“I saved four youths from drowning today. They would have been total goners had I not spotted them” said my new friend Peter M. I was in Manori, after having walked for over an hour. It was my weekend getaway of sorts.
So when the rains took a breather I decided to get down to Gorai cross and walk straight upto Manori. The idea was to explore the area and its villages. With no fixed itinerary in mind except only a general direction to follow, I took the ferry and landed on the other side of Gorai. Erastus, my affable rickshaw guy, took me to Gorai Cross for 100 rupees. A resident of the village, he told me that my plan of walking to Manori was a bit unheard of. No one walked that much! There was a local bus that I could catch if I wanted to. The route from the jetty to Gorai cross went through lush green mangroves which are dotted with small quaint houses and crosses some of which date over 100 years. Thanks to the monsoons, there was not much weekend traffic on the road and we soon reached the church of Holy Magi – the local church of Gorai.
Last year when I had to make an important decision, I had found myself wandering on the sea front here and had finally made my decision after at the church. A service was going on and the sun had started to peek through the clouds. I was hoping for a few showers but I was out of luck that afternoon. I began my walk towards Manori. As soon as I turned left at the church, I was happy to see the many old bungalows intact. A hundred meters into the walk and I felt like I was in Goa. Of course, the similarities are were not a mere coincidence. These islands along with most of the other sixty six islands – comprising Salsette – were the stronghold of the Portuguese for over three hundred years. So a natural extension of the architecture, religion and way of life is still evident in these parts.
The sun was fully out by the time I reached the next church – the Sacred Heart Church of Culvem village (pronounced Kul-ve). The church was shut so I decided to return another time. I continued my walk and reached Houd Pada. It was here that I got my first glimpse of the sea. Peeking through a coconut grove the grey-muddy sea was violent but inviting. Right across the road was a huge pond, perhaps lending its name to the village, houd translates to pond in Marathi. But of most interest was a well built in 1949-50. The engraving on it read that it was for the use of all castes, a strong reflection of the changing times in the post Independence period.
I walked on and arrived at a very noisy resort which was clearly standing out like a sore thumb with its tasteless music blaring in the quiet evening. I also noticed a signboard that pointed to a Buddh Vihar. I entered the lane and didn’t see anything further up so I retreated back to the road with the vihar still on my mind. As I moved further, I noticed a sharp hillock rising to my right. A narrow trail was going up. I crossed the road and began walking on the steep incline. The exposed rock was home to many birds – including the scaly breasted munias which flew away as I approached and soon returned. As I gained height the view to the east became clearer. The Golden Pagoda shown in the evening sun and beyond that stretched the suburban city which I had left behind temporarily. I sat down for a bit to drink some water. Some rain would have been perfect but I made peace with the view in front of me.
I was tempted to enter the forested path behind me but I decided to skip it and stuck to my original plan. I descended and took pictures of a palm and banyan tree which seemed to be growing off the bark of the palm tree. Now I was hungry and needed a boost. But apart from the small ‘resorts’ and homestays there was no shop in sight. This entire stretch was dotted with such establishments famous among couples seeking a few hours of privacy from the world in the city. It was also home to the various wadis or the farmlands owned by the original inhabitants of the islands.
I drank some more water and continued in hopes of finding some chai and vadapav. I didn’t have to wait for long. Sai Krupa Vada Pav centre run by the very friendly Bhandari family was waiting for me right around the corner. I had two cutting adrak chai and one vadapav. They told me that Manori was not very far but the tekdi was nearby. Just the next turn.
Oh the tekdi, the cliff – the now popular sunset point of Manori was a range of cliffs that P and I had ‘discovered’ while cycling aimlessly through the island back in 2007. With those fond memories and with a decent chai kick to my system, I took the right turn. Just after the dargah of Manori, a path went up to the cliff. The cliff was not an isolated one, but a series of outcrops which ultimately joined back to Culvem.
I climbed the first one and took in the view. To my left, to the south stretched the island of Manori. A large ship which had run aground a few weeks ago stood silently as if it has always been part of the landscape. To my right, dark clouds loomed overhead but the rays of the sun were peeking through onto the sea and further the village of Gorai was visible. I descended the first cliff and climbed the second.
Here there were a few revellers drinking in the open. While they kept to themselves, I was worried about the litter that they usually left behind. In fact I had to tread carefully as there were broken bottles and glass shards strewn about in some places. The view from the cliff was magnificent. The bottom escarpment was eroded and the rock formation was spectacular. In fact an archaeological survey done on this site revealed that this was home to the mesolithic culture dating back to the middle stone age – nearly 5000 years ago.
The cliffs of Manori make for one of the oldest inhabited sites in the city. I was eager to explore further so I began my descent into the gully below and then began climbing up to the other cliff. The path here was exposed and steep and I was happy that it wasn’t raining at the moment. The climb was worth it as this point provided an almost unbroken view of the entire coast. I sat down here for a bit, enjoying the breeze which almost blew my cap away. The cliff was fully exposed to the rocks below and a wrong move could end up in a serious injury. This overhang is what made this cliff the most fascinating.
