Many trips are planned with great care, while others show up out of nowhere. Aadrai Jungle Trek was one of those places.
For the past couple of years, Aadrai was a mystery, partly from hearing other trekkers speak of it and partly from seeing others’ foggy photos of it. I was attracted to the idea of a dense, old-growth forest with an eerie silence somewhere near Malshej Ghat, but far from the common commercial photo stops. Had tried to plan this one with the regular gang, but it had never materialised, yet. This time though, I found an even better ally .. my wife.
She had heard me express my frustration every year, of not being able to do this trek, so, this time when it came up, she casually said, let’s do it together this time. That was a pleasant surprise for me, since she is not much into trekking, but for trips, she is always on. We did not discuss much about our trip before going on it; we knew the real reason we went. We needed green trees, peace and quiet and to wander, slowly, into the unknown. That is how most of our journeys begin. Not with a checklist, but with a feeling. The only things we did beforehand, was to book a night’s stay at Saj by the Lake, so that we could have an early morning start, and arrange for a local guide, Maruti.
On the day, we left Mumbai at dawn, while the city, and our kids, were still sleeping. As we got farther away from the city, we began to lose our connection to the noise associated with it. This time, we decided to try out the new Samruddhi expressway knowing that the old National highway NH61 was under repair. The diversion for the expressway beats the traffic at Padgha, beginning just after the Shangrila resort/Karishma Dhaba. We exit it at the Shahapur Interchange and then getting onto the Patole road, going through the remote villages of Manjare, Shiroshi before connecting back to the old NH61 just after Moroshi.
The roads through these villages were devoid of any traffic, and with lovely views, and the more we could see, we sensed that we were approaching two worlds that could not be joined.
As soon as we entered Malshej Ghat, we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of an empty fog that enveloped the entire road, making it difficult to see beyond the droplets of light from the headlights of our vehicles. I could barely see out the front windshield. The usual chatter between us softened. Even the music was turned off. Sometimes, silence is the best companion on a journey.
The drive demanded attention. Curves appeared suddenly, trucks emerged from nowhere, and every turn felt slower than usual. But there was a strange calm in that tension. The fog forced us to be present. No rushing. No overtaking. Just moving forward, one careful kilometre at a time.
By the time we reached Saj by the Lake at 12:30 pm, it felt like we had crossed into another world.
Saj by the Lake is not the kind of place that expects you to do anything. It simply allows you to be. The lake sat quietly, barely disturbed, reflecting the grey sky above. The surrounding hills were still hidden, playing hide-and-seek behind drifting clouds. Time slowed down the moment we stepped out of the car. We checked in, dropped our bags, and wandered aimlessly, something we rarely allow ourselves to do in city life. We sat by the lake, watching ripples form and disappear. Birds called out from unseen branches. The air smelt damp, earthy, alive. We leaned back, closed our eyes, and realised we had made the right choice.
The rest of the day passed gently, soaking in the surroundings. No urgency. No plans. Just great food, short walks, and long pauses. But underneath that calm was a quiet excitement. Tomorrow, we would enter Aadrai Jungle.
We called our guide, Maruti, later in the evening to discuss about the morrow. He wasn’t loud or overly confident. Just calm, grounded, and familiar with the forest in a way that comes only from growing up around it. He spoke less, listened more, and answered questions without embellishment.
“Udya jungle ekdum shant asel,” he said. Tomorrow the jungle will be absolutely quiet.
We slept early that night. The kind of sleep that comes easily when the air is clean and the mind is light.
We checked out of the resort next morning at 8:30 am after breakfast, and set out for the village.
The drive to Khireshwar was short ~5km, on bumpy roads, but beautiful. It was alongside the Pimplegaon Joga Dam backwaters. Fog followed us again, thicker now, hanging low over fields and houses. Through the fog, we saw a frail little figure waiting for us, umbrella in hand. It was Maruti. He joined us in the car and guided us to the parking spot near the ancient Nageshwar Temple, the starting point of the trek. A few locals moved about, and dogs watched us with mild curiosity.
Standing there, adjusting our backpacks, I felt a familiar flutter. Not fear. Respect. To the Sahyadris and its forests. Aadrai Jungle is not a place you conquer. It is a place you enter.
We bowed at the temple, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the trail. Within minutes, the world closed in around us. Tall trees rose on either side, their branches interlocking overhead. Fog clung to leaves and dripped steadily onto the forest floor. Visibility was very low and the jungle in the dense fog looked straight out of a fairytale. Every step landed on damp soil, soft and forgiving. The jungle smelled ancient .. wet bark, moss, decaying leaves, and something deeper I couldn’t name.
