<p>In 2002, I was appointed head of communications of a newly born Karnataka public sector power corporation. The perks included a car, a Maruti Omni.</p>.<p>My work required me to travel across nine districts. Once, in Shimoga after day-long interactions with the district authorities and the media, I decided to stay back, knowing full well it was not prudent to travel at night through 80 km of jungle terrain.</p>.<p>I set out at 5 AM from Shimoga with my driver Sripada Bhatt. A brief stop at Agumbe (of Malgudi Days fame) for <span class="italic">idli and vada </span>was the only break. We passed by many wildlife sanctuaries with dense tree cover. As the driver slowed down into the ghat section between Agumbe and Udupi, two things were apparent-- few took that road and the road had huge potholes.</p>.<p>When we reached the top of the mountain, the view was magnificent, but just as we were about to take a right turn, the front wheel of the car got stuck in a deep hole. The vehicle whirred to the left. I had to sit in one corner of the car so that it would not topple over. After balancing it, a visibly troubled Sripada pressed the accelerator gradually, all the time fearing the car would topple and crash into a valley 3,000 feet deep. After a harrowing 10 minutes, we were able to wriggle out of the hole. We heaved a sigh of relief. It was life gifted back to us, we thought. </p>.<p>After 10 km in the thick, green and eerie terrain, the car stalled. The engine had heated up and the carburettor required water. We stood by the car, amid dark shadows and pin-drop silence. Sripada opened the boot and got a can out. He went to a thicket with an undergrowth of dark green, beautiful grass.</p>.<p>We could see a sparkling spring in the distance, with the sun’s rays filtering through the leaves. As he walked towards the spring, we saw two heads pop out. A cry emanated from them and reverberated across the forest. The men had mistaken us for policemen since we were in a government car. They were either calling for reinforcements or sending out a warning signal. Sripada flung the can away and came running to me, shouting, “Sir, Naxalites <span class="italic">bandru</span>, Naxalites <span class="italic">bandru</span>.”</p>.<p>In trepidation, we pushed the car down a mountainous road and hopped on, driving at minimal speed. Sripada said he had seen two men holding something like guns. What he hadn’t noticed was that they were as scared of us as we had been of them. We finally reached a village, got water for the engine, and continued our journey. </p>
<p>In 2002, I was appointed head of communications of a newly born Karnataka public sector power corporation. The perks included a car, a Maruti Omni.</p>.<p>My work required me to travel across nine districts. Once, in Shimoga after day-long interactions with the district authorities and the media, I decided to stay back, knowing full well it was not prudent to travel at night through 80 km of jungle terrain.</p>.<p>I set out at 5 AM from Shimoga with my driver Sripada Bhatt. A brief stop at Agumbe (of Malgudi Days fame) for <span class="italic">idli and vada </span>was the only break. We passed by many wildlife sanctuaries with dense tree cover. As the driver slowed down into the ghat section between Agumbe and Udupi, two things were apparent-- few took that road and the road had huge potholes.</p>.<p>When we reached the top of the mountain, the view was magnificent, but just as we were about to take a right turn, the front wheel of the car got stuck in a deep hole. The vehicle whirred to the left. I had to sit in one corner of the car so that it would not topple over. After balancing it, a visibly troubled Sripada pressed the accelerator gradually, all the time fearing the car would topple and crash into a valley 3,000 feet deep. After a harrowing 10 minutes, we were able to wriggle out of the hole. We heaved a sigh of relief. It was life gifted back to us, we thought. </p>.<p>After 10 km in the thick, green and eerie terrain, the car stalled. The engine had heated up and the carburettor required water. We stood by the car, amid dark shadows and pin-drop silence. Sripada opened the boot and got a can out. He went to a thicket with an undergrowth of dark green, beautiful grass.</p>.<p>We could see a sparkling spring in the distance, with the sun’s rays filtering through the leaves. As he walked towards the spring, we saw two heads pop out. A cry emanated from them and reverberated across the forest. The men had mistaken us for policemen since we were in a government car. They were either calling for reinforcements or sending out a warning signal. Sripada flung the can away and came running to me, shouting, “Sir, Naxalites <span class="italic">bandru</span>, Naxalites <span class="italic">bandru</span>.”</p>.<p>In trepidation, we pushed the car down a mountainous road and hopped on, driving at minimal speed. Sripada said he had seen two men holding something like guns. What he hadn’t noticed was that they were as scared of us as we had been of them. We finally reached a village, got water for the engine, and continued our journey. </p>