The Hindu Business Line : Veil of mist

We didn't get to browse enough information on this grassy patch of land. But the veil of obscurity certainly had its own charm. Vagamon's verdancy ambushed us at every turn, as our rickety jeep clambered up the road through Theekoy village. Streamlets flowed across the run-down road onto the valley to the left, where flowery plants swayed in the brilliance. The shallow vale gradually grew into a deep gorge and, finally, became a vast sweep of land clothed in green.

Vagamon, like the Periyar Tiger Reserve in Thekkady, is one of Idukki district's prized possessions. Lush green meadows are interspersed with Shola forests, a topography not too common in Kerala. It was fun strolling up and down the mounds of grass, which the locals call motta kunnu (bald hill). We wandered about in gay abandon for long, sometimes bumping into plump cows grazing here and there. Brown soil showed up at a few places — the handiwork of visitors who drag their cars up, shaving off large portions of the grass.

Tea plantations are fewer here compared to hill-stations like Munnar. We sighted a patch of tall, stately pine trees. Sheets of mist floated across as we walked down the pine valley; the mist soon grew so thick that we were forced to make a hasty retreat.

The haze hogged us at Mooppanpara too — the V-shaped gorge, more popularly known as `suicide point.' Stand on the edge and a quiver runs down the spine. We waited until the mist flew away, to see the deepest point of the ravine.

We stayed at one of the two well-kept resorts in Vagamon. Tourism is slowly picking up. And most visitors come on day trips from nearby townships. On the second day, we went in search of a phone booth. We finally stumbled upon one at Kolahalamedu, about 2 km from the hotel.

A small board near a row of shops gave directions to a place called Thangal Para. However, heavy monsoon had left the road patchy on many stretches and our jeep could go only up to a rivulet much below the rock cluster.

We trekked cautiously, following the arrows marked in white paint. The mist played spoilsport all the while... leaving us wary about venturing down the slippery rocks.

At the top, a narrow path leads to Thangal Para — a precariously perched huge rock. Right next to the rock is the dargah of Sheikh Fariduddin. The maulvi told us that the Sufi saint, who had come from Afghanistan, lived and died here about 800 years ago. Legend has it that a small stone he used to grind pan with has grown into the globular rock.

Scores of devotees throng the para (rock) during the annual `Urus' festival. The adjacent `Murugan Mala' houses a Murugan temple, while the Kurisumala (Mountain of the Cross) has a church atop it. But we were too tired to attempt the climb. Near the foothills of Kurisumala is the Kurisumala Ashram, a Cistercian abbey established in 1958 by Abbot Francis Acharya, a Belgian Cistercian, and Fr Bede Griffiths, an English Benedictine.

Christian monasticism blends with Indian tradition here. The monks wear saffron robes and dhotis, and their evening prayers include quotations from the Vedas, Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita. And their lifestyle is austere — they walk barefoot, cook vegetarian food and sit on the floor to eat.

One of the monks took us around the low stone building, the satsang hall, vegetable garden, bread-baking unit, dairy farm and milk-processing centre. We were offered a glass of hot `Kurisumala milk', an ashram brand that sells well in nearby townships. Towards evening the monks assembled in the chapel. A traditional oil lamp decorated with flowers was lit in front of the altar. We too sat in prayer for a while. As we walked down to the ashram gate, the prayer that rent the air was redolent with Indian and European legacies.

Picture by the author

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Mardi grass!