Dayara to Dodital - 3

The forest around Morapla

Previous post Dayara to Dodital 2

Lying awake in a tent pitched in the midst of the forest, I am aware of myriad bird sounds – hoots, whistles, calls and chirping – from 4.30 in the morning. Eventually, I bestir myself and walk out into the cold and crisp air. A tribe of Langurs runs down past our camp in the half-light. Climbing to a point where I can look out north, I see the eastern face of Banderpoonch lit up by the sun still below the horizon. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense some movement in the undergrowth. A furry four-legged creature, in grey-brown-black and white, with a long bushy tail, short legs and ears sticking up like a rabbit, stops to stare at us. Sur Veer looks at a photo and says it is a Ban Chaura.

The old logging road from
Sangam Chatti to Satgadi

 Today, we would like to get to the settlement of Manjhi, located a little higher than where we are, but on another hill, separated from us by a deep valley. We must descend to the valley floor, cross a stream - the Dodigad, that carries water from Dodital - and then make the steep ascent on the other side. 

We walk through a beautiful forest of tall trees that block the bright sunlight, accompanied by birdsong and the sound of the yet unseen stream. My guide names the different trees we pass – Kharsu, Malak, Kanjal, Pangar, Morind. After a short descent, we reach an unpaved road that was at one time used for logging. The logging road connects the road head, Sangam Chatti to the forest interiors and eases our progress, but not for long. A massive rock fall has obliterated the road at one point and we need to take a long detour on a pag dandi that takes us close to the stream that we must cross, its blue waters visible through the trees. 

The path leads to a slippery downward sloping rock and vanishes. I look downwards and see that it will be a long fall if one were to slip. I let the guide carry my haversack across and then study the toe and finger holds that I must use to move sideways over the rock face. Then ever so gingerly, I make my moves.

Looking back at the rock face we descended from Dayara

 After this traverse, there are no more terrors on this road. We soon reach the camping site of Satgadi, where there is a bridge made of logs and rough cut stones across the Dodigad. We have reached the lowest point in our trek for today. From here starts a backbreaking climb zigzagging up the hillside. Three hours later, after climbing 600 ms, we reach Manjhi completely exhausted.

Manjhi has a row of huts but these are now empty as the villagers who occupy them are still waiting for the warm weather and availability of fodder for their cattle and goats before moving here. There are two dhabha's in the village; we crash in the first one. We order a luxurious meal of roti, sabji, dal and rice. Too tired to pitch tents, we accept the dhabha owner’s offer of a place to sleep near his fireplace, but then wonder if we have made the right decision. The dhabha certainly has a roof, but the long winter has taken its toll and the owner, it seems, has not had the time to renovate the place. The plastic side covers, in taters, flap noisily in the howling wind. The only redeeming feature is the crackling log fire.

West view on the Manjhi - Dodital route

 Sur Veer has taken off with J uphill to show him Monals that he believes live around here. I am too tired for another climb and prefer to stroll around near the village. I see a Monal in the distance and try my best to get near enough for a photograph, without luck. In a while, J comes back triumphant – he has not only captured Monals, but also a bird known as locally as Koklach (the Koklass Pheasant).

The forest around Manjhi is throbbing with bird life and we spend a few hours the next morning trying our luck with the camera. An easy trek after a late start gets us to the beautiful lake of Dodital, at a height of over 3000 m. Just after we reach, the rain begins, soon turning into hail. A foreign couple – a young Israeli and his Italian girlfriend - arrive soaked and bedraggled. Sur Veer has the stove going already and we offer them tea, which is gratefully accepted. When the rain and hail finally end after noon, it is time to pitch our tents and explore the lake.

Dodital from above

Dodital

Dodital lake is a fair sized natural water body surrounded by thickly forested hills. A paved walkway extends all around its perimeter. The waters are clear and foot long golden hued trout are plainly visible in large numbers. Water flows from the surrounding heights into the lake in several small streams and flows out more substantially at one end. I ask Sur Veer about the name. He says it was originally ‘Dhundi Tal’ and a British corruption of the name made it Dodi Tal. There is a lone dhabha, a little temple, a forest rest house, and two small houses occupied respectively by the forest guard and a holy man known as Maharaj or Burfi Baba  (which would translate as Ice Baba).

