Abstract

It is not safe to go up the Ghaut-road now' said in Kanarese, a well- meaning Badaga inhabitant of the neighbouring village when I alighted at about 6-30 p.m. from the bus which took me to the foot of the hills. What is the matter? I enquired There are clephants on the road' said he. I smiled to thank him for the information, but possibly there was in my smile an unconscious contempt for elephant stories of which one hears a good many during one's travels in the hill districts. You may stay the night in the bungalow and go early in the morning', he pleaded pointing to the Forest dak bungalow on the side of the road. I paused to think. The bungalow was familiar to me. I had the misfortune on a previous occasion to make an enforced stay there one night and the experience. was fresh in my memory. The prospect of semi-starvation and a sleepless night in a vermin infested building in a notoriously malarial tract was far from inviting. I had programmed to conduct some field experiments on Capt. M's Coffee Estate the next day and a night's stay meant a day's delay in starting the work. The Ford which Capt. M. had sent down to the foot of the Ghaut to convey me and my luggage was there awaiting my arrival. From my supposed knowledge of the habits of elephants, I felt that it was too early an hour for them to leave their haunts for a stroll on the road. The chauffeur who was familiar with the road held the same view and assured me that we could cover the distance of 18 miles before 8 o'clock. Throwing discretion to the winds I made up my mind to proceed on my journey. The car drew alongside the bus, my belongings were soon transferred to it and taking leave of the small group of inquisitive villagers who had collected round the car, we burred off.

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