In Tiger Tippu's Den
The Bangalore- Mysore road is another driver’s delight but like all good things it starts only after a nightmare called Bangalore Traffic! We drive through scenic countryside with a back drop of granitic massifs and monadknocks. We cover the distance at a smart clip and stop at a very picturesquely located Cafe Coffee Day for some refreshment. Another quick drive and we are at the Tiger of Mysore’s den – Srirangapattam. The unmatched valour of Tippu Sultan and his relentless pursuit of freedom from the English yoke sends the blood surging. The tragedy unfolds as the guides take you through the time and space with their obviously embellished accounts of the life and times of this great king. With goose flesh we hear of the treachery at Water Gate, 
from where the British entered to destroy this almost impregnable citadel, and come to the serene spot where Tippu’s body was found.
The palace was dynamited by avracious Brits but the temple complex
and it’s chariot 
still stand in their grandure.We visit his fort, the summer palace and last resting place. 
Then we are led to the Triveni, a sacred spot where three tributaries of Cauvery meet. It is, like Coleridge wrote, “both holy and enchanting place”. There is a triangular piece of land that juts in to the confluence, covered by native stone and small temple dedicated to the river goddess. Steps lead down to the ghat where devotees take ritual baths and priests pray for them. There is a fleet of the round coracles
which are used by both devotees and tourists for boating in the river. We hire one and are poled in to the centre where the rivers meet. On a rock jutting out there is a Nandi and Shiva lingam. An old man, neck deep in waters is praying after offering flowers to the idol
. Panku and I spend some time boating up and down the river and taking lots of pictures.
We speed on to Mysore and famed Vrindaban Gardens. We have hardly reached the gardens when within 15 minutes it is closing time. Next morning we visit the city. We are directed to visit the cathedral
which to our surprise is an exact copy of the Dome at Cologne in Germany. We drive through the wide roads of the bazaar towards the Mysore palace. 
It is a huge disappointment because Abhi’s wheelchair cannot go in and police men are rude. We turn back and start for Bangalore. On the way we cross a stream where a flock of about 50 Brahmani kites 
in white smocks and rust robes are hovering around and diving. We stop and see a spectacular site – a shoal of fish is swimming close to the surface and the kites are fishing. 
Our next stop is a slight detour from the main road – Kokerabellur, the pelican nesting ground. We reach the village after a few wrong turns on non-existent roads. All roads are covered with harvested wheat so that the moving traffic threshes it. The villagers around Bangalore also seem to have been effected by the IT revolution or it is the contrasting poverty which renders them unable to buy threshing machines. On walking in to villages the later reason seems more probable for the poverty hits you between the eyes. After a few kilometres of wayward wandering we reach the destination. It is a dream-come-true for any keen birder. All the trees with in the village support large nests where pelicans and their fledglings are roosting.
Some parents glide in to view and a cacophony of raucous yells break out from the chicks. The birds land and disgorge quantities of fish in to the pouch below the beak from where it is quickly lapped up by the young ones. Pelicans are very awkward in their disproportion when perching but take on a remarkable grace when in flight. We watch them and take pictures. We talk to the villagers and they say the birds bring us luck and are the gift of gods to this village. A remarkable story emerges from our conversation. 
“The pelicans have been nesting here from the beginning of time. If any bird is ill or injured, the villagers tend to it and restore it to health. Any dead birds are cremated with proper religious ceremony. If there is shortage of food, the villagers share their own with the birds. The year birds do not turn up for nesting that is a drought year. So the Kings of Mysore always visited this village in October and if they found less or no nesting, then they always sent emissaries to quickly buy all available grain to save the people from hunger. The name Kokera means pelican and bellur means village. The most remarkable thing about the nesting is that there are no nests outside the village boundary. Some of the birds ringed in Australia and New Zealand also nest here. They fly thousands of miles to this sanctuary to breed and carry the lineage forward and most of the chicks ringed here come back to nest when they are of breeding age. The villagers believe the day they stop coming to their village, it will be the end of the world.”
I wish there were more places like this. Soaring in delight on pelican’s wings we rush back enthralled.
from where the British entered to destroy this almost impregnable citadel, and come to the serene spot where Tippu’s body was found. The palace was dynamited by avracious Brits but the temple complex and it’s chariot still stand in their grandure.We visit his fort, the summer palace and last resting place. Then we are led to the Triveni, a sacred spot where three tributaries of Cauvery meet. It is, like Coleridge wrote, “both holy and enchanting place”. There is a triangular piece of land that juts in to the confluence, covered by native stone and small temple dedicated to the river goddess. Steps lead down to the ghat where devotees take ritual baths and priests pray for them. There is a fleet of the round coracles
which are used by both devotees and tourists for boating in the river. We hire one and are poled in to the centre where the rivers meet. On a rock jutting out there is a Nandi and Shiva lingam. An old man, neck deep in waters is praying after offering flowers to the idol. Panku and I spend some time boating up and down the river and taking lots of pictures.We speed on to Mysore and famed Vrindaban Gardens. We have hardly reached the gardens when within 15 minutes it is closing time. Next morning we visit the city. We are directed to visit the cathedral
which to our surprise is an exact copy of the Dome at Cologne in Germany. We drive through the wide roads of the bazaar towards the Mysore palace. It is a huge disappointment because Abhi’s wheelchair cannot go in and police men are rude. We turn back and start for Bangalore. On the way we cross a stream where a flock of about 50 Brahmani kites in white smocks and rust robes are hovering around and diving. We stop and see a spectacular site – a shoal of fish is swimming close to the surface and the kites are fishing. Our next stop is a slight detour from the main road – Kokerabellur, the pelican nesting ground. We reach the village after a few wrong turns on non-existent roads. All roads are covered with harvested wheat so that the moving traffic threshes it. The villagers around Bangalore also seem to have been effected by the IT revolution or it is the contrasting poverty which renders them unable to buy threshing machines. On walking in to villages the later reason seems more probable for the poverty hits you between the eyes. After a few kilometres of wayward wandering we reach the destination. It is a dream-come-true for any keen birder. All the trees with in the village support large nests where pelicans and their fledglings are roosting.
Some parents glide in to view and a cacophony of raucous yells break out from the chicks. The birds land and disgorge quantities of fish in to the pouch below the beak from where it is quickly lapped up by the young ones. Pelicans are very awkward in their disproportion when perching but take on a remarkable grace when in flight. We watch them and take pictures. We talk to the villagers and they say the birds bring us luck and are the gift of gods to this village. A remarkable story emerges from our conversation. “The pelicans have been nesting here from the beginning of time. If any bird is ill or injured, the villagers tend to it and restore it to health. Any dead birds are cremated with proper religious ceremony. If there is shortage of food, the villagers share their own with the birds. The year birds do not turn up for nesting that is a drought year. So the Kings of Mysore always visited this village in October and if they found less or no nesting, then they always sent emissaries to quickly buy all available grain to save the people from hunger. The name Kokera means pelican and bellur means village. The most remarkable thing about the nesting is that there are no nests outside the village boundary. Some of the birds ringed in Australia and New Zealand also nest here. They fly thousands of miles to this sanctuary to breed and carry the lineage forward and most of the chicks ringed here come back to nest when they are of breeding age. The villagers believe the day they stop coming to their village, it will be the end of the world.”
I wish there were more places like this. Soaring in delight on pelican’s wings we rush back enthralled.
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