We visit the Burfi Baba’s abode. Several people are sitting around a log fire in a dark room, warming their hands. We exchange greetings and the baba, an old man with a flowing white beard, invites me to sit by his side on a mat. I ask the baba how long he has been here. 17-18 years, he replies. He belongs to Uttarkashi. He stays here round the year; even when Dodital becomes completely snowbound and cut off from the villages below in deep winter. At that time, even the forest guard moves to Agoda, leaving the baba alone here. That is, except in the last year or two, when he has been traveling to different places across India at the invitation of his friends. The baba gets up, mounts a raised platform, and starts his evening prayers after lighting a lamp to the gods on a mantle piece. Presently, he starts singing a popular bhajan and the others join in. I sit for some time and then leave.

View from our tent

 The dhabha is the other place where people congregate. The temple priest, the dhabha owner, a bunch of workers engaged in making a new building for the tea stall and the foreign couple who arrived today are all sitting around the fire. The new housing under construction for the dhabha is right across where we sit. The dhabha owner looks no more than a kid and is obviously blind in one eye. He is also the sole worker in the dhabha, washing, cooking, and settling accounts with his patrons. The others kid him by calling him a thekedar – for he is also managing the construction work going on for the new stall. He has obtained the right to operate the stall here for a year by agreeing to pay Rs 100,000/- to the Forest Department. He needs to recover this money from sales before he can make a profit.  

What has motivated us to come here, is it a religious pursuit, the priest asks? I struggle to explain why I like trekking in the Himalayas. The conversation drifts to a comparison of public morality in Delhi and Uttarakhand. I have a separate conversation with the Israeli. He is 28 years of age has completed compulsory military service and now is planning to enroll for graduate studies in astrophysics, his passion. He tells me about the two months he has spent teaching village children in Pondicherry and how he has introduced them to the great Indian astrophysicist, Chandrashekar.

That night, we go to sleep in our tents under a star-studded sky.


Continued.....Dayara to Dodital - 4

Dayara to Dodital - 2

Dayara to Dodital 1

The day dawns clear and cold. Our guide believes that we may be able to obtain rice from another group that has camped on the route we will take today. If that does not work out, we will have to manage without our staple for 2 days.

Dayara Bugyal (3350 - 3600 m)

After a three-hour climb, we reach another cluster of empty stone walled huts near the approach to a meadow known as Dayara Bugyal. We find the perfect chaini – with waterproof roofing, a door, and a wooden floored sleeping area – and quickly lay claim to it. Procuring rice is our next priority and we venture out to find out if we locate other campers. When the expanse of the bugyal comes into view, it is mainly a study in white – the white of the thin layer of snow covering the bugyal, the white of the snow clad Himalayan peaks in the background and the white of the thick clouds gathering over them. Climbing a hump, we see the camp – colorful tents in red, blue, and yellow standing up on a white carpet.

 Our guide is quick to spot the man in charge and strike up a conversation with him. Around us, boys and girls in colorful dresses are making their way unhurriedly across the snow towards the campsite. We learn that these are the eighth class students from a well-known residential public school, on a camping trip. I sheepishly tell the group leader about our “forgetting” to get rice, and he immediately agrees to help. Lighthearted after collecting a generous quantity of rice that will keep us going for the next two days, we explore the snow bound upper reaches and the clear lower reaches of the bugyal, unmindful of the gathering dark clouds.

Banderpoonch Range

The next day promises to be a tough trek. We have to climb a few hundred meters to the northern extremity of the bugyal before making the descent to a camping site below the snow line.

We make an early start under clear skies. The ridge of the Banderpoonch range rising 3 km above us, stands glistening in the sun. Behind it, is visible the unmistakable profile of the even taller Kala Nag peak. 

As we gain altitude, we encounter more snow on the ground, smoothening over the uneven ground. We march in single file, each one following the man in front, matching step to step. We come across a steep hill that must be climbed before the descent begins. I would have easily scrambled up this hill but for the snow cover and the 12kg weight of the haversack on my back. A slip on this slope would take me down perhaps 20 ms and would leave me bruised if not worse. The guide is sitting

Descent from Dayara

at the top of the hill maintaining a watch. If I fall, he will come to pick up the pieces. My legs feel drained of strength and I would feel much better with the weight off my shoulders, but pride stands in the way of my asking the guide for help. There is nothing to hold onto, no alternative except to I inch my way up with long pauses to steady myself and plan the next step. After what seems like an interminable length of time, I reach the top.

