(excerpt from our art blog http://sixteenartists.wkexp.com )
A Night in the Forest
Today we have our night in a forest. We are all excited about it. By four in the evening, we all set out for the forest. A few kilometers from Mountain Trail Resort where we stay, there is a deep forest that connects to the Kumaon hills. Leopards, wild boars, barking deer and many other animals are abundant there.
We need to trek down for almost fifteen minutes to reach a clearing where our tents are erected. The clearing is surrounded by tall pine trees covered with centuries old lichens and moss.
Strange sounds of birds and creatures accompany us during the downhill journey and the stories of leopard attacks are already doing the rounds amongst us. We are filled with a strange thrill and fear. We all expect the unknown and surely we don’t know what that unknown looks like. Could it be a dark monster with fangs? Or a jungle beauty with sparkling eyes and spotted yellow skin? Or perhaps even an ethereal beauty that comes to spirit us away?
When we reach there, the resort staff has already propped up a make-shift kitchen. And a bar too is set up on the ground. Some of us go for a trek and some of us hang around with drinks in our hands. We contemplate the beauty of the forest.
Eons of loneliness surround these trees and shrubs. The sounds that fill our ears are from another age. Sumedh remarks that the trees are organic beings waiting to be heard. They have something to tell us. But we don’t know how they are going to tell us their stories. They may embrace us with their soothing leaves or they may even strangulate us with their menacing hands. It all depends on how they feel about us.
Be reverent. Be considerate. Be soft and silent.
The night covers the forest and us in its soft embrace. The acoustic takes a different turn and tune. Moths fly around and some of them whisper unknown secrets into our ears.
Lanterns, high power search lights and mantle lights are lit. A bonfire is made. And we all come around it.
Drinks flow. So do our spirits. The spirits residing in the forest watch us from their remote hideouts. We know we are being watched. But we can do nothing but do whatever under these invisible watchful eyes.
Sitting around the bonfire, our faces take on a look of some secret cult followers who are here to perform some ancient rituals.
Murali Cheeroth transforms into another personality in a moment. He changes his facial expression just as a shaman changes his expression. Here, he is going to do a performance.
Murali moves around the fire and acts out a sad story; of a mother and her seven children. We hold our breath and watch him going through the pangs of emotions.
Then Vibha sings a Punjabi song. After that I sing a few Malayalam and Hindi songs.
Meanwhile, a discussion on art and society props up. The force of the arguments heats up the atmosphere. Someone asserts. Someone disputes. Someone apologizes and someone gets too emotional about Kanu Sanyal and the Maoists. And someone becomes too romantic and hums a few ghazals.
The tents become our refuge by midnight. Now the tents have become giggling chambers as the artists share their secrets and take pleasure on innocent jokes.
A few minutes later a symphony of snoring is played out from the tents. The music of slumber spreads across the clearing, wades through the pine trees and reaches to the invisible forces that guard us from their vantage points of existence.
A shadow of fear walks down from the hills and smiles at the tents.
-JohnyML
