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Published: August 7th 2007
Shola-grassland mosaic
The unending grasslands and the patches of shola forest that lines it along the Western Ghats are home to a variety of endemic species. It was like an island - shields of water keeping reality at bay. Rain, white and whistling beyond the windows, and morning dreams were the only things real. “Isn’t it time to go?” somebody asked. No one, including the enquirer, bothered to find out. Last night, we were all excited about the morning trek. Now no one wanted to break the spell. We were dreaming about a drenched dewy forest, perhaps.
There’s something magical about rain in the high ranges. It goes on and on and no one complains. Rain becomes a refuge - an excuse for inertia. Irshad and Srikanth, who couldn’t wait to scale the mountain that rose beyond the dormitory we slept in, showed no signs of life. Navin and Sijo, reluctant trekkers, were no better. Finally, Mani broke the spell with a pot of hot black coffee.
At 8.30 am, we are already late by an hour. The rain has subsided, but telephone lines are dead. Our guide hasn’t come, Mani and Balakrishnan, in charge of the Kerala forest department’s inspection bungalow in Thirunelli, tell us. Without guidance, they wouldn’t let us inside the forest. We won’t make it to Pakshipathalam, a rocky maze
Six more hills...
We took three hours to trek to Pakshipathalam, where our guide would have reached two hours earlier had he been alone. deep inside the North Wayanad forest division.
From the time we reached Thirunelli yesterday, everyone has been dissuading us from trekking to Pakshipathalam (poorly translated Depth of Birds or Hell of Birds). “It’s tedious”, “it’s dangerous”, “there are elephants”, “there are leeches” and so on. But this expedition was long overdue though hastily planned. Everything was going smooth until the beautiful rain this morning.
It’s 9.30 am. We decide to look for another guide. Divakaran, a forest guard and ex officio secretary of the Forest Protection Committee (Vana Samrakshana Samithi or VSS), gives us a rundown of obstacles up there. Rain causes mist on the mountains. “Mind you, this mist is something different. It forms suddenly and vanishes suddenly. You won’t be able to see beyond a foot,” he says.
VSS is a committee of tribesmen and other people living by the forest, formed under the aegis of the forest department. These committees help find employment for the local people and generate revenue by conducting tours and treks. We pay Rs 800 as fee to venture into Pakshipathalam with Chandran, the new guide that Mani has arranged for. Finally we set out on the fearsome journey.
Cavemen
One of the many niches inside the rock complex of Pakshipathalam. As soon as Chandran led us on a mud road laden with leaves, we bump into elephant droppings. We are already inside jumbo country. Elephants roam around the bungalow at night, Balakrishnan had told us. A week ago, they had to scare away a young tusker who had been lurking around. We were lucky enough to spot a gaur, a sambar and countless deer and hare during last night’s drive.
Today Malabar squirrels, snakes, ladybirds and leeches - legions of them - cross our path. And watching us from a distance would be gaurs, bears, tigers, leopards and elephants. Everyone in Wayanad has a personal tale of elephant encounter. Last morning Joseph fled a herd of elephants near the temple. “The flutter of their ears was like wind,” he told us this morning. Biju had escaped death by the tusk thrice. “They came from nowhere,” he told us last night.
The trek becomes tiring as we deviate from the main road to a narrow path uphill.
We lag behind our guide. Chandran is leading tourists to Pakshipathalam for the first time, but the rock garden has been a favourite joint for him and friends. The cliff on the
Respite
Finally, the river Kalindi, which originates from the inaccessible depths Pakshipathalam. Kerala-Karnataka border, 1740 metre above sea level, can be accessed only on foot. Around seven kilometres of jungle path awaits us.
The forest is surprisingly dry but for the leech-infested streams. After crossing each stream, we halt to detach leeches that slither through our shoes to draw blood. The small ones that escape the scan convert themselves into balls of blood hanging from the skin. The painless intrusion is hard to detect. Blood flows. We smear our shoes with limestone and tobacco before venturing into the next wet spot.
