The best destination is often the closest one.
By: Nitin V Ranga Rao
Tags: Outdoors, Storytelling, Ecology, Nature, Life

There is a saying that goes, “good things come in small packages.” The corollary could be, “good places are often the closest.” I over and over again believe this to be true. Just for the reason that an area is near to you doesn’t mean that it’s insignificant. And one such place has been of immense significance in shaping my life.

My experiences with nature have been both insightful and memorable. Ever since I can remember, nature had cajoled me when I was sad — motivated me when I was defeated — and inspired me whenever needed. Everyone has to start somewhere — to find their inspiration. The hillock situated in the southeast corner of the heritage Mysore city happens to be my muse. Visitors famously know this place as Chamundi hills or Chamundi Betta (Betta means hillock in the Kannada language, which happens to be my mother tongue). Still, for the locals who have lived in Mysore long enough, it is referred to dearly as “Betta.”

I can still recall the memories of the yesteryears. It would bring me tremendous joy when my parents would say, “beṭṭakke hōgōṇa?!” (Let’s go to the Betta). My parents would pack an assortment of goodies for the picnic at the base of the Betta. And we would drive up the Betta’s peak to visit the Chamundeswary temple. Then, my dad would pick me up and place me on his shoulders to see the city’s vastness. The aerial view of Mysore and its surrounding was fascinating. I could see the fields and patches of forests surrounding the landscape to the horizon.

My sister and I would play to our heart’s content and eat the obligatory bananas that have been offered to Goddess Chamundeswari, which had spiritual benefit. I would feed the leftovers to the temple cows and bulls. We would pester our parents to get us charred corn cobs with chilly chutney and roasted groundnuts. We habitually came across a troop of monkeys on our descent from the hill. We would delicately throw the peanuts out of the car to feed the cartload of monkeys. However, my mom would yell at us to close the windows to keep the marauding monkeys at bay. I would regularly disobey her as I loved to watch the monkeys eat and interact with each other. On rare occasions, we would see a mongoose scurrying off the road, which would be the highlight of our excursion. These are some of the fond recollections from my childhood.

A troop of Bonnet macaques

When my father was younger, he would go up the Betta regularly, and his primary objective was fitness. At the age of 10 or 11, I would accompany my dad during my holidays. The 1,008 steps to the summit was a grueling climb for me initially. But as time progressed, it got more manageable, and it was also fun. Looking around, exploring my surrounding, I would instead take my own sweet time. Sundays were particularly exciting, seeing that I could venture off the main path to explore the caves and scale the boulders and rocks. My dad had no qualms with it as it happened to be a holiday for him as well. The Chamundi hills kept me fit and nimble, all the while creating an enthusiasm for nature.

The entrance to the Betta by foot

As time passed by, I became independent and no longer required adult supervision. I would go to the Betta alone and would spend a lot of time there. What seemed like a faraway place when I was 6 now seemed so much closer! There was no nook and corner in Betta I hadn’t explored, by foot and by road. The place that kept me fit — the rare excursion spot was now accessible whenever I wanted.

The monolithic statue of Nandi — the midway of the hills

Some of the incidences are etched in my mind, and I can recall them as if they happened yesterday. For instance, when I saw the leopard in Mysore for the first time, r I saw the rarest of rare birds, Peregrine falcon, hunting in the scrub jungle. Betta has something in store for any nature lover.

The habitat and a few inhabitants of Chamundi Betta

Although the bright days are beautiful, divulging several birds, insects, and mammals, the darkness is genuinely when Betta comes alive. The temporary ponds emerging after heavy rains are abode to myriads of frogs. When exposed to it, they will know the true power of the frogs’ collective calls, and their sound is deafening. The light shower after a hot day draws out the snakes and the frogs in huge numbers. The sight of delight or the pièce de résistance has to be the sparkle of fireflies in the night. Their twinkle mesmerizes people as though thousands of stars have descended on to earth.

A cacophony of frogs

Leopard — An unexpected sighting

The Chamundi hills — A view from the City

The previously small city is no longer that small. As I grew taller and wider, so did the city. Once home to numerous species, the Betta is now practically devoid of its previous diversity. The ramping development in and around the Chamundi hills has rendered the habitat monotonous and undiversified. The saddest part about it is that the Betta, which inspired me, will fail to inspire future generations.