Descent from Dayara

The real test is yet to begin. Our guide points to the route down from the bugyal. It is a steep snow covered boulder strewn slope. There is no trace of any path. Sur Veer takes the lead, sure footed despite the heavy load he carries. I make my way down the gully behind the others through foot deep snow, using a long stick to arrest my downward slide.


The gully leads to an open slope and we take a zigzag route through the snow. The traverse is not difficult, but requires total concentration. Before each step, I plunge the stick into the upward slope to get a strong purchase. I match each step to the imprint left in the snow by the others. A misplaced footfall could mean sinking in the snow up to the knees or worse; a slip could mean an uncontrolled slide down the slope a few hundred meters. (J's amazing video of the descent from Dayara)

Ghola Top, part of the ridge dividing the watersheds

Eventually we reach relatively level ground and the first trees, rhododendron and bhojpatra (birch), make their appearance. 


We take a break for tea that Sur Veer prepares in the open. Our shoes are wet and the socks drenched, but there is nothing to be done until we reach the campsite. For the first time, we can see the mountains that divide the Yamuna watershed from the Bhagirathi watershed, now engulfed in angry clouds. It is another three hours before we reach the camping site of Morapla, set in a beautiful mixed forest. Sur Veer immediately finds a suitable chaini, gets water from a stream nearby, and gets the kitchen up and running. We decide to sleep in our tent for the first time in this trip.

An old man and his son who are taking their khacchars down come and share tea with us. It begins to rain and we all settle around the fire in amiable companionship watching Sur Veer cook. The old man maintains that this rain will not last and that it will clear up before evening. He has several tips to offer Sur Veer on how to make a better dal with the limited ingredients we have and how to prevent the cooker from spilling the dal. For us, he has a puzzle. How can we make three log fires with three logs, with two logs available to each fire? 

The rain stops, and father and son resume their journey politely declining our offer to eat with us. The weather clears up.


Continued .....Dayara to Dodital 3

Dayara to Dodital - 1 May 2012

Just north of Uttarkashi, the Yamuna and the Bhagirathi, still close to the glaciers that feed them, flow hardly 30 kms apart as the crow flies. A spur of the Himalayas extends south from the Banderpoonch range separating the watersheds of the Yamuna and the Bhagirathi/Ganga. We plan to trek from the Bhagirathi valley to the Yamuna valley, crossing this range. Our path will take us over bugyals, past high altitude lakes, across streams fed by glaciers and over a high mountain pass. We will start from Bhatwari on the Gangotri highway and end up at Hanuman Chatti on the Yamunotri highway (see map below). We reckon that it should take 7 or 8 days.

J is my sole co-trekker. I am older than his father is, he informs me after inquiring my age. We met a year back on another trek, hit it off well, and have kept in touch virtually until now. Two brothers from a village near Uttarkashi will accompany us. We would have been happy with just one person who would show us the way and share the load, but we are unable to get a guide to come with us alone. As things turn out, the younger of the two brothers, formally the guide’s assistant, becomes a real asset during the trek. Over the next few days, Sur Veer hauls the bulk of the load (provisions, tents, and cooking utensils), gets campfires going in the worst of conditions, improvises and cooks delicious meals with limited ingredients, finds the trail buried deep in snow, and even takes us bird spotting through the jungle, all in good cheer.

Barsu

Our trek begins at the village of Barsu, perched on a mountain slope overlooking the Bhagirathi valley at some height from the Gangotri highway. We walk through the village and on a steep paved path that climbs rapidly. Looking back, we get a picture postcard view of Barsu in the midst of greenery against the backdrop of snow peaks touching the clouds. 

Barnala Bugyal

A few hours into the climb, we reach a group of thatched huts, walls of rough-hewn stone stacked on top of each other, set out in disorderly fashion, in a small clearing in the forest. These huts belong to the Barsu villagers and are used by them in summer when they bring their cattle up to graze. As of now, they are all empty though it is already the first of May. Summer is clearly late in coming this year. It is early afternoon and ominous clouds have gathered. We are quiet happy to select the best chaini (as our guide refers to the hut) to occupy and camp for the day.

