The Baba of Bankot
It’s day 4 of my 17 day solo kayaking expedition from Bombay to Goa. The first time an Indian has attempted this, but things are not going to plan. A delay in the import of my kayak has resulted in setting off in the brutal heat of March. The sun is never kind in a Maharashtrian summer but on the water, the miles of sea around me amplify it, and very soon, I’ve shed all my clothing and I’m kayaking in shorts; the spray off of each stroke soothing my sun burnt skin. Also, I haven’t slept much. We’ve done 90 kms in 3 days with 14 hours of sleep, and today I’ll push that to 120 kms when I hit the picturesque beach of Harihareshwar.
There’s only one problem. I don’t know where it is. And I’m coming down with a fever.
Typically, I plot my route out on my GPS watch. It points me in the right direction. But somewhere after 30 kms my watch dies. And I’m left grappling with where I am. I see a big clump of rock to the left and in the distance an orange temple top. As the waves crash against the rock, I spot dolphins frolicking about, but I’m not in the mood. I need to get to land and get some rest.
As I stand and assess my options, I spot the sea entering a bay, but I can’t remember it on a map, so I must have overshot my landing. I have two options, to cross the bay I find myself in, or go back and find Harihareshwar and the comfort of the MTDC I’m to be hosted by. I decide to head for the bank on the other side. It’s extra miles in the right direction.
As I make my way towards it, my dad tells me he’ll find me on land. Optimism is the first rule to adventure, so I don’t think twice about it. I see a narrow stretch of beach and make for it. I crash land on the barren white beach, half naked, three-fourths wet and completely exhausted. I pull the kayak up to relative safety and inspect my surroundings. There appears to be a small tar road along the beach, so in theory, I reckon someone can get to me. But there’s little else and no mobile network. With that thought in my head, I catch my breath.
I must have waited 10minutes in the sobering heat, when Shadab comes down from the hillock and introduces himself. He asks me what brings me here, and I tell him all. He’s baffled anyone would want to paddle solo from Bombay to Goa, with no motor or sail. He’s baffled further when he spots my ‘huge’ kayak. We take a photo together and he invites me to his house for chai.
I’m nothing if not a grateful guest, and I gather my belongings and head up the hill with him. He explains that I’ve landed in Bankot, and I’m lucky to have missed the beaches up ahead that swallow swimmers whole. He also tells me a little about his family. As he ushers me in, I’m introduced to his father. The head of the Dargah at Bankot. An important shrine for muslims in coastal Maharashtra.
As we sit there having chai and rusk, safe in the shade, looking down at the sparkling clear green water, he tells me how he spent a large part of his life growing up in Bombay. Right up until he was chosen to come here and take up the role of the Baba here. A title of quite some importance, as he tells me the story of how Shivaji Maharaj once passed through Bankot during his naval assault on Murud Janjira. The then Baba of Bankot warned Shivaji to stay. An undaunted Shivaji raged on and lost many men to sea. He returned to Bankot for blessings and got them. Needless to say, he was victorious in his second attempt.
Suddenly it all made sense. The good Baba took me up to the Dargah. With the help of his son Shadab and his brother, he donned his regal attire and blessed me on my own sea voyage. With the Baba’s blessings we decide to take a rest day, as Shivaji did. It’s Day 4 and we have 13 more to go.
I write about kayaking, adventure sports & associated ecosystems in India.
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Have a stellar day!
Written for and published by the Deccan Chronicle.
