Wanderlust-South Western ghats

Continuing on my "Wanderlust" trips from where I had last left, here is the post on the trip to the South Western Ghats down south of Tamil Nadu. I had been planning a trip to this region for quite sometime because  a) of its relatively less known and less unexplored nature as compared to other popular forest covered hill areas in the state. b) of my penchant to take the road less traveled-to have a dip in a waterfall in the midst of thick jungle that only a few have been able to access c) I was also wanting to have darshan of a Vishnu temple, abode one of the hills.

I hit the road on my Swift late one morning in March and soon found myself on the lovely NH45, connecting Chennai with Dindigul near Madurai. I would rate Swift as one of the best all purpose hatchback that is not only maneuverable on city roads but would also lend itself to a 120 plus overtake cruise down the highways when you seem to be fully in control as the vehicle refuses to quiver. While the driver and the vehicle would rock together, the backseat drivers typically refuse to join the party, probably envying the "dangerous" romance of the driver with the driven!

After a couple of stopovers enroute, we reached Trichy in 5 hours flat at 4 pm. A break to taste the local brew of tea (Having a weakness for a strongly brewed tea, I always believe one should "taste" it rather than "gulp" it down the throat) was good enough to put us back to the road to Chettinad, the first destination, to unload all "baggage". Having accomplished this task before sunset, I decided to call it a day. The lure of stretching back on the antique furniture on a cool evening below the blanket of numerous stars presided by the luminous queen was too enticing to sacrifice for the night's travel. So I gave in to  my "Sasural's Khatirdhari"

Up at four the next morning, I brewed my own tea and filled up my travel flask with a good quantity to last a few hours. (When it comes to making a good tea, all “Thambis” are alike. They make an awfully concocted brew that will neither taste milk nor leave any glimpse of tea to the taster....I think I will dwell more of this on a separate note). On the roads again at 5 am, this time alone, I reached Madurai in 90 minutes, restored fuel for both the romantics.  Down NH 45B past Sivakasi (Remember our "budget-diwalis" for crackers!) at 9, I found myself on the foothills of the hill ranges in Kalakkad.

I made inquiries with the local forest department, took some permissions, and looked up to the hills to decide the way forward. From the plains, the hills were just stunning with mountains towering into the clouds with imposing majesty. I decided to drive up the motorable road to its logical end and then decide to initiate the trek. Driving up the ghats, I found contrasting shades of fertile groves interspersed with dry and arid hillsides abounding in red soil amidst rocky terrain running across the ranges. Some of the hills presented a picture of huge mounds of red soil sans any noticeable vegetation on the peaks though surrounded by coconut and palm-fruit trees on all sides. The palm fruit, also sometimes called ice-apple (tala/tal/tadfali/munjalu) is a great fruit to eat all day during summers. The transparent and fleshy sweet inside jelly with its contrastingly tasting thick skin eaten together quenches every thirst and also keeps hunger at bay. Picking up a dozen on the way to facilitate my proposed trek, I drove on until I reached a point where the road seemed to merge with a path strewn with embedded large stones which seemed to be a poor substitute for a motorable tract.

With no other option, I parked the car under the shade of a large tamarind tree which seemed to be a home to at least a dozen monkeys. Finding two other vehicles parked here, I had no hesitation in leaving mine to the mercy of the primates who were eagerly waiting for my departure from the scene to try and ravage the car for anything that can be eaten.

From hereon, I was told that only jeeps can take one further uphill up to a point half-way to the last  human settlement on the hill route. This place known as Sengamalai, is a hill station that was patronized by the British during summers. This stone-embedded path was in use since the early thirties when the British drove up their vintage jeeps up to a point wherefrom the mules took over to carry goods and people further up a distance of about 6 km.

