BY PRASHANT KUMAR MISHRA,
(EX GM,MODERN COACH FACTORY, RAEBARELI & RAIL COACH FACTORY, KAPURTHALA )
NEW DELHI | 1 MAY 2026
The road arrives without ceremony. One moment you are on a narrow ribbon of asphalt, the next you are descending into something softer—earth, scrub, and a landscape that had remained unchanged since centuries.
The first glimpse of the lake is almost accidental. It appears occasionally hidden through branches—water held inside a bowl of rock, its surface gently disturbed by the wind. You can see, even without being told, that this was once a quarry. The cliffs still carry the memory of chisels and fractures. But time has done what it always does best—it has erased intention and replaced it with calm.
The water below sways gently, clean and reminiscing the era when water pollution didn’t exist.
Move a little further and the landscape changes again. The lake recedes, and the jungle opens into a clearing—an uneven field, marked by make shift goal posts.
A football match is underway. A match where both players and spectators are equally involved. The game is governed more by energy than by rules. Somewhere, you can almost hear the commentary—animated, local, alive with the cadence of Santhali language, commentator pausing to rebuke or loudly appreciate each move, each pass , each kick.
There is no separation here between player and audience, between sport and life. It is all one continuous act.
The road resumes. A lone dog crosses without urgency, oblivious to all the drama.
In the distance, a small gathering has formed—motorcycles parked haphazardly, a temporary stall under a yellow tarpaulin, people assembling for a weekly haat. All the haat crowd had shifted to play ground, marketing would resume after the match.
Beyond it all, the hills rise again—layered, green, slightly hazed by distance. They do not dominate the landscape; they complete it.
It is a journey where nothing is staged, and therefore everything feels authentic. And perhaps that is why it stays with you.
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