The inside of the chaini is divided into two parts. One side is meant for the animals as is evidenced by the droppings on the floor. The other side is relatively clean and is organized around a fireplace. This chaini has no door and is simply boarded up with loose stone, which we have dismantled to enter. In minutes, Sur Veer has a fire going and ‘Maggie’ ready which we eat with great relish. With something hot inside and the load of the haversacks off our backs, we are ready to explore.

A short climb from our campsite brings us to a gently rolling open green meadow, with trees on its fringes. Higher up, we come across a beautiful pond that has hollowed out a part of the meadow. This is Barnala Tal, in the meadow named Barnala Bugyal. The grass of the Bugyal is obviously the reason why the Barsu villagers bring their cattle here in summer.

Barnala Bugyal (2850 - 3000 m)

It begins to rain and we make our way back to the chaini only to discover that we have several feathered friends. A White-collared Blackbird waits to be photographed. I turn around and spot a comical looking Himalayan woodpecker and then turn back to see a Golden Bush Robin in the fading light.

Sur Veer has cooked the dal and is ready to put the rice in the cooker, but cannot find it. We start searching all the bags without luck. Have we misplaced the rice or did we forget to buy it in the first place? I pull out the handwritten bill made at the Kirana shop in Uttarkashi yesterday and we painstakingly go through every entry in illegible Hindi. There is no rice mentioned on the list! That night we sleep on a dinner of salted dal and a sweet dalia porridge. Tomorrow, we will think of how to manage our meals on the trek without the staple.

Continued ....Dayara to Dodital - Part 2

Birds in the ranges around Uttarkashi

The following birds were spotted foraging near the summer huts of Barsu villagers in Barnala Bugyal, at a height of 2800m. May 2012

<- White-Collared Blackbird. Also spotted a Himalayan Woodpecker.

Golden Bush Robin ->

<- Black Redstart seen at Barnala & Dayara Bugyals ( 2800m-3250m)

Grey Bushchat ->

<- Pink-browed Rosefinch at the Molapla campsite (2600m)

A pair of Turtle Dove (?) -> in the forest along the Sangam Chatti - Satgadi road (~ 2300m)

<- White Capped Water Redstart near the stream flowing into Dodital ( 3000m-3200m).

Aquamarine Flycatcher ->
White supercilium clearly visible

<- Tit (which one ?)

Plumbeous Water Redstart ->
At Dodital (3000m)

What is this water bird? Sitting on the Bevra Gad

Turbulent Sohra

Sunday Deccan Herald travel section carried an edited version of this piece here

We stand on the southern edge of the plateau, looking down on Bangladesh from a height of over 800 m, as if from the parapet of a gigantic fort. The plains of Sylhet stretch out in front of us, a vast canvas in shades of green, streaked with the silver of winding streams and wetlands, in colors muted by the afternoon haze.

For a few moments, we watch a Khasi boy and girl patiently dangling improvised fishing rods into a placid pool framed by rocks. The overflow from the pool falls over the edge, heading for the plains.

    

View from Khoh Ramhah

In the near distance, a mountain stream that has just reached the flats forms a vast sandy delta, emerging from it further on as a meandering river and forking into two. The right fork of the river soon skirts the town of Companygunj, now lost in the haze. Directly below us, a road cuts through thick jungle heading for the border village of Shella.

Satiated with the visual feast, we make our way to our guesthouse in the town now called Sohra, but certainly better known by its former name, Cherrapunjee. Sohra has regained its original Khasi name a few years ago on popular local demand, but it will be some time before it gains the same recognition as Cherrapunji.

Our arrival on the Sohra plateau this morning is announced by a dramatic change in the landscape. Lush green hills rifted with deep valleys give way to a vast undulating grassy plain with scant tree cover. We stop where the road nears the edge of the plateau to marvel at the sheer granite cliffs lined with waterfalls plunging into the depths.

Pappan Paul our cab driver is keen to get started on the tourist circuit - the Ramakrishna Mission, the limestone caves, eco parks, waterfalls. The faster we can get through the circuit, the earlier he will be able to get to bed in Shillong.

Pappan turns out to be an interesting character. After a chance encounter three days back in Shillong, he has become our guide and driver. Pappan is a Bengali but speaks Khasi and Hindi fluently and knows all the locals at every roadside stop. We learn from him that his mother lives in the border village of Shella and that he has relatives in Bangladesh. He has been into Bangladesh – apparently without a passport - to attend a marriage in the family, “many years back”, he is quick to add.

