School vacations in the 1950s usually saw us avidly exploring Munnar’s lush tea fields and forests with a boldness born of sheer curiosity. Sometimes I struck out alone with an ancient air-rifle for company. It had seen better days—being about as lethal as a peashooter! But it did give me a false sense of security.
Once I chanced upon a magnificently antlered stag drowsing in a glen, its ears mechanically flicking away pesky flies. Hardly 30 metres away, it was blissfully unaware of my presence as it basked in the warm afternoon sun. For several minutes I stood wonderstruck admiring its recumbent form. Then I unknowingly stepped on a twig that crackled crisply. Alarmed, the herbivore sprang up and fled, crashing through the underbrush.
Early one morning I heard two giant Malabar squirrels lustily heralding the day with their staccato calls. Then, as if in a preplanned move to mesmerise me, the sun rose bright and fiery and the duo leapt gracefully to another tree several feet away. As they did so, the sun brilliantly highlighted their black, russet and tawny-hued coats against the azure sky—a truly gorgeous sight that I can still picture.
In contrast, a troop of Nilgiri langurs hidden amidst dense foliage once scared the daylights out of us. Shattering the silence of the jungle, they suddenly exploded into a series of eerie whoops that rose to a scary crescendo before dying down equally abruptly. Soon we saw the simians swinging lithely from branch to branch. I later learnt that this ruckus was their alarm call—it was certainly quite a startling initiation for a bunch of pre-teens!
Pranks sometimes seamlessly merged into our nature lessons. Once I clambered up a steep ledge to check out a dove’s nest and, to my horror, found a snake holed up there. I quickly slunk down and, masking my shock, silently signalled a companion to take a peek. Up he promptly went—only to scream hysterically and tumble down, skinning his shin badly. I had to virtually carry him all the way back.
Once while trout-fishing I noticed several otters similarly engaged, their heads barely visible above the water. Keeping a wary eye on me, they fanned out and each time one of them dived into the lake, it surfaced with a wriggling trout in its jaws. Unsurprisingly, I caught nothing—besides scaring away the trout, the otters had outshone me with their superior fishing skills.
Stalking jungle fowl was suspenseful but seldom successful, for the alert roosters would scurry away at the first hint of danger, often abandoning their harems—for all their flamboyance, jungle roosters are seldom known for chivalry! A local who could imitate their strident crowing once tried to teach me this skill—but soon gave up, opining that I sounded more like a moribund bullfrog!
Besides sparking an abiding interest in nature, those fun-filled days brought excitement, adventure and discovery laced with an ever-present element of risk—for we never knew what danger lurked round the corner in those misty hills.