I walked back, taking with me memories of a day well spent and a habitat worth preserving.In Margo Robbins’s home, the first thing you notice is family: portraits of children and grandchildren in a crowded display on the wall. If I had the luxury of time, I would have spent hours just taking in the beautiful setting, but dark clouds were rolling in, and at a distance, I could see rain pouring over villages. Just a few metres away was the edge of the hill, offering stunning views of the waterfall and the valley below.

As I rested, I watched water spiders fishing, frogs jumping between rocks, and dragon and damselflies flying by. When I finally reached the waterfall, the sun was out again, and the stream leading to the waterfall was brimming with action. The mist slowly descended again, making everything around grey, but the sound of gushing water led the way, and it seemed like the destination was not too far. However, the absence of a fully preserved fort is more than made up for with sweeping views of shola-grasslands.īandaje Arbi waterfall, dropping down the steep edge.Ī familiar tune-like someone whistling a catchy jingle-caught my attention, and it was undoubtedly the Malabar Whistling Thrush keeping me company, adding a spring to my steps. What remains now are just fort walls stretching for miles, having stood the test of time. The Ballalarayana Fort is believed to be constructed by the wife of Veera Ballala l, who was the king of the Hoysala Empire in the 12th century it was built in the Hoysala style of architecture. If they could talk, they might have told me stories of the king who built this fort high up in the hills. The few trees on these hills seemed to tell stories of their struggles to survive – their bent trunks indicated the direction that the wind has been taking for years, and the colours of their leaves were remains of the season that had just gone by. As a breeze began blowing, I could not help but wonder if the elephants that inhabited these hills were gentling flapping their ears to provide some relief to my tired limbs.

But that was not what stopped me in my tracks – it was the views of sun-kissed olive coloured hills, with a canopy of beautiful white clouds dotting the clear, blue skies. Walking out of the tree cover allowed for a break in the trek without worrying about leeches. Rustic and Common Crow butterflies fluttered around even as a Jezebel dazzled me with its colours, and a pale, beige butterfly kept me guessing if it had four rings or five. The cooing of Spotted Doves added a different beat to the music the woodpeckers and bulbuls were producing. Rhythmic to our walking, Flame-backed Woodpeckers chiselled wood, and occasionally, pairs flew to wherever their next party was.

Empires of the undergrowth wall