Rat-hole mine on the road to Nohkalikai

 A visit to the Nohkalikai falls is the highlight of the morning. As we drive through a deserted part of the plateau, we pass a ‘rat hole’ coalmine – a small tunnel dug into the side of a hillock to access the coal-bearing seam. The tunnel is not high enough to allow the average person to stand erect. A lone man working the mine runs into the tunnel bent behind a wheelbarrow and disappears from sight. There are piles of coal and red earth outside.

Getting closer to the western edge of the plateau, the weather turns turbulent. Clouds have suddenly appeared, blotting out the blue sky. We seem to be out of luck as thick fog completely hides the rock face where the water falls. A plaque describing the falls reads like English but is actually Khasi in English script. An English translation on the other side acquaints us with the legend of Nohkalikai. Likai, a young woman, leaps from this cliff, grief stricken on learning that her husband has killed her daughter of an earlier marriage. ‘Noh ka Likai’ in Khasi means the ‘Leap of Likai’.

The Moors at the Nohkalikai viewpoint

We take a long walk along the edge of the plateau, in rolling hills covered with sparse grass.  The landscape is reminiscent of the English Moors, with the fog constantly shifting the limits of visibility. The fog lifts briefly and Nohkalikai is visible plunging over the opposite rock face. Cloud and fog far from dampening have actually accentuated the beauty of these surroundings.

Our guesthouse is the former residence of a well to do Khasi family, as we gather from the tasteful furnishings, photographs on the walls and the old artifacts on display. We decide to take a walk around town before it gets dark. The streets have a newly washed look. We walk past an imposing building – the St John Bosco Shrine – to chance upon a beautiful open country of low hills and shallow valleys with clumps of trees amidst the heather. A cemetery spreads out from one of the valleys in this picturesque setting.

Open country behind the Don Bosco shrine

I am curious about the how a Khasi village named Sohra came to be called Cherrapunjee in the colonial period. History, as I discover later, records a story something like this.

After annexing present day Assam in the early nineteenth century, the East India Company sent its Political agent David Scott to open a direct route from the Bramhaputra valley to its outposts in Sylhet. The road selected by Scott passed naturally through Sohra, for Sohra was already connected to Companygunj in the Sylhet plains through a thriving trade in export of limestone mined in the hills. It was not long before the British dug in their heels and established a settlement in the punjee ( the Bangla term for Khasi villages) of Churra (as the British pronounced the name), morphing the name eventually to Cherrapunjee. Scott died soon and was buried in Cherrapunjee. Cherrapunjee remained the colonial capital of the northeast region until 1866 when it yielded this place to Shillong.

Back at the guesthouse, we enjoy a magnificent view of a granite cliff glinting in the setting sun from the balcony. That night, we enjoy a dinner of Chicken curry, vegetable and rice cooked in the Khasi way.

Bridges that grow stronger by the year

We have planned a second day in the Sohra area, this time in a resort near the village of Laitkynsew. The village lies down the road descending from the Sohra plateau to Shella and the Bangladesh border. The resort is run by David, a Tamilian from Madurai. The staff are all Khasi’s from the neighboring villages, well trained in hospitality. David and his charming daughter Angela are the perfect hosts – taking care of our every need and providing us all the information we need to enjoy our stay. After breakfasting on an excellent suji upma (yes, you read right) made by the Khasi cook, I am all charged up to take on the arduous trek to what has been billed as the ‘Double Decker living root bridge’. To top it all, David is also able to persuade C who had initially baulked at the thought of a 6-7 hrs trek to go with me.

Armed with long bamboo poles we set out with Batskem, a local schoolteacher, who will be our guide today. The walk starts down a gradually sloping path that soon becomes a steep stone stairway. At one place where the path turns sharply, the staircase looks as if it is suspended in space far above the green valley floor. We are accompanied by the sound of falling water, the ringing of crickets and the occasional cock crowing in a distant village. We pause to let a villager pass. Though small and compact of build, he is carrying a block of wood on his back, certainly taller and weighing much more than he does. Batskem explains that selling the wood from their land is one of the few sources of income for villagers in these parts.

