Answering the call of God’s Own Country  

Last year, we chased the monsoon. This year, the monsoon chased us. In the interregnum, ‘God’s Own Country’, Kerala, was battered by the century’s worst floods. Nature’s fury was harsh on the people, as if it wanted to punish man for violating the virginity of mother Earth. Heavy rains in the month of August had caused flash floods, landslides, collapse of buildings, bridges and craters on the roads, causing the death of over 400 people, thousands of cattle and fowls. The life of as many as 5.4 million people, that is one-sixth of the state’s population, was inundated in grief and misery, with 2,60,000 of them rescued from flooded homes and moved to safer places. Over 1.4 million people lived in 5,600 relief camps.

Having read news reports and seen video clips of the devastating floods in print, TV and social media, six of us, friends, decided to visit Kerala from Ahmedabad, Bangalore and New Delhi. We were mentally-prepared to see dirty roads, piles of garbage on the street sides. We were in for a surprise. The Cochin Airport, the first to be completely electrified by solar power, looked and felt the same as before, as if it were never submerged in flood waters.

“You see the traffic signal ahead over there. The flood water had reached this level. Only boats and catamarans plied on this road,” the cab driver pointed out, as we headed for the town, some 25 km south of the airport. It was hard to believe the cabbie. Buses, trucks and cars zoomed past. The markets, with swanky showrooms of consumer goods on both sides of the highway, bustled with usual business activities. Huge hoardings of a forthcoming Malayalam movie, carrying the giant photo of superstar Mohanlal greeted us.

In downtown Kochi, a massive rally protesting the Supreme Court’s decision allowing women’s entry into the Sabarimala Temple caused a nasty traffic jam on the Marine Drive. The countdown had begun for an imminent confrontation between the right-wing anti-women protesters and the Left Democratic Front government in the state on October 17, the day the Ayyappa temple was to be opened for public.

“The Sabarimala issue dominates all other issues these days. Good for the LDF government that no one is talking about the grave challenge it is facing in rehabilitating the flood-affected people and the reconstruction of the ravaged economy,” remarked a senior journalist, somewhat sarcastically.

For us, the main concern was the obstacles that we may have to face in negotiating our passage to Munnar and beyond, in Idukki district, worst hit by heavy rains and flood. For us, the main attraction of Munnar and its surrounding hills was the sighting of the fabulous Neelakunjiri flowers, which bloom once in every twelve years.

Two of us, Latha and Chandru, had recently trekked their way up near Ooty in adjoining Tamil Nadu and feasted on a flush of Neelakunjiri on hilltop. We would be fortunate if we still found the flowers which had started blooming mid-September and were now about to wither away. As it is, the hills witnessed a fresh spell of heavy rains in the course of the receding monsoon.

Idukki district was one of the worst hit, and the hills surrounding Munnar were among those which had witnessed large-scale landslips. As we drove, we came across several places where large chunks of land had fallen off from the hills and roads had caved in. But admirably, almost all such areas were cordoned off, and traffic moved in a single file, without too much fuss or drama.

The recent spell of rains that we experienced during our three-day visit to Idukki has rejuvenated scores of waterfalls, attracting tourists to pose for selfies. The tourists, however, bring with them plastic bottles and throw-away containers.

Malayalis are known for their cleanliness. Even the roadside eateries are so clean that you marvel at the discipline of the shop owner to keep it that way. “As frequent travellers by road to Kannur from Bangalore, we always land up eating at small road side eateries. Nothing beats the fresh hot meals. You might as well be walking into a home kitchen. That’s how clean they tend to be,” says Latha.

At Muvattupuzha, half-way between Kochi and Munnar, we stopped at a roadside restaurant which specialises in idlis. Hot idlis with four types of chutney and sambhar served on plantain leaf was our brunch. Post-floods, even roadside non-vegetarian eateries have stopped serving beef, a great disappointment for those who love beef roast cooked the Malayali way.

