Not silent anymore<br/>

A film on Silent Valley saved it from being destroyed in 1980. The maker visits the valley 29 years later to find human encroachment eating into this exotic evergreen forest

A film on Silent Valley saved it from being destroyed in 1980. The maker visits the valley 29 years later to find human encroachment eating into this exotic evergreen forest

Legend has it that the Pandavas, during their exile, lived in the magical evergreen forests now located in the state of Kerala.

It's believed that the tribals named these forests after Sairandhree, the name of Draupadi when she, along with the Pandavas, lived here incognito. Sairandhree Vanam was anglicised to become Silent Valley, so says a popular theory.

Be that as it may, there is a reason why Silent Valley was silent for many millennia. The curious absence of the cicadas that create a pleasant cacophony in the forests of India created a deathly silence in this tropical evergreen forest.

The Government of Kerala, in a moment of recklessness, decided to destroy these pristine forests by building a hydro-electric project here. That was in 1979.

In the year 1980, a small group of journalists and activists in Kerala got together to make a documentary on Silent Valley. The attempt was to document the significance of these precious forests for posterity.

During our recce we realised that the last tribal village was at Mukkali, and the damsite was exactly 24 kms from there. We were told no vehicles were allowed beyond Mukkali, which meant we had to carry our equipment, our tents, and the provisions that were to last us for two weeks, on foot!

We desperately needed a guide who would take us to the pathless forests of Silent Valley, and more importantly, bring us back.

That's when we met Hamsakka. A man who couldn't write his name but could read Silent Valley like the back of his hand.

On the appointed date, we met Hamsakka at Mukkali. We bought the provisions there and started on a journey that I treasure as the most memorable days of the 52 years of my existence something that I will not trade for anything in this world, or even the next!

When we reached the damsite at noon, we witnessed a manslaughter. A tree that had withstood the onslaught of time for two centuries was brought down in two minutes to make way for the dam. As we captured the heart-rending cry of that tree, we had captured the spirit of our documentary. At that moment I remembered a shloka from the Upanishads: 'It takes many brooks to make a rivulet; it takes many rivulets to make a river; it takes many rivers to make an ocean; it takes many oceans to make one tree!'

Carrying the helpless scream of that tree in our collective consciousness, we proceeded to pitch our tent on the forgiving banks of River Kunthi.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Hamsakka showed us the spot where animals descend to drink water at night it was barely 50 feet away from our tent! The only thing that would deter them from sniffing at our sleeping bodies was the stolen property of Prometheus: fire!

As it was our first day, we were all too tired to gather enough firewood. Looking at the pile, Hamsakka declared, 'This won't last till 3 in the morning!'

The fires that we lit near the openings of the tent on either side raged on. And our tired bodies went off to sleep as soon as we hit the rough gravel under our bodies.u00a0 At 3, the five of us who were city-bred souls, got up as if woken up by an alarm clock! Our subconscious mind knew that the fire wouldn't last till 3, and it had woken us up.

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The next day, we encountered one of the eeriest scenes that can be imagined.

We had to either cross the Kunthi River about six times to reach the shooting 'location', or we had to cross a patch that was a gigantic carpet of blood-sucking leeches!

Hamsakka then prepared a paste of coconut oil, snuff (tobacco powder) and salt. And he asked us to apply it on the exposed parts of our body. Armed with the ultimate leech repellent, we walked on a massive carpet of leaches, and to our utter amazement, only a couple of them managed to cling on to our bodies!

That night, as we lay down in the cocoon of our tent, we realised for the first time that the sound of silence was becoming unbearable. After Hamsakka ran out of his bedtime stories, one of us let out a false cough just to break the silence. And then we took turns in uttering non-stop nonsense, just to keep us on the acceptable side of sanity!

The next day, we came across a scene which made us think that we have gone over the brink. As we were climbing down a mountain slope, we saw a white apparition with long, flowing hair and a bare torso, walking in the valley below.

When we caught up with him, he introduced himself as Jacques, a school teacher from Holland, who was lost in the pathless land of Silent Valley for eight days.

Hamsakka made an early lunch that day to celebrate the survival of Jacques. That night Jacques sang a rustic song that shattered the silence of many centuries. His songs were to become our lullaby, putting us to sleep, night after night.

After 16 days of shooting we finished our schedule and returned to Mukkali.

When we bid farewell to Jacques and Hamsakka, little did we know that it would be the very last time we were holding hands.

When we submitted the film for censorship, we got a rejection certificate. The ostensible reason being the film was one-sided! That was when Ms Dilnavaz Variava and Mr Soli Godrej of Save Silent Valley Committee sprung into action and fixed up a meeting with Mrs Indira Gandhi.u00a0 And soon, the silent forests of Silent Valley travelled all the way to Delhi and decided to speak for themselves.

We screened the film for Mrs Gandhi; and after seeing for herself the richness of one of India's untouched natural treasures, she patted the back of a stunned 24-year-old and whispered in his unbelieving ears: 'Don't worry, son! This will be declared a National Park!'

And it was, in the year 1984!

And for 29 years after that, I resisted the temptation of going back. The only reason was, my trip to the Silent Valley was my initiation into the ways of the forest. I didn't want to touch the gossamer wings of those memories lest they disintegrate!

After much persuasion by my wife and my son, I made my second trip. In the year 2009.

From the forest gate at Mukkali, we drove to the erstwhile damsite, where a 100- foot watch-tower had come up. Standing there I surveyed the green 70 mm canvas called Silent Valley.

The leeches were as vicious as ever, and the only plants that a dinosaur would identify, if it were to be born again today, were still there: the Cobra Plant and the Tree Fern.

But the most distinct feature of Silent Valley, the cold, chilling silence itself, was gone. Encouraged by the human encroachment and destruction of habitat in the nearby Attappadi forest, and an overall rise in temperature, the cicadas had made their entry into the innards of this exotic evergreen forest.

Today, I have none of the treasured souvenirs of my journey made 29 years ago. The audio tapes on which we recorded the soulful songs of Jacques are gone. Hamsakka is no more; and the prints of my film which created a surging wave of public opinion in Kerala against the dam have vanished; the negatives have been lost forever.

All that remains is Silent Valley, the mystical forest which our film helped save. A forest the likes of which rarely exist on the face of this fragile earth.