I waited until a jeep pulled over. I hopped in after bargaining 400 bucks to take me up the "mule-point", a good 12 km stretch up the hill. The route was a tricky, rugged and a treacherous one at that. The Jeep was doing a pathetic 10 km/hour. I was reminded of the slow cycle races that we used to have in Sunabeda, wherein the likes of Paiyyan and Madhu would literally balance themselves unmoved on the cycle in order to succeed in a motive competition! I was shuddering at the thought of the chance action of the driver letting go the accelerator for a moment. The thought was nerve wrecking, the gradient below was almost at 40 degrees and winding in a serpent-like fashion. But the driver, unfazed by the track and used to the hard grind, accelerated up the vehicle without any sign of discomfort on his countenance.

The terrain around the path up was covered with low shrub vegetation and an occasional tree jutting out of the green cover. A stream flowed down on a bed of continuously strewn around rocks, the source of which, I was told, came from a waterfall by name, "Olakkaiaruvi" distant away into the ranges. This was one of my targets on the trek. Within an hour, the driver pulled up on a flat and tidy ground and declared the arrival of the last vehicular post. Alighting, I found only about three people around, including the other lone passenger in the jeep that brought us up. I could view the "mule-trail" up the hill vanishing into the thicket further up.

One of the persons around was a local aborigine. I fixed up with him to guide me up to the waterfall, which is at least 10 kms from the one time British summer sojourn, Sengamalai. Here commenced my trek, with a bag flung around my shoulder following the guide. It was mid-day with the sun shone brightly overhead on a clearly identifiable kutcha path winding up the hill range. I was desperately trying to keep pace with my bare-legged guide trotting up the track and looking back every now and then to monitor my progress. After walking three kms, I stopped to help myself with some palm fruits and some water. My guide declined my offerings disapprovingly sending me an implicit message that this is not what one calls Endurance.

Back on the track we resumed our trek through more denser and thicker forest area. There was no sign of the mud-path which merged with the forest shrubs, some of them thorny. The foliage around was replete with a modest variety of birds. Thrushes in the low undergrowth chirped away to glory while a pair of parakeets (similar to the popular noisy Australian budgerigars) from a "Kodukapuli" (mehndi) treetop announced the entry of human species into their territory. Bluish Schoolboys (also found in the Malabar region and Mahabaleshwar near Pune) whistled away from their perches in low branches of neem trees. We soon reached a large clearing of land from where I could see a bird's eye view of what was once a British summer resort, Sengamalai.  A small hamlet in a valley with lush green surroundings encompassed by hilly borders came into view…….1

At least a dozen cottages forming part of the Government rest houses hidden behind neem and peepul trees that formed a mixed grove came into sight. As I walked down the valley and reached closer to the resort, I found to my dismay that quite a few of these cottages were in a dilapidated condition begging for a reconstruction. The official forest bungalow was however maintained well and is an ideal place for a prolonged stay in the hill resort. My guide briefed me about the history of the once glorious resort. I forgot to tell you his name Kottapli (pronounced Ko as in Koraput, tt as in atta, pli as in plea, this word “Kottapli” in Tamil means “a dull head who never sleeps”. The word also means a hammer and is used to describe persons with a short stature. This Kottapli did not appear much different from the character, “Guran” that we came across in Indrajal comics on Phantom. After the British left, the place was hardly patronized by anyone excepting the local zamindars who carted up and down the tracks once in a while to engage themselves in romantic rendezvous out of sight and out of bounds of their esteemed households. After the sixties, the place became literally deserted for almost a decade until the local administration and the forest department thankfully decided to revive its lost glory. Some of the cottages were since repaired and maintained by the department, while the others were left to ruins due to paucity of funds. Even today the ruins can be seen while the inhabitable spaces are largely used by the Sarkari babus and the Range Officers. In course of time, people from the district started buying land to construct a summer homes.  A few furlongs away I could notice a group of neatly built cottages, some of them made of wood that is typical of a hill region. Since the access to the place is pretty difficult, only the adventurous seek it out. This region encompassed under the broader KMTR belt (Kalakkad Mudanthurai Tiger Reserve) is deep seated and more or less a virgin hill area that has not been subjected to the ravages of commercial tourism.

