breeze, blue waters, clean sands and the green tidal forests.  This is Andamans.  I needed to see this vast expanse after a day spent in a car.  

It was low tide and the rocks were exposed.  A Collared kingfisher meditated close by.  In the distance were the, by now, familiar Reef Herons.  A WBSE circled in the distance.

Our younger driver Ojas was busy marking a moss stone with the heart symbol of his love.

Pandanus grew at the water's edge.

We went back to the hotel, the others were back too - orders were placed for some spiritual refreshments, and Inderjeet came back looking ragged - there were 71 people ahead of him in there queue he said!  What??  Further "research" revealed that there is one TASMAC-equivalent for the whole of Rangat (ANIDCO), and since these refreshments come from the mainland, supply is scarce and rationed!  

That night, Mr Inderjeet got the restaurant opened and stocked with dosais and parottas!! Sambar and salad.  I think the owner dropped in and helped and we ended with some lovely Tetrapak buttermilk of Milky Mist - coming all the way from Chennai for sure.