It had been just a few hours since I foot into Bastar but it seemed like eternity. I had picked up so much information about the various tribes in Bastar that I felt like one of them. Doesn't that say a lot about the beauty and benevolence of a place that embraces you within its fold within minutes? I don't know about others, but it happened to me and I was ready to live in Bastar happily ever after- with flowers in my hair, silver jewellery around my neck, delicate bracelets, scorpions tattooed on my arms and a swig of salfi….. Wouldn't that life be wonderful?

The eggs of red ant. Salfi, the manna for Bacchus. The congregation of deities at Narayanpur Mela. The Dussehera of Bastar. The exquisitely carved combs. The fascinating fertility rites. The bell metal figurines. The dainty silver ornaments. The dusky hill mynah, the beefy Asiatic buffalo. The fragrance of moist teak and the grace of statuesque sal.

Before I left for Bastar, a friend rattled off these everyday perks that come your way when you set foot inside the wonderland which the gods have blessed with waterfalls, forest and inhabitants the colour of ebony. I had clung tight to all these vignettes as the aircraft crawled into Raipur airport. And even before Raipur could tempt me with its red-facade buildings, I hired a cab and was ready to drive off to Jagdalpur, the district headquarters of Bastar. There's something about travelling by road, there is no better way of discovering and admiring the munificence of a place. And look at Bastar - perhaps when the gods fitted their easel and pulled out their camel-hair brushes and started painting Bastar, they perhaps could only afford swatches of green and a little red. How else could a place look so green - there's emerald green of the grass, the rectangular green patches of paddy, the felled logs slanting on a dark green rug, the thick green lotus leaves that blanket the ponds….

The 300-km drive can be quite long and like always I decided to take a break by a village haat where I often end up turning strangers into friends and buying the best trinkets. There were beautiful women in the haat with flowers in their hair, tattoos on their arms, their silver jewellery glistening against their skin. Of course, there were black umbrellas under which all kinds of wares were being hawked. The smell of dry fish hovered in the air and in a corner a bearded, craggy man hawked bones, herbs, and potions for utmost sexual pleasure. His confidence was contagious, though his wares could impair even the believers.

I was hungry and was eyeing the potato fritters greedily. What better moment to down the fritters with a hot cup of cappuccino. But forget a cappuccino, there was not even a muddy cup of tea. I was looking for salfi, that potent drink that could even get Bacchus sozzled. Salfi, the sap of the salfi tree, is to the tribals what lager is to the hip and between darkness and dawn there lurks the tipsy factor. Depending on when you gulp it, salfi can be a wonderful tonic or a potent drink. Unfortunately, the rains are not salfi months, but there was a tempting option, I could have my fritters with red ant chutney, but being a vegetarian I munched on lonely fritters.

At the haat you can find a menagerie of brass bulls, coiled cobras, deer, horses, tiger, all moulded in the traditional cire perdue, also known as lost-wax technique. The unusual technique entails coiling a thin thread of wax around a core of clay till the desired shape is attained. It is then padded with clay from termite hill and thrown into fire to make the mould leaving a small vent for the wax to melt away. Into the same vent is poured molten metal, which is then cooled and the mould broken. Artists would vouch that cire perdue was practiced in ancient civilizations but the coiled thread method is exclusively Bastar.

As if eyeing for space are the handcrafted combs in wood and metal. They are no ordinary combs meant for a mundane chore like disentangling your tresses; these combs are the favourite gifts from a man for the woman he loves - he takes cue from fertility cult and carves these combs himself. The more combs a girl gets the more she is coveted but once she chooses her beau she has to return the combs of the rejected suitors. Even the silver bracelets and chokers that adorn a girl are linked to traditional fertility rites.

As I ran through the handicraft, I am told that Bastar is noticing silent change in its ways of life. There was a time when ghotul, a place where unmarried boys and girls lived together, was a common phenomenon. But prying eyes and insensitive intrusion by outsiders into the private moorings of the Abhujhmars has led to an early death of the system. The Abhujhmars are said to be the oldest adivasi community in the country, you can still see them peddling bamboo products in weekly haats in Narayanpur, but it is no longer easy to get permits to enter the Abhujhmar areas.

I chose to be polite and not intrude into the privacy of the Abhujhmars but when the villagers decided to tell me more about the madai mela in Narayanpur, I prepared myself for lazy storytelling that was interspersed with music played with bamboo sticks and ebony palms thumping the log. The 600-year old Mela begins with the village elders sending rice and coconut to invite the deities of the neighbouring villages to participate in the Mela. The deities could range from a scared log of wood adorned with peacock plumes or an iron rod with a silver umbrella - they all congregate and the villagers partake in the festivities with dance, music, topped with salfi, the local brew.

Any story about festivities in Bastar cannot be concluded without a mention of the Dussehera in Bastar, in which Sri Danteshwari Mai is worshipped. Interestingly, Dussehera here is not about the victory of Lord Rama over the demon king Ravana, it is a homage to the goddess at the Danteswari Temple in Jagdalpur. The festival dates back to 15th century when Maharaja Purushottam Deo, the fourth Kakatiya ruler of Bastar started the tradition. If you want to see Bastar in all its glory, go there during Dussehera (usually held in October), but be sure to book a room in advance. It is so crowded that you might just have to sleep under a tree!!

It had been just a few hours since I foot into Bastar but it seemed like eternity. I had picked up so much information about the various tribes in Bastar that I felt like one of them. Doesn't that say a lot about the beauty and benevolence of a place that embraces you within its fold within minutes? I don't know about others, but it happened to me and I was ready to live in Bastar happily ever after- with flowers in my hair, silver jewellery around my neck, delicate bracelets, scorpions tattooed on my arms and a swig of salfi….. Wouldn't that life be wonderful?

Published in India Today Travel Plus, Anniversary issue, 2006