It was about 2 pm then when I decided to sit down under a huge margosa behind a cottage on the slopes of one of the hills. I partook some bread and palm fruits with Kottapli here. I noticed quite a few giant squirrels, almost four times the size of a normal one, scurrying along the trees. These are comparable in size to the squirrels I found in New Jersey in the US. After my modest “lunch”, I decided to resume my trek to the waterfall and asked Kottapli to lead. Kottapli advised me to rest for the day in one of the cottages and resume the next day, lest it would be too late to come back for the day, but I was adamant in continuing the trek. The unspoken intent was to spend the night in the jungle to feel the pulse of the denizens during their prime time, although I had no idea then whether and how I would make myself comfortable in the process.

So up the valley we recommenced our trek. Now there was no visible path and not even a semblance of any fireline that normally separate dense vegetation in large jungles. But Kottapli went about his job undauntedly as though the path was visible only to his eyes as I kept struggling to match his pace. With an “aruval” (axe) in one hand a staff on the other he mechanically strode up and down the landscape, cutting down a hindering branch here and making way by moving away a climber there on the tracks. I soon lost count of time and distance as I meekly followed Kottapli, stopping occasionally to look around and behind frequently to shoot the amazing landscapes only to be reprimanded by scornful looks from the guide attempting to discipline a tramp.

The dense forest cover mostly consisted of the cursed lantana bushes that grew tall enough to a height of more than five feet seemingly to stop the human species from traversing the jungle with ease. These are similar to the ones found in Sunabeda with sweet black berries and a typically strong odour with thorny branches but with multi-coloured small flowers that easily come off the sepals. The only difference being the shorter nature of plants in Sunabeda. These short widely spread plants abound on the hillsides around the township and also on roadside bushes. The leaves have medicinal value in that it can be used to stop bleeding since it aids quick coagulation when crushed and applied on the injured skin.

Kottapli went about cutting down the lantana stems mercilessly in quick motion to pave the way forward. Clumps of bamboo also appeared at frequent intervals indicating that Jumbos could exist in this part of the forest. Kottapli confirmed this. On one of the clumps I noticed a cute fur-coated miniature version of a monkey with its pair of eyes sticking out and the creature could almost be held on one’s palm. I stopped on my tracks and realized that it was the Slender Loris. It scampered away on seeing me stop. My guide asked me if I would like to carry it back. I declined, but asked him why one would do such a thing. Kottapli then revealed that poachers carry the tender creature to…horrifying…dig out its eyes to make a medicine that serves as a very potent aphrodisiac! It is then let loose with no sight only to wander about for food and ultimately famish to death. I later found that this creature belongs to the classified endangered species and concerted efforts are being taken for its protection.

Other than a few spotted cats (the small ones of course) and some wild pigs, I noticed no other fauna. The forest also abounds in the lion tailed macaque, one of which I later on sighted on the low branches of a peepul tree. On the stems of tall trees I could notice the grey hornbill identifiable with its typically curved and long beaks letting out a squealing call similar to that of a kite. Woodpeckers were a frequent sight on the stalks. Indian Budgerigars with their bizarre calling and the whistles of the schoolboy could be heard continuously though one could not spot them all the time. The jungle was, of course, not bereft of the signature cooing of the hill mynahs providing the background music that is typical of any Indian forest.

After a while, Kottapli stopped on his tracks and pointed to a small temple tower on the top of a hill and announced that the Vaishnav Temple called “Malai Nambi” (Vishnu on the peak) was within reaching distance. This was one of my destinations on the trek. It is one of the 108 Divya Deshas spread across the length and breadth of the country that are dedicated to Lord Vishnu. These 108 places find mention in the original religious document of the Vaishnavites, written more than ten centuries back.

