Blood-curdling brush with a croc

When I was posted at an Air force station in Uttar Pradesh, one ‘long weekend’, I took a night train to Allahabad to visit the sacred Triveni Sangam, the confluence of the Ganga and the Jamuna and also the invisible Saraswathi.

As the train screeched to a halt at Allahabad Junction the next morning, carrying my small suitcase I moved cheerfully to a refreshment stall at the station and washed down a loaf of bread with two piping hot cuppas.

Hardly had I exited the station when a fleet of cycle rickshaws encircled me. Soon hiring one of them I got at the spot within barely fifteen minutes. I ambled to the embankment, took a ticket for a boat ride across the Sangam and was waiting with the other visitors for the arrival of a boat.

When a boat touched the embankment I trotted the gangplank along with others and boarded it. Given the sparse crowd of passengers on board, the vessel began sailing almost immediately. Choosing a place at the edge of the boat I removed my shoes and socks and placed my suitcase beside me and kept dipping my bare feet in the cold, crystal clear water, utterly unaware of the treacherous condition below.

Noticing me the ferryman warned, “Panee mey janwar hai, paer andhar rakhna (There is animal in the water; keep your feet inside the boat).” Horrified, I straightened, raised my feet and hurried to the centre of the boat with my footwear and suitcase.

As the rower was ferrying over the central region of the confluence something that looked like a big wooden log came floating towards our boat. As it drew closer it was clear that it was a crocodile.

All of us had goosebumps as we watched the crocodile moving close to our vessel, its cavernous mouth wide agape. Bristling with fear though, I brought out my Rolleicord camera and clicked photos of the terrifying beast. When for a moment the crocodile raised its snout above the water level, a fear of getting caught in the jaws of death arose.

The man at the steering shouted to me, “Bitejawo, wo bahooth katharnak janwar hai” (That is a very perilous animal; sit down).

A few decades later, I visited the same spot with my wife and son in tow. Alas! I could not believe my eyes as all that came in my sight was nothing more than a vast sandy depression with not a trace of water anywhere.

The two major rivers of the confluence were all but brooks. We stood on the banks, longing to see the spot in its pristine state.