Munnar has its stories- we've heard many over the last couple of days. Sitting on these clump of rocks, we silently ponder over them. The setting makes these stories more engaging.
Behind us, looms the Aanamudi Peak which overlooks the entire Munnar valley. It is the highest speak in South India, taller than even the Doddabhetta, the more well known peak in the Nilgiris.
The Aanamudi Peak- majestic and stately, lives up to its name (aana - elephant, mudi- head). It looks like a colossal elephant- complete with the gentle slope of the back, the dome-shaped head and the curve of the trunk. It is pure rock- shaved off all vegetation. A damp-streak here, a dried trickle there.....breaks the monotony of the rock façade. Perhaps, it is juice from the elephant in "musth", perhaps, dried tears of a bygone tale. We would never know.
The story of Munnar is the story of tea. The earliest inhabitants of Munnar were the "Mudhuvans", the adivasis, who made these hills their own. They were driven out of the plains and climbed these hills. A sturdy tribe, they brought all their possessions strapped to their backs. Hence, the name "mudhuvans", the "back-people". The tribe can still be seen in pockets, just as they were...eons ago.
As per a popular story, 150 years ago, an Englishman scoured this part of the country. Tired and exhausted, he flopped down at a Mudhuvan home. The Mudhuvan family nursed him with a concoction which gave him instant energy. The drink was tea! The rest, as they say, is history. We do not know whether the world-wide fascination for tea had its origin in China or at this Mudhuvan home. For Munnar, this chance episode would change its future. Around 1880, the British Officer Munroe, purchased the land around Munnar from the chieftain Kannan Devan.
Soon, the slopes were cleared and tea was grown. Thus was born the Kannan Devan brand of tea. The tea estates would change a number of hands in the next 100 years- the Finley Group followed by Tata. Now, KDHP (Kannan Devan Hills Plantation) is a co-operative enterprise, where every employee on these tea estates, shapes the future.
Tea is everywhere. It has literally taken over these hills. The dazzling green of tea, with its characteristic crisscrossed, block-shaped contours, meets the eye on every turn. It's as if these hills were covered with a full coat of fluorescent-green icing....and then chopped up into chunks of cake. Above the tea-line, the hills are bordered with the Eucalyptus.
The eucalyptus was not native to Munnar at all. It has its own story. The seeds were smuggled from Australia, in a pair of socks! Now, it competes with tea as the most recognizable feature on these hills.
Our musings are interrupted as the wind picks up at Aanamudi Peak. Ahead, the hills are stacked row upon row, right up to the horizon. Clouds float like wisps of cotton on the distant hills. Beyond those distant hills is Kochi, some 125 km away. That's how we got to Munnar- a 3 hour drive from Kochi airport. The drive took us through Kaladi, the birthplace of the saint Adi Shankara and we crossed the Purna River. The route was scenic and characteristic of Kerala- an unbroken row of houses on either side of the road. 1.5 hours of winding road eventually got us to Munnar.
Munnar gets its name from "moonu-aaru"- confluence of three ("moonu") rivers ("aaru"). The rivers are Kanniaar, Nalla Thanniaar and Paarvati-poothanaar". They join at Munnar and the combined flow speeds to the West and empties itself in the Arabian Sea.
There is little water in the river this time of the year. You have to visit the place in August, after the rains. That's when the rivers come to life- fed by the running water from these hills.
At the confluence of the three rivers, we see a confluence of the three great religions. On one side, is the ancient Subramanya Temple, on the other is a Masjid and the Carmel Church occupies the third side.
About 200 years ago, a Sufi saint, Pir Mohammad walked on these hills. His dargah at Pallivaasal is revered by all devotees.
Munnar is known for its spices. Our trip to Spice Garden was informative. These are the spices which brought the Europeans to the Malabar 500 years ago- nutmeg, vanilla, betel and cardamom, the king of spices.
Whether it is Ooty, Kodai or Munnar, their story is inextricably linked to the British. As the tea estates mushroomed, you required transport. The British built a mono-rail, a regular-rail and even a ropeway. All this happened at the turn of the 20th century. A flash flood in 1924 wiped off Munnar and with it, the rail too. The train would never run again. Today, the tourist gets a chance to visit "Top Station", which was the last station for the rail in those days. Presently, there is no train, no station. A viewpoint is all that greets us. A sudden fog robbed us of the view too. On a bright day, the viewpoint overlooks Theni and the plains of Tamil Nadu. Before we hit "Top Station", we went over the Maattupatti Dam over the Paarvati-Poothanaar River. On one side, is the expansive lake, with tourists making a beeline for the boats.
The story of Munnar...is eventually nature's story- of rolling hills and picturesque valleys, of tea-meadows and dense jungle, of cloud-kissed mountain peaks and deep ravines, of mountain streams and dried waterfalls, of sudden fog and incessant drizzle, of the "neelakurinji" flower and the Nilgiri Tahr, of misty mornings....and the nightly chorus of the Cricket.....
Aanamudi Peak gets darker by the minute. The wind is stiff. The wisps of cotton suddenly take a turn from the distant hills and collide with us....face on! You can feel the moisture and the sudden dip in temperature. I thought I felt a touch upon my shoulder. I turn around. There's no one. The clouds let out a deep sigh...There is surely some presence on this Peak. Is it the presence of that English lady, fresh from England, who was so enchanted by these hills upon arrival, that she said....she wanted to be forever in this place? How portentous those words were. Two days later, she died of Cholera. She lies buried in these hills. That cloudlet, that cotton-wisp, is that perhaps her white skirt fluttering in the wind......and that sigh, perhaps her trailing voice......and that touch upon my shoulder, perhaps....perhaps....
Quickening our pace, we bolt for the bus.
Munnar has secrets, which will be hers......forever!
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Ink and watercolor- done on location at the "Fog", Munnar  |
