We
kept our eyes peeled for leeches on the ground as we made our way to
the waterfall. The stone steps, flanked by ferns, glistened with rain.
We were visiting Athirappilly waterfalls in Kerala, which provided a
grand beginning to our 80-km journey to Valparai in Tamil Nadu. We had
chosen to take the famously scenic route through the thick Vazhachal
forest in the Western Ghats.
The path to the waterfall was lined at frequent
intervals with notice boards that reminded us that the forest and its
resources were precious and vulnerable. Baby monkeys used the boards to
perform gymnastics, while older ones looked unblinkingly at passers-by,
possibly in hope of being fed.
The Athirappilly Falls in full flow
The 80-foot waterfall is formed by the
Chalakudy River, which seemed surprisingly tame, but cascaded over the
edge of the mountain furiously into a turqoise pool below. The pool was
surrounded by what looked like impenetrable deep green forest. To my
delight, a lovely rainbow played towards the bottom of the waterfall,
with the foam blurring its colours slightly.
A small signboard pointed the way to the bottom of the waterfall - Way to Full View.
The steps were ignored in some places, where visitors preferred to take
the steeper and muddy “short-cut”. We reached the bottom of the
waterfall, and the little girl in front of me squealed, “Wow!” I echoed
her. We were looking up at enormous columns of water that crashed on the
rocks below dramatically, birthing a spray of cool water over us. I
remembered a TV ad I’d once seen that likened streams and waterfalls to
the veins of mother earth, with blood surging through them. I understood
the analogy then!
Curtains of water at Athirappilly Falls
I noticed that the way was completely clean
and free of plastic, despite the numerous tourists there. A group of
men sang a lilting Malalayam folk song as they descended the path, their
voices mingling with the trill of cicadas.
Our next stop
was at the Vazhachal waterfall, which ran over a gentler slope as
compared to Athirappilly but was twice as loud. From a distance, it
sounded like TV static noise, getting louder as we moved closer; then it
was deafening. The Vazhachal forest is home to all the four species of
hornbills (I didn’t spot any though). The route through the forest was
quiet and deserted, except for the gurgling of the Chalakudy River,
which travelled with us alongside. The forest was freshly washed by rain
and everything from the ground to the treetops seemed to scream with
life.
Vazhachal Falls - less spectacular than Athirappilly but louder
As we
approached Malakkapara, a mist descended on us, an almost-opaque white
screen that I’ve seen so often in the Ghats. It cleared within minutes,
like a curtain raiser for the next scene – a completely different
landscape of tea gardens caressing the clouds. I always look at tea
plantations with a mixture of delight (how pretty they look!) and
sadness (if unpruned, the tea "shrub" grows into a magnificent tree) and
guilt (I'm a tea-lover). On the way, we encountered the Upper Sholayar
Dam, the second deepest in Asia, which provides water and electricity to
neighbouring areas.
Our
destination, Sinna Dorai’s bungalow, situated in Upper Paralai tea
estate of Parry Agro, took some time to locate. Two charming women
welcomed us with a drink that was sweet and fresh – iced tea. I noticed
wooden benches outside the cottages where I could already picture my
mother meditating early in the morning. It was so quiet that any
conversation seemed disturbing and out of place.
A peacock scans the valley in a Valparai tea plantation
The rooms were done up in teak, cane and jute, maintaining a tone of natural warmth. Food was hot and steaming – dal, roti, rice, sambar and rasam,
all home-cooked – and served by smiling staff. The coconut soufflĂ© was a
perfect end to the meal, and was followed by an hour of me battling
existential questions – what was I doing living in a crowded,
polluted city? I vowed, like every time I visit the Western Ghats, that I
would move out and settle down in the hills.
In the
evening, Murugan, our local guide, took us for a short walk around the
Parry Agro estate on the road, which he said was “shared by elephants
and bison”. Visitors are usually not allowed to roam around on their own
“for their own safety as well as for safety of the animals.” I
suspected the animals possibly needed more protection from humans than
vice versa. As we walk, we hear bird calls – a magpie robin, Murugan
tells us, the crooning of a spotted dove, and a loud, clear call of a
peacock, which was so close that I jumped. It stood silhouetted against
the twilight sky, before it spread its brown wings and swooped over the
valley and disappeared into a tree. “Did you know peacocks could fly
that far?” my mum asked in a hushed whisper. Murugan, amused by our
wonder, said, “Wait till you hear the Malabar Whistling Thrush hold katcheris in the mornings.”
The bungalow boasts of a quaint library, well stocked with books, two Murphy radio sets and an ancient typewriter. An enormous log register from 1952 sits on the table, which has the names of the tea estate workers, the amount of work done per day and the corresponding pay. A cosy sitting room, complete with fireplace, includes a record player. The decor and serveware is exquisite – if you like a piece, you could request them to source it for you. Murugan tells us that the bungalow got its name from the local salutation for ‘Assistant Manager’. Back in the room, I read a letter from the current Sinnai Dorai himself, who made it quite clear that we behave ourselves, respect the environment, and not try any funny business with the animals.
We climbed up the steep slope to our cottage again, when he turned around suddenly and wildly gestured to me with a finger on his lips. He quietly parted the leaves of a bush and – OMG! I found myself staring straight at a leopard. Thankfully, it was a good distance away, but surely it was making eye contact with me? I was too nervous to move or reach for the camera. The staring match continued – I couldn’t tell who was more startled. Throughout, Murugan asked me to stay completely quiet and still. The leopard, bored of these seemingly inanimate creatures, turned around and bounded off into the trees. I was shivering with excitement – this was my first big cat sighting in the wild!
Over
breakfast, the staff told us that wild animal sightings are extremely
common in the area. Encounters are an everyday affair. “Elephants are
fine as long as you get out of their path,” we are told. “If you
confront it or poke a camera in its face, it may attack.” Though both
tigers and leopards are found in the area, leopard attacks are more
common. After a pause, Murugan added, “We are trespassing on their
property, you know.”
Our cottage at Sinna Durai's Bungalow
Sinna
Dorai’s bungalow, like most mountain getaways, offers tranquility and a
chance to bond with nature. But more than that, it offers a way of
living. I was impressed by the way its inhabitants and tea estate
workers co-existed with the wilderness around them. It looked like a
value system was firmly in place, respected and obeyed. For those who
can adjust to being treated at par with their wild fellow-creatures and
can appreciate and follow the code of conduct, this is the place. Just
twenty-four hours in Valparai made me feel like I was moulting, shedding
off a layer of the old and growing new skin. With its commitment to
responsible travel, cool air and homely warmth, a visit to this bungalow
can be described as nothing short of healing.
Ramya Sriram is a cartoonist, writer and founder ofThe Tap,
her trove of visual and verbal stories. When not illustrating or
translating ideas into comics, she’s hopping onto trains and running off
to the mountains. POSTED BY VIPUL KOUL
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