After spending some time here, I walked back onto the plateau. A local told me that if I followed the dirt track I could reach Culvem in about half an hour. It was in the opposite direction and a total deviation from the original plan, an above turn of sorts. But there was light in the sky and if I walked fast enough, I could actually go back to Culvem and then resume my walk once again back to Manori. I really wanted to explore the circuit now.
So I took up the dirt trail which diverged in a few places but I took a few bets out of instinct and soon I found myself walking through a thicket. The way seemed to be going nowhere until suddenly I arrived at a clearing and spotted one house with a cowshed. There was no one in sight and I was wary of the dogs guarding the shed so I continued my walk down and sure enough arrived at a small hamlet. An old lady there told me that I was in Ambedkar Nagar.
I immediately asked if the Buddh Vihar was nearby and she smiled and pointed me in the right direction. I had simply taken a circuitous route and arrived at the vihar which I left behind earlier. I found it but the doors were latched. Another lady who was feeding her pet cats outside her home told me that I could open it and pay my respects, as long as I left my footwear outside. I complied and found myself sitting by myself facing a small idol of the Buddha and Dr. Ambedkar. An LED signboard above read Jai Bhim. The solitude was welcoming. I spent some time in silence here. The small room provided respite and I thought of how these vihars across the city and the country acted as an important site for the followers of Dr. Ambedkar to gather.
I thanked the lady with the cats and walked back through the village. The route brought me back to Haud Pada – back to the same well, meant for the use of all castes. A bus going to Manori soon arrived, number 6, which ran between Uttan and Manori. I hopped in and got off at the Dargah stop to resume my exploration of Manori village. Many of us have fond memories of these villages as they were the preferred spots for quick weekend getaways or even day trips while growing up. I was happy to see Domonica’s Resort still in business, which used to be a personal favourite back in the day. I even passed the East Indian Museum which was shut and then entered the village.
Manori like all other fishing villages of the coast is home to the fisherfolk. There I took a breather at a stop for a quick Thums Up and spoke to the owner. He was a Konkani muslim from Ratnagiri settled in the village. He was appreciative about the life in Manori which retained a nice rural charm in spite of being so close to the city. From there on, I deliberately took the inner routes passing houses adorned with a tulsi plant outside on one end and statues of the Virgin Mary on the other. Many of the women cooked large bhakris which as Peter M, my new friend was to share, would be packed by the men as they went fishing for sometimes days together.
My village walk culminated at the Manori Church – the Our Lady of Perpetual Succour which dated back to the 16th century. The evening mass was in session so I stayed a while and then wandered around, reading the engravings of the various tomb stones in the compound, some of which dated back to the 1700s. As I continued to explore, I came upon one of the most peaceful resting places I have ever been to. Behind the church, the church graveyard lay right next to the coast. A gentle breeze blew there over the neat rows of graves bounded by colourful bricks and wooden crosses. A coconut grove shielded the graves from the sun. I stood there for a moment and then walked back. On my way back I also visited the Hanuman temple and right outside is where I met Peter M.
Peter was a resident of the village, a true blue fisherman who had just stepped out for his evening stroll. I told him how it was so nice to be in his village and he was happy to share more stories. He told me that this was the reason why many tourists were attracted to Manori but they were often careless. That is why he had to jump in and save the four who had almost drowned off the coast.
They had offered to pay him money but he had refused. Thanks to the Almighty he had everything including a son who was abroad. The youngest of the lot, Peter had got into the boat business at a young age. He was in his early fifties but he kept himself fit with a diet of fruits and fish. He was a teetotaler having given up alcohol after his first child was born and now enjoyed only a good meal.
He was appreciative of folks who stayed away from alcohol. The folks whom he had saved wouldn’t have drowned had they not been drinking. He clearly knew the demerits of the bottle. He was adept with navigating the waters of the coast and knew to swim really well. That morning he had gone hunting for crabs but they were hard to come by nowadays. And with fishing paused for the season, life was generally slow. Though he was looking forward to celebrating the 30th wedding anniversary next year in February. He had studied upto 7th standard in the local English school and as well as the one in Gorai.
He walked with me until the jetty and then bade me goodbye.
I was close to the ferry point now. I could take the boat to Marve and then an auto home. But I wanted to avoid the traffic of Marve Road, so instead I got into the same bus number 6 which would take me back to Gorai cross and there I could simply repeat my onward journey in reverse. With very few passengers, the bus started its journey back and I retracted my steps visually passing through all the landmarks that I had just crossed a while back. Within no time I was back at the church where a beautiful hymn in Marathi was being sung – Pavan Ati Pavan. I heard it while standing in the church compound and then took an auto back to the ferry. A perfect end to an evening full of exploration.