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The royal safari
With a few tips from Shaji Pattanam, our fellow-traveller atop a bus from Srisailam to Kurnool records the crazy journey. They say there are eight traditional gateways to the Mallikarjuna Temple in Srisailam. At dusk, we were looking for any. All buses out of this remote temple town were full. Taxis were unheard of on this hill in this season. We wanted to go to Kurnool. But we were ready to go anywhere provided we got seats. Then the advice came: “Upar baitna, aaram se.” The bus driver was recommending a crazy journey, atop the bus! Mark Tully was prophetic in naming his book, 'No full stops in India'.
We buy three tickets to Kurnool, hum movie songs featuring bus-top sequences and recline on the iron carrier on top of the bus. It seems to be safer than hanging from an overcrowded electric train in Mumbai. At every checkpoint, we expect someone to ground us. But nobody cares. It was wonderful until the bus accelerated through the winding roads downhill. On the way, a drunken cop and a few pilgrims join us.
We try to identify the big dam and other landmarks which we crossed at noon. We are lost. The moonlight and the headlight of the bus don’t reveal anything. Then we realized it was a different route.
The thought of the menacing cop beside us and the tigers prowling somewhere in the forest through which we pass, troubles us. But a night safari under a starlit sky is more than what we had asked for.
Srisailam is tucked inside a tiger reserve on the Nallamalai Hills on the Eastern Ghats. We had entered the reserve around noon. The 245-kilometre drive from Hyderabad through the heart of Telangana to Srisailam was a bore. Rocky field after rocky field, dusty village after dusty village, and sleepy town after sleepy town. Telangana region has been clamouring for statehood. But the dry land seems to be forever dependent on the Krishna-Godavari delta region for rice.
The temple town is by the Krishna River, which borders Telangana and Rayalaseema regions. Andhra Pradesh was rewarding on my last journey. But that was in the Andhra region, caressed by the countless fingers of Krishna and Godavari. And winter was nearing. Summer is cruel in Andhra Pradesh, when temperature goes up to 50 degree Celsius in some parts of the state. Whenever the bus stops, heat invades.
No vehicle is allowed inside the sanctuary after 6 pm, a signboard at the entrance
of the reserve says. (It is equally impossible to get out of there, we were to find out at night.) The dry deciduous forest is no consolation. Naked trees bear no resemblance to a forest. Tigers must be enjoying their siesta. We got bored even with the forest. (It was enthralling at night, we were to find out.)
The bus begins a hard ascent. Then as it descends, Krishna flows deeper down in the valley. Pilgrims in the bus capture the slithering river on their mobile cameras. Srisailam is a favoured destination. It houses one of the 12 Jyothirlingams representing Siva, the destroyer in the Hindu trinity. It is also famed for one of the 12 big dams in India. Srisailam dam, 512-metre-long and 790-feet-high, is a majestic structure.
The bus crosses the tamed river and starts another winding ascent. The dam is out of sight. Finally we get down at a sunburnt junction. We came past Chenchu Lakshmi Tribal Museum run by the Andhra Pradesh Tribal Welfare Department. The straight road leads up to the Krishna River locally known as Pathalaganga. To the right is the bus stand and to the left a buzzing bazaar that leads
Mother
A mother and son row past pilgrims bathing in the Krishna River aka Pathala Ganga. to the Mallikarjuna Temple.
The temple complex is protected by a frieze-covered fort. Ganesa, the elephant god, is busy with his domestic chore - keeping a tab on his father’s devotees. The Shivlingam, “made of light”, is like any other stone structure, but placed much lower, with a many-headed metal snake shielding it. An attendant is pushing aside devotees, who yearn for another glimpse of the god. He has to rest after closing the temple at 3 pm.
Outside the main temple stands the Pandava Prathishta, five lingas installed by the five legendary brothers. On the way back to the main square is the temple dedicated to Bramaramba, the consort of Shiva. Pilgrims are already queuing up for the next session. An intricate system of passages is designed around the temple - separate queues for those who pay up and those who don’t. Blessings come at a cost, advertised on large boards.
Neither unequal treatment nor inhospitable terrain deter pilgrims, though nobody forces them for a pilgrimage. On the bus, somewhere near Dindi reservoir, a woman suddenly came to my seat. She wanted the window open. The old man on the window seat protested, but opened the window as soon as she gestured it was for the god. Then she threw a coin and closed her eyes in piety. We didn’t see anything that resembled a temple.
If a wayside idol commands such loyalty, what would it mean to be a temple mentioned in Skanda Purana. Srisailam is not at its best today. On Shivarathri, the temple town would be imploding with devotees from all over Andhra Pradesh and neighbouring states.
We look for the Pathalaganga, the Ganga of the depths. Hardly a kilometer away, the 500 steps start. On the left side is the ropeway station. We opt for cable cars to descend to the shores of the Srisailam reservoir. Downstream, the dam gleams in the evening light. We are already late, otherwise we could have gone boating till the Akkamahadevi caves, 10 kilometres away. Coracles are ready to give pilgrims a ride.
As Shaji Pattanam and Sreekanth Vijayan hunted for frames on the bathing ghats, it rained. The scent of wet dust pervades the riverside. The summer rain drives us to the steps. With a return ropeway ticket in the pocket, we trek the steps. We seek shelter under a banyan tree where a sage has set up his begging bowl. As the rain subsides, the man in saffron shoos us away. It’s time for him to resume work.
We would have spent one more day on this sacred hill but for the bus driver’s suggestion. Two hours past the journey on top of the bus, after the policeman had got down (after gifting us “foreign” cigarettes stored in his lunch box and inviting us to Srisailam next Sivarathri) and the pilgrims went to sleep, we fixed a drink the way travellers do. It took all the scientific knowledge of Sreekanth and Shaji to light a cigarette atop a bus running around 80 kilometres per hour.
We waited for bends in the road, where the bus would slow down, to gulp down the hastily-mixed drink. We watched for overhead electricity lines and low tree branches even as we took long sips under a starlit sky. We debated over a distant twinkle in the sky. We reached Kurnool after midnight, intoxicated by the first experience in a mobile rooftop bar and eager to find a 24/7 highway dhaba.
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Sreekanth
non-member comment
Variety ambience.
Yeh.. getting to light the cigarette did take lot of effort. Nyways time to check out the high seas in a Fishing Boat. Game?