Published in
the 01 Dec 2014 edition of www.jlrexplore.com, a nature and wildlife-specific website.
Nanjaraja, the king of Nanjarayapatna, had many
enemies. In a dream, he was told that his troubles would vanish if he built a
temple in a day. The task seemed impossible, but if anybody had a chance of
doing it, it was the masterful Chola architects. They were pressed into service
and set about achieving the deadline, working through the night. An errant
rooster crowed earlier than usual, and the Chola builders left, assuming it was
daybreak. A bridge - presumably across the river Cauvery - remained unfinished.
Nobody knows if Nanjaraja’s fortunes reversed.
Fast forward five hundred years - Tipu Sultan’s
pillaging army found neither gold nor gems in that temple, known as
Veerabhadreshwara temple. Uninterested, they left it half-destroyed, saying “We’ll
return another time to do this”, or, “We’ll come dubara”, giving Dubare forest its name.
 |
| The
ruins of Veerabhadreshwara temple on the road leading to Dubare |
A couple of centuries after Tipu Sultan, I packed my
suitcase with equal disinterest; I threw in a few long-pending books, confident
of finishing them that weekend. Being a seasoned, four-prior-holidays-in-Coorg
veteran was reason enough for me to have my nose up in the air - I’d already
had a ‘stay in a home-stay’ holiday; I was also done with my ‘pamper yourself in
one of Coorg’s resorts’ holiday; I’d also had the rather rare ‘stay with your
coffee plantation owner friend’ weekend. All the famous sights had already been
seen – Bylakuppe, Abbey falls, Raja’s seat, Omkareshwara temple, elephant
bathing at Dubare, Talacauvery. Why, I’d been on a trekking holiday to
Thadiyandamol too. I sighed, kicking myself for not planning to go to a new
destination.
Of course, lying around reading books with an
endless supply of coffee can never be too bad, I consoled myself. My other-half
(henceforth OH) had no such motivations for returning to Coorg; he staunchly
refused to join me. I unabashedly lied to him, promising we’d spend all three
days exploring facets of Coorg we’d never seen before. As we waited by the
Cauvery on the bank opposite the Dubare Elephant Camp, for the Jungle Lodges’
boat to pick us up, I wondered how much time I had before my deception was
exposed.
 |
| The
landing dock at JLR Dubare, by the Cauvery |
Three days later, OH gently steers our car over a
bad stretch of road, to prevent the cheap liquor bottles filled to the brim
with luscious Coorgi honey from clanging into each other and breaking. I glance
at him for a ‘holiday indicator’ expression that is usually writ large at the
end of each trip - a broad grin is plastered over his face.
Me: Enjoyed
breakfast today, huh? You’re smiling.
OH: Yeah, the
neer dosas were melt-in-your-mouth. And, I’m going to miss this coffee! (glaring
at a honking car and frowning) Well, we better get used to our return to the
urban jungle.
Me: So you’re
glad you tagged along? You almost didn’t!
OH: I frankly
didn’t expect the cottages at the JLR property to be set by a peaceful side of
the river. I was half-expecting screaming crowds - bathing elephants or boating
- right outside my room.
Me: I agree; this
was a pleasant surprise. And who knew the forest began in their backyard! I was
more thrilled with our morning walks than the jeep safaris, though. Once Putta
Naik reassured me about being on foot in elephant territory, the plants,
spiders, damselflies and other critters had my undivided attention. I’ve never
spent ten minutes watching a spider spin its web!
 |
| A
nature walk in Dubare, with the river for company |
OH: (braking
suddenly) We’re almost at the turnoff to Chiklihole…are you sure you don’t want
to check if the view today is better?
Chiklihole, a reservoir, is one of Dubare’s little-known
secrets. When we’d visited the day before, the weather had been moody. The
water was a still, lacklustre sheet, with a mist-covered backdrop. The grey
monotone of both the sky and the reservoir offset the vivid colours of the
fishing coracles - not your quintessential picture-postcard vista, but,
dramatic enough to command attention. The clouds, unfortunately, decided to
deny us the spectacular sunset the locals had raved about. I could have spent
many hours shooting the breeze, seated on the coarse stones of the humongous
embankment, except, OH had dragged me away. For a good cause, though; I would
have missed the fish auction if he hadn’t. Grown men running at break-neck
speed, all for snapping up some fish, is not an everyday sight. At one point,
two men almost got into blows over a beauty; egged on by their respective
friends, they persisted for many minutes, until the fishermen intervened to
seal the deal.
 |
| Fishermen and their fishing coracles, at Chiklihole reservoir |
OH: (recollecting
the fish-war) The locals sure seem to love their fish!
Me: Fish, and
spices! Remember, Harsha showed us those deceptively small Gandhari chillies in
his plantation? He was horrified when I said I wanted to taste one; he quietly
steered me away from those bushes.
OH: (laughing)
You would have been blinded like Gandhari, had you eaten one. I’m glad you
forced me to visit a plantation – I feel like a pro, being able to tell the
difference between Arabica and Robusta.
 |
| Coffee beans, in various stages of drying |
Not only was OH happy, spurred by Harsha (our guide),
he had even plucked fresh pepper, vowing to make some pickle once home. Harsha and
his family invest a lot of time and energy looking after their coffee plantation,
like many Kodavas do. It isn’t easy,
despite having sprinklers for watering the plants. Keeping them pest-free and
harvesting the beans when just right is hard work. Not all creatures are pests,
though; their plantation is home to a host of critters which are welcome – we
spotted giant wood-spiders and well-camouflaged toads too.
 |
| Camouflaged toad in the coffee plantation |
Me: Until
Harsha told me, I didn’t know that spiders were such an integral part of coffee
plantations.
