“Didn’t you know that Lord Vishnu was once a turtle?” said my dishdasha-clad, keffiyeh-sporting guide at Ras al-Jinz, Oman, one of the largest turtle nesting sites in the Indian Ocean. In impeccable English — with a hint of the harsh and surprisingly alluring Omani accent — Mohammed reveals to me a chapter from the Puranas on “Vishnu’s second avatar, the turtle, Kurma”. He narrates the story with a faraway look in his eyes, and takes me back to an age when blessings and curses manifested, sometimes instantly. Ironically, it was the gods who were cursed and lost their immortality in this instance. But there was a way around the hex — the elixir of life, which could only be obtained by churning an ocean. And how do you manage that? By using a mountain, Mount Mandara, as a churning staff! Unfortunately, the stirrer began to drown. So, Vishnu took the form of the gigantic turtle Kurma, and supported Mandara on his powerful shell.
I am awestruck at the Omani’s knowledge of the Hindu scriptures and a tad amused by this marine biologist’s ability to sell legends. As he completes the story, Mohammed slips into his lab and leads the party to witness the nesting process of the Chelonia Mydas, or the endangered Green Turtle, at 4am sharp.
At the assigned (ungodly) hour, a bunch of sleepy tourists have waddled out of the residential Ras al-Jinz Turtle Reserve, and onto a bus headed to the nesting site. We are asked to maintain silence, yet the howling of the wind is deafening in the desert. Together, we walk on cold sands, under a canopy of stars, led only by torchlight. Hazy silhouettes of jarring cliffs stand afar.
At a safe distance from the nesting area, Mohammed explains that there are seven types of sea turtles. Four of these — Loggerhead, Hawksbill, Olive Ridley and Green Turtle — make an annual trip to Oman. The Green Turtle lays its eggs in July and August, coinciding with my visit. A female Green Turtle lays 15,000 eggs in a lifetime. Shockingly, only four eggs in every 100 make it to adulthood; the rest are lost to predators. And they have many natural predators — big fish, crabs… and the most dangerous of all, humans. Hence the need for government protection — including heavy fines for as much as disturbing a sleeping turtle.
With that warning, we set out to spot them. But as Mohammed halts, all I see is a pit. Several minutes go by as we stare into the pit, and I worry this may be the end of the tour. Then there is movement — sand flies in the air. A shell hides a body; a head peeks, rhythmically out of the shell; the flippers shirk sand, determinedly. Mohammed later explains that the mama turtle lays her eggs in one pit, which she covers with sand and flattens with her weight. Not too far away, she creates this false nest, to fool predators. Once done, she inches towards the water, exhausted — a mere 80 metres takes her over an hour to cover. Then, she floats away, never to know her offspring.
The hatchlings are so tiny that we fear they will be crushed beneath our feet. Navigating a series of hurdles — mounds in the sand, crabs, shells — the survivors enter the water. With that the tour comes to an end. But Mohammed informs us that the tales of turtles continue at the Ras al-Jinz Museum, within the visitor centre.
Hidden from view, I almost miss the museum, though I’m staying at the centre. However unassuming, it holds a wealth of material. I learn that many cultures, from the Native Americans to the Omanis, had their own turtle myths. The most bizarre, unsurprisingly, is a 15th-century Japanese legend, perhaps one that inspired Murakami, with its hints of animal symbolism, surrealism, and a rather Kafka-esque end.
Like a Murakami novel, this too has an ordinary man for a protagonist: a fisherman Urashima Taro, who spots children torturing a turtle. Taro rescues the turtle and takes it home. Days later, his kindness is rewarded when the turtle transforms into a ravishing woman and asks Taro to marry her. As he kisses the bride, he grows gills! She reveals that she is a sea princess, and takes him to her underwater palace. The princess and Taro live happily, until he decides to visit Earth. For his visit, he’s given a box to guard, without opening. He steps on dry land to discover that his family has long since passed away; time stops underwater (a metaphor for longevity associated with turtles). A distressed Taro isn’t thinking straight, and opens the box. Immediately, he ages and dies.
Native Americans appear to have adopted a more positive approach and their legends talk of Earth being formed from a giant ball of mud, pushed upwards from the ocean, on the shell of a turtle. Similarly, Asian legends speak of the Earth resting on the back of a turtle.
The museum takes me to Vietnam, where on a sunny day in the 15th century, Emperor Le Loi decided to go boating in the Lake Hoan Kiem. The turtle god Kim Qui approached him and asked him to return a sword that a fisherman had found in the still waters, and presented to the emperor. To back up a bit — this sword had helped the emperor fight invaders. The king obliged and even today Kim Qui blesses those who take a dip in the lake.
While Kim Qui is immortal, the remains of sea turtles have been discovered alongside human bodies in the graveyards of Ras al-Hamra in Muscat. Historians believe that the practice of burying turtles evolved from a belief held by ancient communities of coastal Oman; that their ancestors, like turtles, could survive on Earth and underwater.
Finally, the museum brings me back to India, where once again I encounter Vishnu in the form of Kurma. Little wonder that Ras al- Jinz translates to ‘circle of life’.
Travel log
Get there
Muscat is connected to most Indian metros by non-stop flights. Ras al-Jinz is 3 hours away by road.
Stay
At the Ras al-Jinz Turtle Reserve, single rooms start at OMR65, and luxury eco-tents from OMR75, inclusive of breakfast, guided turtle walks (twice daily), entry to museum and taxes ( rasaljinz-turtlereserve.com ).
BLink tip
Since Muscat is your port of entry, spare a day to explore the Grand Mosque, the Mutrah Souq and the Bait al-Baranda Museum.
(Kiran Mehta is a Mumbai-based journalist)