Passing through a village at the end of the staircase, we encounter a beautiful red-faced bird with colors of blue, black and white - a Kalij pheasant. The bird quickly scampers into the safety of the undergrowth before turning around to stare at us. We are now near the bottom of a valley that carries several streams. The path is slippery and passes through thick tropical vegetation. The air is humid. We cross a fast flowing stream on a makeshift bridge of steel wire ropes that swings with each step and then reach another stream, this time carrying the waters from Nohkalikai, the waters aquamarine. Our guide informs us that a certain algae in the riverbed here is responsible for the color. After another scary rope bridge crossing, we arrive at Nongriat village. A helpful sign points the way to the Umshiang double decker root bridge.

The living root bridge at Nongriat

We investigate each layer of this remarkable bridge. A gigantic rubber tree rests on a bolder on one side of the stream. Secondary roots have been trained by the villagers to span the stream and have penetrated the sloping earth on the other side. The roots take the place of steel ropes. Rocks placed between roots have embedded themselves to form a solid footing for the bridge. In fact, we find that the root bridge is much more stable than the rope bridges we crossed earlier. By the side of the bridge is a natural pool and C decides that this is a perfect place to take a dip. Though we are near the village, our privacy is undisturbed. We eat our packed lunch and laze around until it is time to head back.

We stop by at a Nongriat villagers home to have tea and pick up some oranges from his field. I start counting the number of steps as the ascent begins on this ‘stairway to heaven’; it helps me to stay focussed on taking at least 20 to 30 steps before each pause. We pass betel wines, jackfruit, and Areca nut and Bay leaf trees. A passing cloud brings showers while the sun continues to shine and we take pleasure in getting wet. Looking over our shoulders, we spot a beautiful double rainbow, a rare treat. When we reach the top, I have counted 2040 steps!

Walking towards the resort, we come across a moving plaque in the village of Tyrna. The plaque records the “loving remembrance of 100 years of shifting of the village of Tyrna”. The old Tyrna village along with other villages built on these hillsides suffered irreparable damage in the great Assam earthquake of 1897, having its epicenter in present day Meghalaya not far from where we stand. It is believed to be one of the most powerful earthquakes to hit the Indian subcontinent.

The next morning, we take a farewell walk on Laitkynsew hill to see the Sylhet plains one last time. Our precious takeaway is a photo I take of a Khasi boy protectively closing his arms around his two younger sisters on seeing two strangers walking by.

Birds spotted in and around Udaipur

Brown Rock-chat

These birds were seen at Chittorgarh Fort (left) and near Pichola Lake, Udaipur, Rajasthan, in early March.

Indian Grey Hornbill

Black-winged Stilt, Lake Pichola

Red-wattled Lapwing, Lake Pichola

Bank Myna

Gentle flows the Kapila

Deccan Herald carried an edited version of the following piece on a few days spent in rural Karnataka in its Tuesday supplement, 'Spectrum'

I get up early and enjoy the morning air in the garden, cool, fresh, and invigorating, while waiting for my friends to step out. We walk down to the roundabout that marks the entrance to the town and then take the road heading out.

A few paces on, we come to a bridge that crosses a pretty river. We have not seen anyone else on the road, but there are the proverbial early birds for company – a black and white wagtail perched on the railing of the bridge, a snow-white egret, breeding plumes showing, wading close to the weeds on the riverbank. Crossing the river, the road 

cuts a straight path through fields. Day is yet to break and land, river, and sky appear in muted colors.

We walk through a vast flat expanse of green marked by strips of brown. It is mid March and green is the color of the just transplanted paddy, brown earth marking the borders. A light mist veils the line of trees near the skyline in the far distance, awaiting the heat of the sun to be dispelled. Occasionally, we pass a field that is flooded, reflecting mirror like, the trees standing beyond, in the dim and diffuse light.

Presently, we see a group of women and girls, in colorful dress drawn up to their knees, planting paddy. In the far distance, a farmer is walking his pair of bullocks harnessed to a plough. Paddy field birds abound - Cattle Egrets, Pond Heron’s, Black, and White Ibis. A flock of noisy Rosy Pastors has made a roadside tree with berries their temporary home. By and by, there is more activity on the road with farmers on cycles and the occasional motorized two-wheeler. The pale orange globe of the sun is just visible over the line of trees, as we retrace our path to the guesthouse.