There was something eerie about it all. No voices. No other trekkers. No distant laughter or echoing calls. Just the three of us. The only words spoken were by Maruti, as he explained the fauna in the jungle. Wild berries, lime, cactii, and some medicinal herbs. A lot of dried karvi plants too. He mentioned they look beautiful when they bloom into a purple blanket once every 6-7 years.
Our footsteps sounded louder than they should have. Every snap of a twig felt amplified. Somewhere, water flowed .. sometimes close, sometimes far .. but always present. The forest breathed slowly, rhythmically, as if it had its own heartbeat. Birds chirped, but couldn’t be spotted in the fog. At one point, Poonam whispered, “Khup shant aahe.” Too quiet.
I nodded. We walked closer together after that, not out of fear, but instinct. The fog played tricks on our senses. Shapes appeared and disappeared. A fallen tree looked like an animal from a distance. A sudden rustle made us pause, hearts racing, only to realize it was just water dripping from leaves.
We crossed small streams, balanced on slippery rocks, and followed narrow paths that felt more like suggestions than trails. Maruti moved confidently, reading the jungle the way one reads a familiar book. We trusted him completely … and in a place like Aadrai, on a foggy day, trust is everything.
Further ahead, deeper into the jungle, the end of the trek, the final waterfall awaited. Reaching it felt like earning a reward. The forest opened slightly, just enough to let the water announce itself. The air was cooler here. The ground wetter. The energy… different. Weekday meant, no crowd. The entire waterfall to ourselves. Harishchandragad towering above us and the valley below covered in fog. It had taken us a relaxed 2.5 hrs to reach this spot from the start of the trek.
I didn’t waste time getting into the waterfall to relax myself. Poonam hesitated, but joined in for a while. Maruti helped clicked some pictures. There was a moment when a loud sound echoed from somewhere deep within the jungle. We froze. Looked at each other. Maruti smiled slightly and said, “Langur asel.”
Maybe. Maybe not. Because it sounded different to me. Probably, Maruti said that to pacify us, we will never know. A short break and some snacks followed, and we were ready to get back on the return trail. This time we would take a slight detour to see the majestic Kalu waterfall from the opposite side.
As we reached the spot, Kalu Waterfall revealed itself gradually. First the sound. Then the mist. And finally, the cascade … white water crashing down dark rock, partially hidden by fog. It didn’t demand photographs. It demanded silence. Even in September, it had good flow. We wondered how it must have been roaring in the days of peak rainfall in early August. We stood there for a long time, saying nothing.
But the jungle doesn’t explain itself. It doesn’t need to. What struck me most was the solitude. Not once did we see another human. No noise. No signs of intrusion. Just us, moving quietly through a living, breathing ecosystem. It was humbling. A little intimidating. And incredibly grounding. I realized how rarely we allow ourselves to feel small … in a good way.
Walking back, my body felt tired, but my mind felt clear. The jungle had taken something heavy from us and replaced it with something lighter. When we reached Khireshwar again, the village felt louder than before. Familiar. Safe. Human. We met another group who were just beginning their trek. Maruti gave them some directions and we moved on.
We ate a simple lunch at a villager’s home. Bhakri, pithla, vegetables, thecha, pickle … nothing fancy, everything perfect. Homemade food tastes different after a trek like this. More honest. More satisfying. We thanked Maruti and bid our goodbyes, promising to return for another adventure with him, Harishchandragad via a difficult route.
The drive back through Malshej was… interesting. Fog returned with full force. Thicker than before. Visibility dropped dangerously low, and fatigue made the curves feel sharper. We drove slowly, cautiously, respecting the road the same way we had respected the jungle.
There was a brief moment when I felt uneasy. A reminder that nature doesn’t care about our schedules. Poonam sensed it and helped me relax. That small gesture grounded me more than anything else.
Eventually, we descended the ghat, and the fog thinned. The drive back through those villages was as beautiful as the day before. As we got onto the highway, traffic increased. Noise returned and Mumbai welcomed us back, exactly the way we had left it.
Aadrai Jungle stayed with me long after we returned. Not because of dramatic views or thrilling moments, but because of how it made us feel. Present. Quiet. Aware. It reminded me that travel isn’t always about distance … it’s about depth.
Some places don’t want to be photographed or reviewed or rated. They just want to be respected. And Aadrai, in all its foggy, dripping, silent beauty, taught us exactly that.