A slow climb up the hill took us to the precincts of the temple in about thirty minutes. It was 4.30 pm by then. The temple was atop a peak within a compound measuring not more than 40 cents (less than half an acre). The view of the forest hills from the temple was breathtaking. It was a most serene atmosphere where the denizens of the hills seemed to communicating with each other in silence, with the temple hill majestically presiding over all of them. Beautiful flora lined the temple garden (nandavanam). Kottapli pointed towards far south of the temple and brought to my notice the elusive waterfall resembling a mammoth pestle of the kitchen variety. From a distance of about 2 kms as the crow flies, I could hazard a guess that the water fell steeply from a height of at least 250 feet from a steep incline to the ground below

After paying obeisance to the deity, I urged Kottapli to carry on. He looked back at me in utter dismay and asked me, “Have you bid adieu to your folks for good?” and that for him it was too early for it!  Besides the forest department forbids any further travel into the jungle from here unless a special permission is obtained. Such nods are given only to people for ecological research in teams of not less than 5 accompanied by a forest guard/ranger. It was then I told him of my idea of a forest sojourn for the night. After a lot of persuasion, he thought over for a moment and asked me if I was ok to be holed up in a small rocky cavern for the night. The thought of trying to snatch a few winks in a nocturnal cavernous site was certainly not one would look forward to. All the same, I asked him how one can keep the reptiles and denizens at bay. He assured me that a small fire can be lit and that would suffice for the purpose. Now Kottapli’s opportune moment came to hike his fee for the added service of a night’s vigil and a compensation for violating the law. An all inclusive fee of Rs 750 settled the matter. Taking a matchbox from the temple priest, we set out again descending down the temple hill.

I detest travel companions who keep looking now and then at their watches or mobile to fall in line with the time especially when on a pleasure trip into natural surroundings. Dandi, I found, would fit the bill at times. Failing to get even one such eccentric over a period of time, I decided to go it alone on such trips. If you have to savour the natural beauty of Indian jungles, you need to cast away all devices that show the time and at best look upon the shining luminaries 24/7 to guide you on the treks. One can digest the essence of Solitude in our forests especially during nights. Breaking away and being to oneself  during such times once in a while does a lot of good to one’s confidence, spiritual pursuits, if any and for a re-energizing  physical and mental health.

Down the tracks, Kottapli lead me to a small rivulet and instructed me to keep to its left and go up the source of the water behind him. The path was strewn with rocks, boulders and stones of various shapes and sizes and one had to perforce walk on them to get long the way up. Gradually the width of the small stream increased as we walked uphill. The trek was getting pretty slow from here as my guide asked me to hasten up so as to reach the falls before sunset. The sun was now set to sink on the western horizon beyond the hilly skylines. Tired, exhausted and rendered physically rather weak, I clumsily ambled across the rocky path for more than an hour until we came close to the falls. The sun had already sunk by then and a few residual rays of light beaming into the sky from the hills provided some light for us to sight the fall and ultimately get to it. I flung my bag on one of the flat rocks and jumped in into a pool formed at the base of the falls as I was sure that I would not be able to take a step more and on the verge of collapse if I did not get into the water then.

The water fell from about 200 feet from the top of a rocky hill and meandered down all the way though the hills to Sengamalai and therefrom down to a temple town called Kurangudi, another abode of Lord Vishnu.

The cool clear pristine mountain water is no wonder an elixir of life. I would say this dip restored life into me as I laid flat on one of the shallow reaches of the large pool. I looked up and found Kottapli right in midst of the falls enjoying a cool shower. There was not a soul around nor was there any sign of people having been around the place for a while.
I quickly made my way to the falls and thrust myself in. The water fell on my head in large blocks and I felt as though boulders are hurled down on my head. Another 15 minutes later I felt all my pain in the legs and body disappearing in a jiffy, climbed on to one of the flatter rocks near the falls and sat down to rest. The uninhibited indulgence in the falls made me blind to the surroundings and I failed to notice that darkness had set in and that we were at the mercy of the forest denizens for the ensuing night.