We are in rural Karnataka, in the small town of Suttur, about 30 kms South East of Mysore. The river flowing by the town is the Kabini, more commonly called by the beautiful name Kapila in these parts. Suttur is chiefly known for the Mutt of Jagatguru Sri Shivarathreeshwara, a Veerashaiva saint and the annual jathra organized by the Mutt, and visited by lakhs of farmers. While the work that has brought us here is with the local Krishi Vigyan Kendra, the Mutt has graciously accommodated us in its beautiful guesthouse.

Last evening, after getting here, our first foray outside was to the ghat on the Kapila, just five minutes away. The walk took us through paddy fields with standing water stretching all the way close to the river. Stone steps then led down to the river and we sat down to enjoy the view. Swallows were lined up in a row on an overhead electricity line, biding their time to swoop down and catch flying insects. A flock of Cormorants, looking out into the flowing water, occupied a large boulder jutting out from the river. The Kapila had a gentle flow and looked ever so peaceful reflecting the setting sun that was forcing itself, though weakly, through the clouds.

This evening, having finished with our meetings, we take a walk on the road through the fields. The sun disappears and lights up the western sky in magnificent colors – with brush strokes of yellow orange red and every shade in between, while above us, the sky is still blue. The water in the paddy fields turns pink holding a mirror to the sky. Evenings and mornings are truly to be savored here.

Our stay in Suttur extends over several days and we get the time to explore. We visit the shrine of Shri Shivarathreshwara and enjoy a free lunch along with scores of others at the Dasoha Bhavana run by the Mutt.

Hathinaru Kere

Learning of our interest in birds, the manager of the guesthouse tells us about a lake nearby that attracts local and migratory birds. The kere (lake) is next to Hadinaru village, about 10 kms from Suttur on the Nanjangud road. After a pleasant afternoon drive, we come upon the lake, a sizable water body with an irregular shape, the far corners not even visible. 

A villager helpfully guides us away from the metal bund road, along a cart track towards the opposite shore where we can get a closer look at the birds. After covering some distance on the track, we get on to a small path and then eventually make our own way through the vegetation to get near the lake.

A large flock of what seem to be mainly Glossy Ibis – glistening black birds with slender curved bills - is standing in the shallow waters. I badly miss my binoculars. As we get closer, an awkward looking Grey Pelican senses our presence and starts to move away. Another few steps and the Ibis take flight filling the sky with wings.

Little reedy islands stick out of the lake. On one, there is a clutch of Cormorants looking inward, seemingly engaged in their own Panchayat. I can see large flocks gathered in the further reaches of the lake, but it is too late to walk any further. The sun is going down and we start making our way back.

Across the metal road from the bund, there is a canal and beyond that, fields in different shades of green, extending as far as the eye can see – restful for tired eyes. This is rich farmland, well irrigated. I turn towards the lake and spot a cluster of colorful birds resembling ducks - with a broad white stripe above the eye and blue in their wings. I later identify these as Garganey, winter visitors, which Salim Ali informs, fly all the way from Northern Europe, and other similar latitudes to escape the harsh winters.

The sun has now become a disc of fire behind a tree. We have barely sampled the rich variety of birds that the lake hosts and it is time to leave. In Hadinaru Kere, we have chanced upon a quiet haven for the serious bird watcher, free of the noise and bustle of tourists who throng its illustrious neighbor, Ranganathittu.

Dewara Mara

On another day, we make a stop on the roadside near the town of Chikkahalli on our way to Mysore on the T. Narsipura road. Crossing a living fence, we enter a large plain field, in the middle of which stands this gigantic banyan tree, which the local residents refer to as the Dewara Mara (Gods Tree). The tree is believed to be over 200 years old and covers an area more than an acre. Dewara Mara has a pleasant symmetry about it, its trunks look stolid and its leaves glow with health, though old it maybe. I have seen other giant trees but none as beautiful as this.

Looking back on our trip to Suttur, I think of the many places that we could not visit – the ancient Shiva temple at Nanjangud, the confluence of the Kapila and Kaveri at Narasipura, the sands of Talakad with their buried treasures. And the many questions that we did not ask - like who decided to shorten the beautiful name Tirumakudalu to T in T. Narasipura. All this of course means that we will come to see the Kapila again.