Forest
Where there is indescribable beauty, expect to find god in the vicinity. In the pristine mountains of Himachal Pradesh, devtas, the goddesses who are the genius loci, are taken on picnics; tribal households flaunt their own deities represented by a dang, a triangular flag, tied atop a bamboo stick, in the lush forests of Chhattisgarh. In verdant, virginal Nagaland, the souls of the dear departed reside in wild animals. For the forest-dwelling Kadars of Kerala, god is in everything around them – animals and plants are ancestors and family. One dead animal or a tree felled is a painful snip, a lost connection, in the ever-expanding web of life and spiritual sustenance. With the state government batting blinkered for the controversial Athirappilly hydropower project and riding roughshod over warring opinions and saner environmental stances, the coming months will be crucial for this riverine people.
Vazhachal – a primer for Athirappilly
The Kadars live in the forests flanking the Chalakkudy River which starts from the Sholayar range in the upper reaches of the Western Ghats. Athirappilly, Kerala’s highest waterfalls, is located on the river in Trichur district. The tribe resides in small settlements in Trichur and Palakkad districts, have been traditionally the caretakers of the flora and fauna around them. Of a nomadic nature, they cultivate rice and millets for their own use. Restrictions in the use of forest land forced them to find employment in nearby towns as wage labourers while the women vend wild honey, cardamom, ginger, wax and sago collected from the forest.
Many also work as guides and guards in the forest they have known all their lives and are sworn to protect with it, if need be. Skirmishes with the timber mafia, hunters and other wildlife poachers are common. The Kadars are also the first community in India to invoke a central legislation, the Forest Rights Act (2006), which was passed for their own welfare, to protect the forest. According to the Act, no government or private project can be implemented in a forest land without the approval of the tribal grama sabhas. When an Environment Impact Assessment showed that 168 hectares of jungle teeming with biodiversity would be submerged, the Kodar grama sabha decided they would fight the project tooth and nail.
With the recent nod given to the Kerala State Electricity Board for a 163 MW power project, it is going to be a full blown battle.
Waterfalls
Early this year, I traced the rapid-abundant Chalakkudy River on my motorcycle through the Vazhachal forest region. Stately teaks and eucalyptus trees and clusters of gigantic bamboos lined the roadside providing some passing relief from the humid sun. Macaques stood watching the occasional vehicle with absolute disinterest, unmoving even when some stopped to proffer munchies. In Kerala even starveling simians weren’t shorn of attitude. Frequent billowy sounds rose from the canopies above which was followed by gusts of wind like from a low-flying recon; though I stopped a few times to inspect the source it remained a mystery until a forest guard told me later that it was the hornbill. The hornbill, state bird of Kerala, is locally known as ‘malamuzhakky’ which means ‘one whose sound reverberates between mountains.’
Ancient trees with flared boles and unpronounceable names
Leaving my motorcycle at the parking lot, I walked towards the ticketed entry to Vazhachal, a popular waterfall, a primer for what awaits you at Athirappilly. Vazhachal is quieter whitewater compared to the copious cataract of Athirappilly. On a weekend morning, the only other visitors are a few elderly and dating student couples. I oblige a few for their photographic requirements and receive critical grunts in appreciation. As the viewpoint benches were overflowing, I walked through a landscaped pathway towards the forest and sat on a bunch of rocks facing the river. The moss glistened from the spray and the foliage sparkled across the river. From the Western Ghats into the Arabian Sea, 145 km of frothy white hemmed in by an abundance of sheeny green. A feature unique to the river – such riparian vegetation at low elevation couldn’t be found anywhere along the 1600 km long Western Ghats.
The 12 km from Vazhachal to Athirappilly is one of the most scenic woodland roads you will ride on. Around every bend you find a different slice of verdant bliss. Understandably, many ‘save the dates’ shoots are also underway along the stretch which has begun to look like sweet porn flicks; guess I missed all the fun by a couple of decades. More cool macaques and heavy propelling hornbills set the forest cover aflutter. Ancient trees with flared boles stood proudly bearing metal plates with unpronounceable names. It was impossible to pass by without stopping and staring at their unflinching trunks with approbation. The river flowed, brimming with a diversity – 104 varieties of fish in the last count – which has earned it the epithet of a fish sanctuary.