Our first destination was the Eravikulam National Park to see the Neelakurunji blooms. The queue for ticket for the national park was a terrifying sight. Once inside, what we were hoping to see was a hillside covered in glorious purple; what we got to see, however, were patches of purple cordoned off. Disappointed? Yes. The rains did take a toll, with most buds crushed, and the flowers looking battered. “I had imagined walking into the hillside with flowers blooming all around me. Seen from another perspective, if the Eravikulam National Park authorities had decided not to cordon off those areas, perhaps there would have been none left with people walking all over it,” says Latha.

We decided to head out to Kulukumalai near Tamil Nadu the following day.

A visit to Munnar is not complete without visiting the dams. So, off we went to see the Matupetti and Kundala dams, with rains accompanying us. Nothing unsual…the rains I mean. It is common for it to rain late afternoon during Kanni in the Malayalam calendar. The stillness of the Mattupetti dam reservoir is an experience in itself. And it is also an echo point, and though we chose a quiet spot for ourselves, we did have a few youngsters hollering to hear the mountains respond to them. Further up is the Kundala dam with British elegance written all over it. Shops on either side of the dam were already shut, as early as 5 pm. Dam lights came on just as we were turning back. It was mesmerising. The beauty of Kerala has a way of touching you, deeply.

What else can you do when the day closes on you as early as 5 pm, we wondered. Drink? Hmm…if that’s what the local favourite pastime is, who are we to disagree?

After a fantastic puttu-kadala breakfast the next day, we went to Kulukumalai in Tamil Nadu, bordering Kerala, and 12 km from Suryanalli in Idukki district. It involved a ride up to the base and then a seven-km drive through the private tea plantation of Harrison Malayalam. A four-wheel drive ride that nearly knocked us off our seats brought us to the Tamil Nadu side after an hour of what the jeep driver Mani called “free body massage”. The rest had to be done on foot.

The initial climb was easy enough till we encountered the 45 degree incline. Up in the hills it had started to rain, and mist surrounded us. After a few minutes of hesitation, up we went, notwithstanding the rain. Slow and steady, stopping by when hit by breathlessness; but we ploughed on till we got to the summit.

There was nothing except us and the clouds. And the rains. And thunder. We waited and then like some magician pulling away the screen, the clouds made way to reveal the incredible landscape. A group of four young Malayali boys came up, looking blissful. Temptation to go down gave way to the practical reality that we were all more than twice the age of those lithe, strappy kids. We settled for pictures taken at a distance and what we could attempt.

We learnt that there are 26 varieties of Neelakurunji and 12 of them had bloomed this year.

It was time to turn back and head to Thekkady and Periyar National Park. A quick lunch at Suryanalli and we hit the road, a distance of 104 km to be covered in 3 hour 25 minutes, as per Google maps. The first 12-odd km took nearly an hour; damaged roads, repair works, traffic, all put together. And just as we wondered if the rest of the journey would be the same, we turned the corner and hit one of the finest stretches of roads ever made. It was a fabulous drive, completing the journey in exactly 3 hours 25 minutes. The pitstop for the night, the Inspection Bungalow, was just the right prescription for the night.

After a wonderful boat ride, it was time for the trek into the forest. The 925-square-km Periyar National Park is protected as much by the government as by its six tribal inhabitants- Mannans, Paliyans, Malayarayans, Mala Pandarams, Uralis and Ulladans. Accompanying us was Saju, from the Mannan community.

As we walked and climbed, we got to hear and glimpse the regenerative nature of the woods. We saw a banyan tree that had cannibalised another tree completely. We got to see another that would perhaps be fully cannibalised in another 20 years or so. Apparently, when a banyan seed dropped by a bird lands on another tree and germinates, the roots find their way down the trunk to the soil, and at some point take over.

We got to see how the leaf of teak is used to make the red colour by the tribals for their dance rituals. We got to see a 400-year-old Cotton Tree with massive roots. We could see the claw marks of tigers on a tree called chorandi in Malayalam.

It was just as well that we had the leech guard socks on—they were all over the shoes and climbing away merrily. As we jumped up and down to get rid of them, Saju came over and put a powder on our shoes to kill them, while he quietly pulled them off from his socks and dropped them back in the forest. We sighted sambar deer in flocks on our entry into the forest. We could see the Malabar Hornbill , the official state bird of Kerala. We completed the nine-km trek of the forest in three hours, before coming out of the reserve forest.