In the north-eastern part of Hazaribagh town rises a high mass of rocks, boulders, soil, bushes and trees. A pink laterite road circumambul...
In the north-eastern part of Hazaribagh town rises a high mass of rocks, boulders, soil, bushes and trees. A pink laterite road circumambulates it and tall sal trees stand as guards on either side. This is not the Juljul, but a different hill.
As soon as I leave the town’s tarmac road and enter the woods, the temperature takes a dip. The noise of traffic quietens down, at first to a soft hum, then recedes completely from my mind. A new soundscape takes over, comprising bird calls, the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes, and the rustling of leaves when a breeze starts from one part of the forest and moves to the other.
This landmass, whose top is accessed by 570 or so steps and which leaves a blanket of forest trailing in the east, has been called by many names.
In 1813, when Captain Robert Smith, an engineer with the East India Company, came to Hazaribagh, he climbed up the hill, cleared a nice spot for himself, and drew a sketch of what he saw: a wide forest extending into the country which then disappeared into a cluster of hills near Silwar village. This was the time when tigers were alive in...
