As my wife turned away to attend to the young brat, our five-year-old daughter’s endless demands, I mused over what we would do the next day. Sawai Madhopur, a typically sleepy and enchanting town couldn’t capture our interest beyond one long evening. Both the old and the new town lay explored, with little to write home about except the pretty collectibles fashioned out of khus, a fragrant weed. So what would we do? Sitting along the Ramthambore Fort ramparts overlooking the splendid and green reserve forest seemed the only attractive option.

As Naina, my wife and me discussed the next day’s proceedings, little Bubbles burst into a huge wail, ‘…but Mama you said we’d see a river..’. That sealed it! We decided to undertake that 60 km journey to the River Chambal – to see the river if not anything else. Besides, so what if nobody goes there – we will be different!

Although October, midday was still quite hot so we decided to start early. 60 odd kms didn’t seem too much and we were sure that we would be comfortably back by lunch. The hotel café packed our breakfast basket, from fruit juice to tea, which we tucked into the dusty dickey of our derelict blue Maruti 800. Off we went with Bubbles still sleepy and gusts of chilly morning breeze blowing in through the open windows.

The roads the first few kms were good and a song or two tugged my lips as I contentedly drove on. However, as the city’s boundaries blurred into barren tracts and brown villages the highway turned into a nightmare.

60 kms now seemed double the distance. You name a kind of road and we had been through it! From the cobbled to the dilapidated pitch tar, to mud and sand, my aged car hobbled along a variety of roads. Characteristically the situation worsened within each dusty Rajasthani village where one could perhaps walk faster than drive. Upset at everyone from the government to my wife I regretted taking little Bubbles’s suggestion seriously. To top it all we got lost in the peak of market day in village near Khandahar taking a wrong turn and navigating way off course. A constant source of amusement to the gaon vasis, I struggled hard to keep calm as I purposefully drove on.

The site we wished to visit was known as Rameswaram, a temple village located at the confluence of three rivers, the Banas, the Shibu and the Chambal. After the morning’s gruelling experience I imagined the sought destination would be nothing more than a nalla, narrow and filthy. As the landscape changed from fertile tracts to badland topography, duly explained by my geographer wife, yet another thought raced through my mind. We were miles away from any town, my mobile (as private operators hardly believe in any link with rural India) wasn’t working and I was unarmed, travelling with wife and child through the infamous Chambal ki Ghati. Did the dacoits frequent this area any more? Weren’t they wiped out? The Phoolan Devi movie did show something to that tune – but I couldn’t be sure and cursed myself for not doing my homework. I had never felt such intense love for my family before and wanted to just turn around and flee – back to our so-called civilization whose little battles I had learnt to fence. However, Bubbles’s little face framed in tight black ringlets, looking out for a river in the horizon prodded me on. One peek and we would leave – that’s what I decided!

As we cruised into the Rameswaram village, curious bystanders showed us the ghat and decided to follow us there too. The river that emerged from within a patch of green was so splendid that I was momentarily taken aback at its sheer volume. It was a large river by any standards. Wide and slow, its brown waters were shimmering in the morning sun!

The villagers were so warm and friendly – not the touristy ‘give me some bakshish’ kind of way, that my fears abated. Taking a young resident, Sewak Singh, aside I casually asked about the foremost question in my mind, dacoits! ‘Never seen them sahib, not even in my childhood. They infested the valleys far away from here.’ So there - so much for unfounded fears.

At once I hoisted up giggling Bubbles on my shoulder and clambered down the many steps of the ghat as Naina followed with the picnic basket. Locating a shady tree we spread a sheet and relaxed. With so many water birds flitting past us, the morning was filled with much activity. Two pretty girls and doleful women with a brood of young boys were taking a bath at the riverbank when we arrived. Soon three men joined them as I wondered about the socio-economic standing of the women who continued to bathe without a pause. Naina mumbled some explanation through a mouthful of cheese sandwich. Bubbles, however, was neither interested in our conversation nor in the delightful spread before her. She alternately tugged Naina’s purple dupatta and my camera strap with a poker faced request to take a bath in the river. I sternly turned to refuse, when I found Naina pulling out a change and a towel for Bubbles from her handbag. ‘ I promised her – she has never taken a bath in a river’ pleaded Naina.

Children bring us a second childhood! The river water was muddy but had excellent water quality, evident from the myriad fauna that we found swimming in its depths. We sighted at least seventeen (thanks to little Bubbles’s enthusiasm) small placid turtles, occasionally surfacing for air with their dark brown snouts and wet shells poking through the cloudy waters. As for the flipping splishes of teeny silvery fish - we lost count of how many we saw. The tranquility and the untouched quality about the place was mesmerizing.

Boat ahoy!

The other bank belongs to Madhya Pradesh. A little boat bobbed near its mud and grass banks waiting for farmers, wives, tiny babies and more to clamber in. Today wasn’t a special day - the activity was routine, yet I found it fascinating. As the boat, filled to capacity slowly released its moorings and moved towards us, I had this weird urge to see each and every passenger’s face clearly. I squinted my eyes against strong mid-morning sun to gaze at the growing face of a little girl crying, a couple laughing, an old woman clutching a small potli looking forlorn, so many expressions, so many lives, so many stories.

At last the boat touched down! The people on board climbed the stairs and disappeared into the brown background. Only a couple with the baby girl stayed back. They were preparing to take a bath I saw. Slightly embarrassed at staring, I moved away to give them privacy.

Good Morning –Chambal Maiya

Yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes off. The fluidity of their movements and the confidence with which they dealt with the river was a sensual delight. I don’t know what it was about this little family that attracted me so. There were other men and women taking a bath in the river – yet an equivalent of me in another life – with a wife and daughter drew me to this family. Besides the wife was beautiful, with skin like polished mahogany, a figure that would tingle every nerve of a self-respecting artist and a smile that would light up the darkest of spaces. I itched to photograph her wet shape, but resisted possessively. Only my eyes were destined to see her, and only my eyes shall.

The little baby girl with burnished hair was splashing happily half submerged in the cool waters while her parents quickly bathed and changed. When it was time to leave my Beauty began to haul her up by one hand. The shriek that emanated from that small creature took us back. Bubbles too looked up from her ‘counting splishing fish’ game and watched carefully for injury. There was none – the baby just wanted to splash about longer. I imagined a tantrum underway when my Beauty bent down, giggled and began playing a splash- splash game. Laughter filled the air, with Bubbles and Naina here and guffaws of the baby and her mother on the end side of the bank - two mothers and their unending love.

‘Laija Chambal maiya, laija’, (take her away Mother Chambal) crooned my Beauty as she doted on her young. There of course was a lot more she said but most of it was beyond my comprehension. Then she slowly picked up her sun-kissed little babe wiping her as she walked behind her tall turbaned husband. My heart melted. I don’t think that my city bred Naina, no offense to her, has this kind of patience with Bubbles.

Bubbles in the mean time was refusing to change her wet clothes. Naina called for help and my life jump-started again. ‘Time to leave, darling’, I whispered into Bubbles’s ears as I slipped on a red dress over her shoulders. She agreed on the condition that I would buy her an ice-cream on the way back. Barter completed, I packed my family back into the car and headed down the dusty trail back to the hotel.

Why wasn’t this place developed I wondered. Ranthambore, just about 55 odd Kms from here has scores of tourist from all over the world. This water front could be weaved into the itinary as a picnic schedule or something after a morning sighting in the National Park. No-doubt the roads and the livelihood of the villagers would receive a fillip. And my Beauty, lost somewhere in the depths of Chambal, would she see the benefits of development in her lifetime?