“Vanvaa occurs,” the adivasi youth pictured a forest fire, “due to friction between dry grass, leaves, twigs and stones in a dense jungle. It won’t devour the whole jungle despite spreading in a blowing wind. It neither spreads in areas where water bodies are present nor where things are moist. From my pada, one sees it as smoke on the mountain during the day time. At night, the whole mountain appears lit like a golden snake!” The city dweller asked in thrall, “During which month?” “April-May,” the youth answered, “... January ... Forest” department’s “people nowadays extinguish it swiftly; in a day or two. Earlier, it used to burn for a month or two.” “What,” the city dweller retorted, “What happens to the animals and birds at this time? ... Monkeys?” “They are swift to jump from one tree to another,” the youth replied. Seeing the smile, the city dweller asked, “... Leopards?” “They are the fastest, no? They move to other places quickly,” came a matter-of-fact, wry response, “Those who can fly or run, escape; those who cannot, others die and become food. Palapucha kotwal,” Black Drango, “is often seen during a vanvaa. It comes to eat flies. It is a feast!” Not to be left behind in witty banter, the city dweller asked, “Cooked food for everyone, haan?” Mentally unable to reconcile the vanvaa as a time when the jungle became active and came to life for a feast, news reports teemed in the city dweller’s head with narratives of ecological destruction and loss of life.
