Yogi had invited me to join a school trip to Bardiya National Park; it was apparently a reward for a traditional dance group at SPA, wh had come second in some competition or other, but I was pleased that this included Richa and Prabha two members of the cast of the play. It meant an early start, though inevitably not quite as early in reality. And it was a long drive. Fortunately, I had brought my pillow with me, the one I had brought from home (and a blessing on the night flight to Delhi.)
Eventually, we entered the Park – I was awake again by now; I had been left the back seat to myself, and it was not so dissimilar from sleeper trains in India or China (though considerably bumpier.) Mostly we were driving through jungle, the only sight of especial note a small herd of elephants crashing through the trees. We spent the majority of the time at the Park HQ, essentially both an administrative centre for tours etc, and a centre for breeding.
There was a rush to see a tiger kept in a cage, but he could barely be seen, peered at through some peepholes, and then a heavy chain-link fence with an almost dark interior. Not that all of this stopped the students from getting very excited. Otherwise, there was little to see; enclosures of crocodiles, monkeys wandering about. Only then did the real purpose of the trip make itself clear, with some heavy flirtation. There are cultural prohibitions on anything too overt, but it was only too obvious all the same, sometimes disguised by photography; heaven only knows how many were taken.
Eventually, we gathered (no easy or quick matter) and drove back to the small town where we would be having lunch, first walking across the huge bridge, built thirty or so years ago, which had opened up the area. Yogi invited me to join him at a restaurant there, on a small terrace overlooking the river. I was a little concerned at leaving the students entirely to their own devices, but it was not my place to interfere.
The lunch was very good, various dishes, including some local fish, a bit like whitebait, deep-fried and eaten whole, washed down with a beer or two. And the conversation was good too; Yogi enjoys then opportunity to engage in debate. But the rest of the trip deteriorated, certainly from my point of view, from here on. When everyone gathered again, there was a little dancing by the bus, which was fun, but something must have happened during the (long) lunch break, for suddenly the mood changed. There was a hostile atmosphere throughout, one girl was in floods of tears, the boys were starting to get out of control… and no constraints were put on this.
I assumed at the time that this was the result of teenage hormones, excitement at the unaccustomed freedom, but actually I now feel there might have been something else to fuel such behaviour. But at least we were now on our way home. Except that we now made a stop, unscheduled I believe, at a water garden, apparently a major local attraction. I could only shrug and accept the inevitable delay.
And actually I had a very pleasant time. The gardens were extensive, and actually very impressive, and there was a long paved path along the edge, leading eventually to a pair of swings, plus some pedalos; Richa and Prabha were looking after me. It has been a mighty long time since I have been on such a thing, but was enticed aboard a boat with a large carved swan at the front, and off we went. I was doing the lion’s share of the pedalling, so I was pleased when it seemed everyone was quite happy with a quick circuit. I was pleased that the thing was very easy to steer, and we returned in short time, spending a little while on the swings, then back to the bus, where Yogi was waiting.
The final leg of the journey was dreadful, for it seemed to me that too many of them were out of control. Singing and dancing was one thing, but this was the boys leaping about, pogoing up and down, with some of the girls screaming hysterically. I felt I had no choice but to intervene – someone was going to get hurt – but when I was ignored I rather lost my temper, especially with one girl who could not stop. She was, of course, the girl who had been crying.
But eventually we were back, later than advertised. I was disappointed that the journey had soured what had otherwise been a most enjoyable day.