OH: For that
matter, wildlife seems so inseparable from Coorg. Even if you are not looking
for wildlife, it finds you. Like when you saw an Indrella ampulla on the compound
wall of a devara kadu.
Me: Or when I
narrowly missed stepping over the bracket fungi in the devara kadu at
Chettalli. I’m so happy we could see a few of these sacred groves.
I hadn’t known about devara kadus until I read an article some months ago. These forest
patches have survived the onslaught of development, as sacred groves. Some remain
in their primal form under trees, while others are being ‘developed’, with
small temple-like structures being built. This trip had allowed me to peek into
this spiritual side of life in Coorg.
 |
| Bracket fungi and a stream, in a devara kadu by the road, at Chettalli |
OH: The next time
we visit, we must time it to witness ritual dances at these devara kadus. Or probably visit in March, when the grand
puja is conducted at the Veerabhadreshwara temple - with priests coming from
all over Karnataka, it promises to be festive.
Me: I wouldn’t
mind another visit. I still need to experiment with photographing star trails.
I am unhappy with the results this time, but we should get clear skies once this
monsoon passes. You really missed experiencing midnight by the river!
I had spent many hours at night waiting by the
river, hoping for the skies to clear. The riverside took on a different
character, as the cobalt blue of dusk slowly turned inky. With people tucked
away in their homes and hotels, a permeating silence descended on the Cauvery -
one that allowed me to hear the gentle sloshing of the currents. Curious to see
how the transformation progressed, I awoke at 2 am, only to find the landscape
mist-covered and eerily beautiful, bathed in bluish-white moonlight. Though it
felt too spooky for a walk, the cottage’s balcony had been perfect to lounge
in, at that time.
 |
| River-side
cottages at JLR Dubare |
OH: (smiling) I
may have had the energy to wake up in the middle of the night, if I hadn’t
spent all evening chasing you around Madikeri’s buildings. You architects are
magnetically attracted to buildings, aren’t you?
Me: (embarrassed
and defensive) You enjoyed those monuments as much as I did! The Madikeri
fort’s upkeep is a little disappointing, but walking on the moss-covered ramparts,
taking in the town’s views, made up for it. Very few visitors seem to enjoy it,
though.
OH: And even
fewer visit Gaddige. The tombs may be decrepit, but their location is
beautiful. So is some of the architectural detailing.
 |
| Moss-covered Madikeri Fort |
 |
| Kings’ tombs, called ‘Gaddige’, set on an elevated patch of land in the middle of bustling Madikeri |
Me: (laughing)
Spoken like an architect’s husband! If only I were born a century ago, we could
have lived in a gorgeous ‘Ain Mane’. We were lucky to even stumble upon one of
these ancestral houses – most have been demolished to make way for newer homes.
 |
| A typical Kodava ‘Ain Mane’ |
Unlike Tipu’s demolishing soldiers who never
returned, OH sheepishly agrees that Coorg definitely merits repeat visits. He still
needs to ride down the Cauvery in a coracle. And, Putta Naik, our naturalist,
has promised to show us many more critters and interesting insect-behaviour
within the Jungle Lodges property.
 |
| A leaf-hopper, seen during a nature walk |
I, however, had ended my holiday floating in a
coracle amidst cheery, bright water lilies, past the resort’s gol-ghar, waving to OH, who had opted
for a head start on breakfast. There, in that coracle, I reminded myself - even
as a by-now-five-holiday veteran, I have more to seek out in Coorg, if I do
come, ‘dubare’.
P.S: My books did not see the outside of my
suitcase. Coorg had had the last laugh.
 |
| Water lilies and a dragonfly |
In a corner, a burst
of purple perked up the forest floor – Impatiens nodding away in the gentle
breeze. These bright flowers grow near water or in moist conditions, and are
endemic to the Western Ghats, of which Thadiyandamol is a part. An iridescent
damselfly and a sluggish snail later, our naturalist urged us to move ahead,
only because we needed time at hand for completing the trek before either the
rain appeared or the sun disappeared; at worst, both. If we made good time, we
could be slower on our way back, he promised. 
The sudden
calls of the Bright-headed Cisticola – a bird as tiny as its name is long – was
all that was needed for our entire group to first break into a jig, and then a
jog, as we tried in vain to keep up with the hyperactive bird. By then, the sun
had reached its pinnacle, it had begun drizzling, and we had just reached past the
mid-point, identifiable by a big boulder on a fairly level ground. A
deliciously cold stream soothed our aching feet, as we energised ourselves with
lunch and some well-deserved rest before the steep and rocky last leg of the
trek.
Nearing the summit,
we stopped yet again. Sure, it helped us catch our breath from the climb, but,
more importantly, it brought us face to face with our most prized sighting –
the carnivorous plant, Drosera. Calling it a ‘sighting’ is probably a stretch –
the species found here is smaller than blades of grass, barely discernible to
the naked eye. The ingenuity of a plant this size is mind-boggling – rather
than being easy prey, it is actually a predator. Each ‘leaf’ has glandular tentacles which are
topped with globules of sticky secretion. Assuming these to be dew, insects get
stuck to the plant, ending up as its food. 
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