Kottapli called me from a point much above and to the left of the falls. With a battery torch in hand, I quickly scrambled up and followed his advice to reach the point. This was almost half way up the falls to its left. On reaching there, I found that we were on a small flat patch of cleared ground measuring hardly a cent. There was a small rocky shelter to this ground. Kottapli advised me to make myself comfortable here, while he set about to collect twigs and some wood to make the fire that was badly needed to keep the felines and the terrestrial reptiles at bay. (Kottapli assured me that I will get to watch quite a few animals coming to the water if I stayed awake for most of the night.)………2     

Now I had no choice but to stay huddled to a corner of the small enclosure, which I identified with my torch to be the safest place to anchor, being rocky on all sides with no opening or crevices that may hide venomous slithering creatures. Having been obstinate enough to plunge into this bizarre nocturnal pastime, it was not only too late to retract course, but also futile to resort to precautionary measures out of fear. Napoleon must have remarked in similar circumstances, “The torment of precautions often exceeds the danger to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one’s self to destiny”. It is now that the import of the statement “dusked” on me.

As expected, mosquitoes slowly began to swarm around me to sample the taste of the red fluid belonging to a new animal. Before it could get worse, I hurriedly pulled out the insect repellant that I had religiously packed among a bunch of other things in my bag and applied it all over my face and, arms and feet. This wonder white fluid from Dabur was so effective in keeping the swarms at bay that I thought that a shoot here would be a most effective ad for the product.

The sounds emanating from the jungle at this hour was in sharp contrast to the day-long and evening sing-song of the birdies. The diurnal orchestra bidding farewell to the dying day, gave way to a preamble of some kind of poltergeist phenomena let loose in the world of savage beasts. While the distant howling of the various cousins of the hyenas and jackals formed the background music, the incessant barking of the wild dogs, probably chasing some poor quarry, competed with the eerie acoustics of the former. Nearer to me, the low and monotonous rickety sounds of the nightjars responded in equal measure by the chirping wood crickets made me wonder if the whole of my neighborhood was infested with these puny creatures, not one being visible.

Far down to my left, on the other side of the waterfall, I suddenly noticed a tiny light flickering near the poolside. Soon I saw three or four of them… no a good number of these moving lights dancing up and down on the bank of the pool. A sudden indescribable fright overtook me and I started glancing the other way to look for the damned Kottapli. Where the hell has this idiot gone for such a long time leaving me to fend for myself?  I dared not shout to call this guy, lest I betray my presence to beasts/spirits behind these strange dancing lights. At first I thought it could forest guards combing the area with their torch lights, but then certainly there could not be so many of them and the lights were too tiny for the distance from where I was holed up. Then came the anti-climax when I noticed to my horror, a couple of those lights right next to me. I heaved a sigh of relief on finding that these were just fireflies!

I had to pass through a few more anxious moments at my perch when I heard some rustling sounds to my far right that was intermittent. Nothing could be seen even with my torch. I decided to keep the torch lighted continuously at least until Kottapli returns. Eventually he came up with a bundle stacked in his head, bound together with some creeper weeds. I was wonder struck at his ability and guts to go around in pitch darkness and collect all kinds of material that would pass as firewood. When I expressed my amazement, he cynically replied, “We possess the eyes of a tiger so that we survive in their midst, but you urbanites possess superior brains that is’nt gonna help here anyway!” Not in a mood to argue, I asked him to get going lighting up. In ten minutes, Kottapli got the fire up with noisy crackling sounds, despite a strong breeze blowing towards us.

Now this was a comfortable ambience to sit up and watch the watering hole way down below. Kottapli told me that large animals will move only after about 9 pm. That was at least an hour away. Such a campfire provides an ideal place to perceptibly “see” in the darkness, matching them with the sounds heard and imagine possible outcomes. The upsurge of the flames above the red embers, the occasional spurts of sparks as a piece of combustible is fed into the blaze, the pungent smell of smoke that encircles up in a spiral towards the sky, all these gives one a feeling that one has merged with nature so that nothing else matters then.