Like diamonds over emerald rock face
Electricity
For a state where devastating floods have become an annual phenomenon the go-ahead to the power project by the government is nothing short of suicidal. The Western Ghats Ecology Experts Panel chaired by eminent environmentalist Madhav Gadgil had clearly stated that no more new dams – there are already half a dozen major ones along Chalakkudy River – be permitted in Ecologically Sensitive Zones 1 and 2. That Athirappilly is an ESZ 1 area the state government and the electricity board seem to have conveniently overlooked. This is also a clear violation of the rights granted to the tribals under the Forests Rights Act.
Legal stand offs over the years have been nothing short of eventful. The Union ministry of environment and forests had given forest clearances in two phases in 1997 and 1999 and environmental clearance in 1998. Though the Kerala high court suspended all three sanctions based on a series of public interest litigations and directed the central government to withdraw the clearances, the state electricity board obtained a new set of clearances from the MoEF in 2005. Within a year, this was quashed again by the state high court. On the basis of dubious environment assessments and watered down public hearings, the MoEF re-issued the sanctions in 2007; two division benches of the high court heard the case twice in 2008 and 2009. It was then the Gadgil Committee came into the picture as a study instituted by the MoEF only – eventually whose recommendations too were ignored. As the report came directly in the way of vested interests in mining, roads, railways, resorts and other construction including power projects, the central ministry was hugely reluctant in sharing the details. It took a series of concerted RTIs by dedicated individuals for it to be eventually made public.
The unique riparian vegetation at low elevation
Tourists huffed their way up and down the winding stepped walkway that led to the waterfalls. The sweltering heat was made slightly bearable by water-cooled air that swept over me. Everybody pussyfooted over moist riverbed boulders trying to get as close as possible to the falling water. A rope kept visitors a safe distance away from the plunge pool; guards armed with batons and whistles kept strict vigil from two watch huts. The water cascades down in three separate plumes from a height of over 80 feet. Even though the place was milling with tourists, a fine film of spray enveloped the area lending it an aura of make-believe. The water fell like diamonds tumbling over the emerald rock face suspending a million rainbows in the air. If this was the land of gods, this must be where they showered. The wild, virginal lure made it a favourite with scores of filmmakers mostly for their song sequences; Karuwaki’s merrily oblivious seduction of Asoka in Santosh Sivan’s eponymous movie is a personal favourite. Not the stiff choreography or tacky costumes but Sivan’s camera drawing parallels between the untouched land and the blemishless nymphet.
It is not just much beauty going under concrete, but if the hydropower project takes off it will also be the burial of a birding hotspot, an elephant reserve and migratory route and habitats of the rare cane turtle among several endangered, endemic others. Submerging 168 hectares of forest will be ecologically most disastrous especially for a state where devastating floods have become routine. Besides, the clearance sets the wrong template – a host of such piecemeal apocalypses await go-ahead all over Kerala, many in and around the fragile Western Ghats itself. The timing of the latest clearance is also suspect: looks like the government expects the corona pandemic to keep protesters at bay. Muffling voice is as good as stifling it. Though the opposition has currently come out hammer and tongs against the project for protests to continue into fruition it has to be spearheaded by non-governmental organisations. A morally upright, scrupulous, focussed and diligent face. And, check! We still have the Silent Valley as a national park and not as a dam because of Sugathakumari.
Tracing the rapid-rich Chalakkudy river
And the Kadars. Because of the magnitude of the project, muscle will come into play, politics will sway and money will change hands. Then noggin doles are for the waifs. The Kadars believe the ‘kadu’ or the forest is their home and the animals and trees members of their family, living and dead. Nobody gives up their home without a fight.
And their home is a big one which has opened its doors to many, many others.
