One,
two, three, four, five..... That was a penta header, my first spotting of one,
rather five locos together. The two ALCos at the helm of our train along with a
couple at the tail braked as Amaravathi came to a halt. Sonalium, it was, the
place from where the trek up the Braganza was set to begin.
The
dream location for every railfan was a trek of one thirds a dozen kilometres
away. The ocean of milk, no, not the Milky Way galaxy, the Dudhsagar was our
destination. The route is not one where trains whiz past every minute like the
suburbs of Chennai or Mumbai. It is a serene route through the Braganza ghats
in Goa. All this description is to assert that it is absolutely safe to walk on
the railway tracks here unless a snake or a scorpion decides to join the leech
in giving you a welcome into their territory.
The
trek began on an enthusiastic note. However I was soon left behind by the
others, partly because I wanted to enjoy the scenery surrounding me, more so as
I was the fattest in the trio. Wandering in a forest a thousand kilometres from
home that I was, the thoughts in my mind were wandering thousands of kilometres
around the world. With my college life all set to begin a week later,
reminiscence of school life took over. There was an envelope of gloom with the
clouds covering the sky and my heart was no different. It was not because I was
going to miss my school days. It was because my friends had left me behind, not
in the trek, but in life. While my classmates had qualified for IITs and NITs,
I was going to join just another university in Chennai. The first quarter of my
life was over and I was in wilderness. The jungle surrounding me confirmed my
scenario. The only difference between my short trek and the long run was that
in the former, I knew my destination while in the latter, I was clueless. The
similarity was that I was just going forward in the path ahead, not knowing
what lay in store, en route.
I soon
caught up with my friends, not because I ran quickly, but because they waited
for me. We had covered a half and two kilometres. The view point for the
Dudhsagar had been reached. It was the first week of July and water was gushing
in Dudhsagar, covering the entire breadth of the cascade. The sight was a dream
that had finally come true. Or did it? My reverie was broken by a swear by my
friend. My eyes popped in wonder. It was not the Dudhsagar. Fear not, as we had
not reached the Jog Falls or the Niagara. It was the Dudhsagar but a trickle
was all that remained. It was not the furious gush that tourists enjoyed during
July. The Dudhsagar was a mere Dudh Nala (canal).
A few
arguments and slangs later, my first sign of victory that day emerged as I
could convince my friends to stay at the view point in wait of a train. My luck
was not as bad as I had cursed it to be as within a couple of minutes the honk
of a loco was heard. The icing on the cake was that an imported yellow WDG4 was
one of the two locos that hauled the freighter. Seven full minutes after it
came to our view at the falls, the entire rake had finished crossing us, a good
two kilometres away by track.
As soon
as the train had crossed, continued the trek that we did. This time, thank to
the dark deadly tunnels that we had to cross, my friends had decided to slow
down. However these tunnels were not going to slow me in any way. I was already
walking at the speed my friends were walking after slowing down. As we neared
the falls, we were blessed with showers. Although the rain did add to the
beauty of the cascade, the fact that, for the first time since I was born,
Dudhsagar was not at its raging best during the first week of July. I suppose
all the swearing at my luck was indeed valid.
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