The last one anxious hour at the perch drove all my hunger away. My stock of eatables had also been exhausted. I only kept sipping water in small quantities to have a felling of fullness. Kottapli pleaded with me to ‘get the bottle out’. Now was my time to admonish him. In any case, the usherer at the gate would not approve of it when frisked and checked for sure.

The orchestrated sounds far off from the jungle, after reaching a crescendo, were gradually ebbing away. But the terrestrial ‘music’ played unabated to the dancing lights as though both had thoroughly rehearsed before performing. To keep ourselves engaged, I asked Kottapli about his daily life, family, interest et al. To every question, his replies with standard preamble ran thus, “Why do you ask master, I have no hesitation in telling you that….”   Talking about his family, Kottapli narrates, “My first wife died of snake bite, after saddling me with a daughter. I married again and this “punyavati” gave me a son to light my pyre.” I ran out of my wits when he told me that he “insured” his marital status by marrying yet again, lest he is rendered a bachelor, if something similar befalls either of his surviving wives!

It was about 9 now, when I notice two round gleaming diamonds near the pool and then another pair. A pair of spotted deer was seen coming down to the watering hole. I shot one of them with the 3 mpxl camera embedded in my mobile. As the ungulates came nearer, both suddenly bounded off on seeing the fire somewhere up near the gushing water.

Being the beginning of the summer months, the climate was just cool enough to expose oneself comfortably to the open sky. I noticed the surroundings gradually showing up to a distant light as the luminary queen began to uncover itself from the hitherto dark firmament. Being the ninth night after the new moon, right above me, I could see the half moon showing off in resplendence to the water in the pool just as a bride would look up to the mirror in vanity. I was reminded of Hemant Kumar’s vintage number, “Chandaniya Nadiya Beech Nahay, O sheetal jal mein aag lagay, ke chanda dekh dekh muskaay ho rama ho rama ho”. With most of the eerie noise dying down, the setting was perfect for a romantic night in the jungle. The only diff being there was no Vaijayanthimala around!

In a serene atmosphere with cools wafts of breeze blowing on to the falls, effectively dispersing the falling water into tiny droplets to my perch, try as much as I could resist, I was dozing off in spite of Kottapli’s continued unsolicited ramblings. Asking him to let me know of any fresh sighting down below, I stretched comfortably, using my bag for a pillow. The expedition during the day lulled me to slumber almost immediately and I thought I must have slept at least 2 hours before I suddenly woke up to Kottapli’s continuous nudging. All terrestrial sounds almost ceased, save a lone frog croaking close to the fall above us. As I got up, he signalled me to maintain silence as he drew my attention to the far end of the pool below. In the moonlight, I could clearly see two sprightly eyes embedded in a relatively small head when compared to the long and blurred, yellowish body. The sit up had finally yielded some dividend and the moment had arrived to try and get a souvenir to carry back home. As I drew up my mobile device to shoot, Kottapli dissuaded me from doing so, lest the flash may provoke the leopard. He also indicated to sit still and unmoved. The beast had already sighted us near the smoldering fire as it kept staring disdainfully in our direction. Being a more competent person in the ways of the jungle, I meekly obeyed Kottapli’s instructions and looked on. A lot more moments passed as we kept staring at the animal which also kept staring back that seemingly conveyed a hatred of the human species. I was trembling in nervous excitement, though my guide appeared cool and composed. Unable to exactly reminisce how long this lasted, a time came when the beast lost interest and bent down to lap up some water, looked around and slowly walked away into the darkness to our right. Now I had the courage to speak and asked Kottapli if the cat could approach us from behind as it has walked to our right. He assured me that with the fire around, the beast will not get any more proximate. He said as-a-matter-of-factly that leopards are cowards by nature when it comes to human species unlike the large cats that do not fear men but are generally indifferent to our specie. Besides, this cat had shown no signs of embarking on an attack after sighting us. In the worst scenario, he assured me, hurling a burning ember at the beast will make it turn tail.

