Samrudhdi Kerkar
Sometimes, when I stand on our terrace, the mountain chains of the Western Ghats seem to call me into their embrace. They remind me of older times of wandering through these mountains first on the shoulders of my father, and later by following in his footsteps.
I often feel fortunate to live at the foothills of these lush green Western Ghats. To us, they have always felt like a temple, a refuge where the tangled threads of the mind slowly begin to loosen. Last Sunday, after a long time, we decided to wander through the jungle on foot once again. We thought of exploring the forest as well as the area surrounding the Anjunem Dam reservoir. Anjunem Dam is situated in the gorge of the River Kalti, or Guleli Nalla, in Anjunem village. To many, this is merely a scenic picnic spot. Last monsoon, the area around the reservoir had even earned the name ‘Mini Kashmir’.
But beyond its beauty lies another world, one inhabited by countless creatures who may not appreciate human intrusion into their sacred home. We visit this place only once in a while, and always with care, simply to observe the forest and lose ourselves within its wilderness. For most of the year, the area remains submerged underwater, making it dangerous to walk through. But during summer, as the water slowly retreats, the earth hardens and cracks open everywhere, resembling slabs of chocolate spread beneath the sky, making it a little safer to tread upon.
Earlier, a few villages named Anjunem, Kelavade, Gulle and Pansuli rested quietly in the embrace of nature. Today, they lie submerged beneath the waters, with 344 families rehabilitated in Morle and Ravan. Yet, memories of those villages still echo across the barren land through ruined walls and dilapidated structures. Now, a new village of wildlife thrives there, with creatures living their quiet lives in the peaceful wilderness near the reservoir.
To reach this place, we had to cross a dense forest. It was early morning when we began our walk, perhaps the gentlest hour to step outdoors in summer. But the moment we reached the place, a red-wattled lapwing grew restless. Feeling apologetic for disturbing her, we walked with utmost care, making sure not to unknowingly step upon her eggs hidden amidst the earth.
Even in the summer, the place looked heavenly. Before us stretched a vast green carpet sprinkled with tiny lavender-coloured flowers across the barren land. The unexpected summer showers had breathed life back into the earth. The place was alive with the sounds of Malabar giant squirrels, hornbills and countless birds.
Wild berries like bhedsa had just begun to ripen, appearing like splashes of purple amidst the green leaves. It seemed to be a grand feast for the animals, their seedy droppings scattered everywhere as signs of their indulgence. We also noticed piles of neatly eaten mango seeds and wondered which animal could have devoured so many mangoes at once. That was when Vitthal Bhayya told us they were regurgitated remains from Sambar deer.
Just as we walked further, we spotted a group of Sambar deer near the water. Frightened by our presence, they ran as far as they could until they appeared like tiny dots in the distance before freezing in place and looking back at us with confusion and curiosity. Seeing them after so long filled me with joy. I remember that, a few years ago, Sambars were a common sight that welcomed us into this jungle. But nowadays, because of the growing traffic along the ghat road, sightings have become rare.
Towards the end of our trip, some of us also encountered a robust wild gaur, one that stood before us fearlessly, meeting our eyes without hesitation. To witness so many encounters within just an hour felt almost unbelievable. But more than anything, these fleeting moments with the wild made the journey feel truly special and unforgettable.
