While in service, I could visit, on public funds, every nook and corner of Kerala for bank inspections. From the electricitydeprived Wayanad forests, frying pans of Palakkad to the cardamom- smelling (and selling) mountain slopes of Idukki. During the first two cool evenings of my visit to a locality in Idukki, I spent my time sitting in the verandah of the government rest house, drinking to the bottomless beauty of the surroundings, silhouettes of cloud-caressed mountains, thread-sized trees that resembled bonsai plants and moving dots of an occasional pachyderm.
But this initial euphoria waned; the cloying charm palled on me. A change proved imperative. I decided I would take walks. Idukki reserves for you, a sumptuous verdure. If you get bored with the cardamom hills in the south, you had the option of walking northward where you could see cardamom hills. If this did not satisfy you (too demanding and hard to please, I would say) you could try the west-bound road, and you could, for a change, feast your eyes on cardamom hills.
On the third day, I chanced on a rugged pathway forking from a junction, running east. A signboard indicated that this was the property of the state electricity board. One evening, I decided to walk along this road. After covering a few yards, I saw an worker with the electricity board returning from his duty. With stories doing the rounds of dangers to men and materials from elephants, I told him, to test the waters, about my intention to walk for an hour or so along that way.
Regarding the chances of my early exit from the world due to misunderstandings with elephants, he, in a tone quite encouraging and words equally reassuring, dispelled all such apprehensions. Greatly relieved, I walked a few steps forward. Then, as if having second thoughts, he shouted, “Sir, I am not quite sure about tigers.” I have never been on cordial terms either with elephants or with tigers owing mainly to dearth of opportunities. My knowledge of zoology here is confined to this snippet: Elephants are herbivorous and the felines carnivorous.
And I was not sure what would the nature of my appeal be to either group. I had three options: I could allow an elephant to kill me for sport, not for food. Or I could take chances with the tiger, which could be driven by spirit as well as hunger. Or I could return to the rest house. I chose the third. You might consider me a poltroon, but I am happy with the way I am. Back in the rest house, I thought things over, energised by a cup of the famed Munnar tea.
C Divakaran
Email: cdmenon@asianetindia.com
