Rushing Rapids

 Rushing Rapids

The Manimuthar is born high in the Agasthyamalai Hills at an impressive and remote height of 1,300 metres. It cascades and gurgles down through a changing mosaic of wet evergreen forest, dry deciduous forest, scrubland, rocky outcrops, and finally descends into the undulating Ambasamudram taluk. This is a chatty river and as we watch, silvery drops of its pure waters catch the sunlight with the radiance of a thousand miniature rainbows. 

The rocky steps leading down to the riverside are slippery and we tread carefully down to the crystalline waters. We leave our slippers, bags, and other valuables (like spectacles and phones) and Priya dips one toe delicately into the water. Freezing! Ah well - the strong swimmers leap right in and splash about, gasping for air. Our first impression of the Manimuthar is that it is shockingly strong. A wild current curls around our legs and yanks mischeviously; Priya nearly somersaults as she is whipped a few metres downstream. Luckily, the riverbed is rocky and her foot jams in between two rather blocky boulders. Frothy white water rushes around the group, swirling and dipping in unseen riffles and swerving around rocks. Everyone is squealing and thrashing in the cold waters. Shruti submerges herself, curly hair pooling on the surface like black seaweed. A strong arm catches her wrist and yanks; Aneesh thinks she is drowning and scolds her vigorously. 

Suddenly, a herd of cows appears on the sandy bank. We gape as the lead cow trudges into the water, emitting a melancholy moo. The others crowd after her, and our raging river is suddenly a sea of cattle. Shruti shrieks and dives to the right as Sneha dives to the left. The cows kick and struggle through, the calves with bulging eyes struggling to keep their heads above the water. A lean man in a dhoti accompanies the herd, yipping and using a slender rod to keep his charges on track. 

Upstream, a series of miniature rapids catches our attention and those of us who are confident swimmers hurry to catch the waves. We tumble in like wild puppies, giggling and squealing as the riverbed drops abruptly beneath our feet. The weaker swimmers clutch those who are experts and we float down the river, wincing and yelping as our shins and knees knock against the rocks hidden below the churning waters. The river is testing us, deeming us worthy of traversing its length. The Manimuthar, after all, is rushing to meet the languous, undulating Tamiraparani. 

She cannot be stopped.