Another hour passed uneventfully as the “terrestrial music” resumed. I went back to renew my slumber, literally beset with Wild Dreams. I got up on hearing the cry of a jungle fowl and noticed from my mobile that it was 3.30 am then. Kottapli, who was busy sharpening a few pieces of slender wood, advised me to go back to sleep. He told me that he does not expect any more sightings other than deer and smaller creatures. As they say in jungle lore, the cock had announced the false dawn. I told Kottapli that I have had enough sleep and I can keep vigil for the remaining night if he wanted to catch a few winks. Kottapli welcomed my proposal and cast aside his implements and sunk on the rocky bed not before confirming his “vigil fee” sans any discount! He advised me to keep the fire alive and burning up to at least 5 in the morning.

With nothing much to do my mind set thinking about why I am here at this hour of the night while most of my friends, associates and relatives would never think of getting holed up like me in a dense forest. I was thinking and attributing such queer and eccentric tendencies to probably the way we spent early life in Sunabeda trekking around the small hillocks around the township and walking long distances on the peripheries of the place more out of curiosity. Walking all the way beyond the guest house to Kakigaon, long walks on the feeder railway line upto the Kolab enroute to Sukku, traversing the hillocks beyond L Zone to reach the Semiliguda Nursery (between Semiliguda and Nandapur) and cycling to places like Dhumriput et al has made a wanderluster of me. It could also be attributed to my general habit of being a loner when it comes to leisure.

It was around five when the forest came alive with the orchestra of the birds. Unmistakably the earliest to send the notes piercing through the jungle were the cuckoos (koel) on the high perches of the slender trees. Then came the pre-dawn announcement in the form of long punctuated clarion call from a jungle cock that is typical of an Indian jungle. A pheasant joined the party by echoing its call that is similar to the punctuated gibberish sounds you can make from your lower larynx by closing your mouth with your tongue unmoved. Sounds of window panes moving around its hinges, dancing to the blowing wind emanating from an unidentified bird added to the music miscellany.

Soon the sun was up. I awoke Kottapli and bade him to start moving out. We went down to the fall, had one of the best natural showers I could afford to date and was preparing to trek back. Going back all the way was not going to be an easy task. So I asked my guide the shortest route to civilization. He then suggested that we can trek further down southwards for about 5 km and take to the east downwards from a small hillock that he knows to reach a village on the foothills of the ranges. I bid him to take this route. This route was on the fireline that cut through the forest and so it was not a difficult path to walk briskly, though the terrain was undulating. In less than an hour, we reached the hillock where a kutcha road was seen winding downwards to the plains. Walking down hill on a rather steep incline was more difficult than the last 5 km stretch. Kottapli was literally trot-a-trot down the hills. With my age and weight catching up with me I could hardly afford to follow suit. I grabbed the staff from Kottapli and used this as my walking stick to balance myself, sauntering down the track. Another hour passed before we touched a tar road that lead to a village named Perunthalaicaud.

We barged straight into a tea shop on the road. After giving instruction to the tea-master how to brew my tea, I gave him a piece of ginger from my bag and ordered 4 cups to the astonishment of the former. The brew turned out to be tasty as I sipped my way through the 3 units poured into one large mini jar. My guide relished the tea and complimented me for the brew.

I bid farewell to my guide after paying his fee as I took a local bus to Kurungudi and another bus therefrom to Kalakkad. An auto took me to the tamarind tree where I found my car intact. Downhill, a forest guard intercepted me and demanded an explanation for the overnight parking. After convincing him that I had a flat tyre late in the night and gratifying him with a fifty note, I resumed my return journey to Chettinad to reach there around 5 pm right in time to attend a wedding, the excuse that brought me to the hills…………………3