Subir Roy: Only in the Malabar

OFFBEAT

What ultimately prevails is the sound. Right round the clock, 24 hours a day, the little mountain stream tumbles around the black smooth boulders and rushes down, creating a mini waterfall and then proceeding ahead much more placidly. What remains is the muted roar, the arrogance of a youngster feeling in its bones that it will become a river one day, but not knowing that it is so adolescent in its exuberance.

If that is the round-the-clock backdrop, then the wakeup call is from the Malabar whistling thrush. Without fail, for almost inordinately long every morning, it sings its same tune, not knowing that it is so like an impudent youngster "" a bit off-key sometimes but undaunted, unmindful if the message is sought or not.

The resort, Vythiri, in north Kerala's Wayanad district, bang in the heart of the rainforest, has by now built up a portfolio of stories over the whistling bird. It seems one resident actually came and complained at the front desk that someone was persistently whistling at his wife; he could not make out from behind which tree.

The same was the case of the newly arrived supervisor who ticked off a waiter for whistling while on the way to delivering room service. I caught on when the whistling didn't stop though I had finished my second cup of morning tea, trying to figure out where exactly was this over-enthusiastic visitor insistent on publicly celebrating his holiday.

That is not all. There are also the armies of crickets who set up a chime as you walk down the deserted road with thick forest on both sides. If their job on the lookout is to set off the alarm at the sight of an approaching alien, then they are as insistent as the whistling bird and the stream, not knowing when to stop.

With a lifelong love of forests and hills I have built up a fairly bulky catalogue of days remembered in all kinds of forests. The forest department resthouses usually make up with their unique positioning and view what they lack in creature comfort. Pride of place in my memory goes to the one at Binsar near Almora whose massive deodars and valley view are incomparable.

But Vythiri scores better than most in bringing near five-star luxury right into the heart of the forest as unobtrusively as seems possible. So strong and palpable is the forest presence all around that the resort seems to live in constant threat of being overwhelmed by the forest eager to regain its lost territory. The forest is at its aggressive best when the rains set in as they did in May-end while we were there. It lets loose an army of leeches which must be the quietest guerrillas that any army can possess.

As I took off by shoes after what was a memorable walk, off fell a bloated maroon creature leaving only a dark spot near my ankle and a patch of my own blood on the floor. My wife in panic called in housekeeping reinforcements who dutifully swabbed the floor with lemongrass-scented water which the leeches supposedly do not like. The young hands couldn't quite ask, why come for a rainforest holiday if you scream at the sight of a blood-bloated leech?

The Kerala-type architecture with profuse use of terracotta helps the resort merge with the forest unobtrusively. The muted decor inside, with patent stone tiles flooring, tells you to please go elsewhere if you crave for five-star granite. Well polished rafters hold up the tiled roof that creates a sense of space which concrete cannot dream of. The rope bridge across the stream which you have to cross to get your meals is the Lachman Jhula in miniature.

The image that lingers is of the dining space with open sides and jungle all around early in the morning. The coffee is brewed to taste, massive jackfruits hang from trees showing no sign of having grown with the help of man, and the unforgettable Malabar squirrel with a bushy tail as big as its body effortlessly moves from branch to branch. And, of course, the Malabar thrush keeps whistling endlessly.

subir.roy@bsmail.in