How we met Pinnai Dora

Please click on this link to read about how we met Pinnai Dora.
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/visakhapatnam/How-we-met-Pinnai-Dora/articleshow/47660558.cms

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It was the winter of 1972. Late that afternoon, on an impulse, four of us decided to jump on our two bikes and head up to Lambasinghi. The road was bad and we arrived at the Lambasinghi ghat foothills only by nightfall. It was too dark and bike lights were lousy those days so we decided to stop for the night. We parked our bikes in a field and fortified with swigs of dark stuff and ensconced in leather jackets and thick jeans, we snuggled into a haystack to spend the night. We slept deeply and early next morning we looked around to discover that we were near a hamlet with a few huts and a tiffin shack. There are certain duties that are to be performed in the morning, therefore we asked for a chambu of water and trundled off into yonder fields to fertilize the soil.

Greatly refreshed after our morning ablutions, and tempted by the sight of steaming iddlies we settled down at the tiffin shack for breakfast. Some villagers gave us curious looks and asked if were in the movie business. We assumed that they were impressed by our filmy leather jackets and our good looks; we were bemused but thought no more of it. Instant coffee was just making inroads into rural India and I can vouch that there was nothing quite like starting a day with a dozen hot iddlies and rich strong coffee made of fresh creamy milk. Before the mist could lift we mounted our bikes and rode off into the ghats. Having visited there several times since the mid-1960s we were friendly with the forest bungalow watchman and looked forward to settling there for a couple of nights. But that was not to happen.

On arriving at the bungalow we were taken aback to see the entire area bristling with old cannons and tents but no soldiers. The bungalow doors were locked and peering through the glass window we could see several spears, bows and arrows and such, stuff that the Americans would nowadays promptly label as “WMDs”. After closer examination of the cannons we found that they were made of thin sheet metal. It dawned on us that that we had arrived at a movie set. As we were wondering what to do next half a dozen trucks drove noisily up to the bungalow and several khaki uniform wearing soldiers jumped out of them.  A few minutes later the area was full of filming equipment and a noisy generator was cranked up. A rosy pink Lord Rutherford stepped out of an ambassador resplendent in his British uniform and pulled off his white glove to reveal jet black hands underneath. The shooting of the classic Alluri Seetharamraju movie was underway here. Consequently we had no place to stay.

We decided to try our luck further down the road at the nearby Lambasinghi village. The village comprised a few thatched homes with mud walls. Alongside the road were a few micro commercial ventures. A kirana shop, a tea shack, a tailor and so on. Moved by our state of homelessness the tailor was kind enough to shift his sewing machine out and give us space for two nights. That evening we put on a magic and entertainment show for the tribal kids. Using our helmets for percussion and the twang of Jewish harps for background, backed by some drunken singing and a few silly magic tricks we established a bond of empathy with our temporary neighbors.

The next morning was quite ordinary until it became extraordinary. We woke late, dispensed with our business in the bushes, had a refreshing hot bath thanks to a bucket of hot water each contributed by our new friends. Later rejuvenated by an adequate local breakfast, we sat on the mud gattu of the hut to watch the world go by. Thanks to the quiet rustic surroundings, lulled by the gentle cool breeze, the bird calls, the chatter of rowdy monkeys on the trees above and other indulgences common in the hippie 70s, we had attained a state of near nirvana when we were rudely disturbed by an awful din of the most profane expletives emanating from around the bend in the road.

Soon the source of the offensive tirade appeared on the road. A spry but very drunk old man was being carried by a sturdy young fellow on his back. The old chap was drunk as a monk and was directing the young man with a stream of expletives to take him to the next watering hole where he could continue with his refreshments. My curious friend Sumant (name not changed) rose from his comfortable vantage point and went to see what the commotion was all about. When he approached the duo, the older drunk subdued his tirade. The sturdy young fellow in polite drunkenness requested Sumant to take charge of his payload for a moment till he could tie his lungi properly. Having transferred his load to Sumant’s shoulders and securing his lungi, he took a deep breath, smiled gratefully at Sumant and bolted away into the forest! The old drunk grew comfortable on Sumant’s shoulders and refused to disembark. He directed that he be carried a little ahead where he would absolve the carrier of all his responsibility. Soon they disappeared around the bend of the road.

In places such as this time has a funny way of slowing down. A longish hour passed before we heard from them again. The two appeared on the road staggering gently but talking quite amicably. Sumant informed us that they were good friends now. He announced that the elderly gentleman was taking him home to introduce him to his eldest daughter who was of marriageable age. Furthermore that the gentleman was in favor of a groom who had strong and willing shoulders, suitable for transport. So like good friends we joined him and went up the hill to the gentleman’s house.

There we met his daughter a strong rustic lass with broad tribal features. As the alcoholic euphoria diffused, Sumant decided to respectfully turn down the proposal. However this episode started several decades of friendship with Pinnai Dora and his large family. He is gone now, but knowing him introduced some of us to the charming world of our Adivasi friends, a relationship that survives to this day.