Chandran is barefoot, but armed with a sickle. “What if an elephant comes?” Sijo asks. “Nothing. Just give way to it,” Chandran replies. “What if someone is bitten by a snake?” another urban query. “See this,” Chandran brandishes the knife, “I will cut your veins to block the poison from killing you,” another simple but decisive reply. We proceed through dense undergrowth.
Sijo’s apprehensions were not without reason. Even a sprain can trap you in this strange world, where none of our urban smartness comes of help. We are at the mercy of the law of nature and the wisdom of our guide. Yellow leaves fall on the bed of dry brown leaves on the ground. An occasional green leaf adds to the contrast. Everything around us changes in tranquility.
Behind the lawlessness of what we call ‘law of jungle’ is the cardinal principle of the wilderness: coexistence. Old and new, decomposing and blossoming, predator and prey and parasite, everything has a purpose in this ecosystem. Insulated from nature, we urbanites can’t stomach the fact that a meeting of the deer and tiger need not always be a conflict between the good and the bad.
We emerge from the dense forest to a different landscape. The first stage of steep ascent is over. The Thirunelli temple and the imposing lodge opposite it form an island in the green valley. We are on the shola-grassland mosaic. We cross patches of shola forest that separate vast mountains of grassland. We are more or less on a plain. Ascent, descent and a stroll at ease; descent, ascent and a stroll.
Shola-grassland mosaic is a phenomenon typical to the southern parts of the Western Ghats. It’s home to a variety of endemic species. Shola forest where shrub layers grow around streams under a canopy of trees is in stark contrast to the adjoining sun-swept grassland. The dense greenery in the valley amid two grassy mountains is an oasis, where we draw water while leeches draw our blood.
On the grassland, we cross three honey collectors with the day’s yield on their backs. They are coming from our destination, Pakshipathalam. The cave complex is a treasure trove for honey collectors. These are the only men who have explored the caves to the maximum after the mythical sages said to have meditated there. But no man has gone to the deepest parts, Chandran says.
We cross a fireline. Now we are in Karnataka. After a long walk, we cross the border again to reenter Kerala before reaching the cliff. The third phase of our expedition is the briefest but the most dangerous. Pakshipathalam is a collection of gigantic rocks haphazardly resting on the others. At night, battalions of bats would come out of their caves, terrifying every creature around.
We fight the worst acrophobia as we follow Chandran through the clefts and over the gorges. We cling to gigantic rocks, never daring to look into the dark depths below. Spirit of adventure ebbs away as sweat dampens feet and palms. A misplaced foot, a slipped grip…and there would be no trace of the trekker. Everything that was said about the elephantine rocks was true.
Chandran leads us to a niche, where he and his friends spend their free hours. It’s as if a rock had fallen on a brick enclosure. Even he doesn’t know if the room was built into the fallen rock or the rock had fallen onto to the structure. We rest in the cave and munch on some snacks - bread, plantains and gooseberries pickled in honey - we brought along.
Now Chandran becomes restless. His brief is to return with us before 4 pm. Since he knows our pace, he must leave now. He hopes not to encounter any beasts on the way. We hope to see an elephant so as to boast back home. But all we see is droppings. On the way to the Kalindi river, patches of ginger on either side. In the night, farmers guard the crop with crackers to keep elephants away. The river originates from the inaccessible depths of Pakshipathalam.
The path we negotiated a few hours ago does not look the same. The forest has changed. Soon the territory would be out of bounds for the most sophisticated species - man. The trek proves unlucky - or lucky - for us. We haven’t seen any big animals today. Or did we miss out on something. All the while we were looking for elephants, the forest was unfolding its magnificent micro life in front of us.
A case of missing the forest for the woods.
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Anil
non-member comment
Looking back
Hi Pretty good piece on Pakshipathalam. Though I gather you subscribe to the notion that the journey is as interesting as where one is going, wish you had said a bit more about the destination. I went there about 15 years ago (late 1992) and the trek was more or less the way you described it. Looks like nothing much has changed. Good. Keep going!