The rain started soon after we started climbing the ghats towards Munnar. The sky turned ominously dark, adding to the gloomy day and the agony in the driver’s voice as he narrated how his family suffered in the deluge that had destroyed several parts of Kerala only a few weeks ago.

COMMERCIAL BREAK
SCROLL TO CONTINUE READING

He pointed out to landslides and destroyed homes, but it was impossible to see anything clearly through the downpour. Proud that locals had rallied and volunteered, he kept repeating that the relief had been forthcoming, irrespective of religion or caste.

Navigating the wet, torturous roads, we wondered if our trip to see the beautiful Neelakurinji shrubs, which bathe the hillsides in purplish-blue every 12 years would be successful or if we had been too ambitious in visiting at the end of September when the rains were still pelting the countryside. But the next morning was crisp and sunny and we set out before 8am for the Eravikulam National Park.

Getting there is possible only through the Forest Department shuttles. A wise decision, given our Indian penchant for noisy driving and going easy on rules. Within the park itself, no vehicular traffic is allowed. The sanctuary is also home to the endangered Nilgiri Tahr mountain goat. The constant patrolling ensures that the zone remained litter-free and free of miscreants.

The Neelakurinji (Strobilanthes kunthianus) or as the locals call it Kurinji Poo, is a shrub that flowers once every 12 years – a phenomenon documented since 1838! They grow at an altitude of over 5,000ft requiring a temperate climate. In fact, the Nilgiri mountains get their name from this fabled blue floral carpeting. Of the 250 known Strobilanthe varieties, 46 are found in the Western Ghats, and Munnar is recommended as one of the best places to witness the coloured expanse. Blooming occurs only with the receding monsoon, so the best time to visit is between August and November.

Our initial excitement at seeing the short, compact bushes filled with shades of blue and purple was tempered as we climbed the slopes, realising that the flowering was only in patches, and nowhere as abundant as the pictures and expected to see in reality. Regardless, it was breathtaking. The clusters, though dense only in parts, were in full bloom giving the mountainside an ethereal blue-grey tinge. Small birds and brightly coloured butterflies flew overhead alighting intermittently on the shrubbery, while mountain goats could be seen occasionally at a distance. Across the valley were stupendous vistas of green terraced tea gardens and shola forests beyond. As we descended, we had a delightful surprise. A tahr decided to cross the road barely a couple of feet from us. And as if it was aware of the “ooh”s and “aah”s its appearance had generated, it posed for a couple of seconds before jumping gracefully into the bushes.

Sadly, the Neelakurinji are declining. Mary-Rose Abraham writes in the National Geographic that they are “under threat of never blooming again…. a triple threat – plantations of eucalyptus and acacia, agriculture and tourism – have stripped the grasslands…”. Hope she is proved wrong, hope the Save Kurinji Campaign is successful in preserving this natural habitat and that this magical little flower continues to blossom. Unfortunately, we will know the veracity of her prediction only in 2030. 

So why wait another 12 years to witness the bloom? Head out to the Nilgiris before the end of November and see for yourself.