Tourists enjoy the view of the Cauvery at Mekedatu on a weekend. Photos: Rahul Pakarath/Rajaneesh
As Karnataka pushes ahead with the Mekedatu dam, a journey to the river, the forest, and the villages that could soon disappear underwater
At Sangama, in Karnataka, where the Arakavathi merges with the Cauvery, the latter moves as it always has — unhurried, indifferent to the political ripples it has caused hundreds of kilometres downstream and upstream, far from its banks. Standing here, feet in the current, it is difficult to accept that this place is already halfway to becoming a memory.
A decade on, maybe even earlier, this riverbank may not be here to return to. No rickety bus grinding down the last stretch of road, no plate of Roopchand fish sizzling straight off the pan, no hush that descends as one approaches the Cauvery Wildlife Sanctuary.
Sea change for the river
For those unfamiliar with the region, Sangama, 100 km from Bengaluru, is the last spot before the trail to Mekedatu begins. Mekedatu, in Ramnagara district, is located close to the Tamil Nadu-Karnataka border and the confluence of the Cauvery and Arkavathi rivers. If the DK Shivakumar-led Karnataka government has its way, it is feared that some 8,000 acres of this Cauvery valley — sanctuary, reserve forest, riverbank, road — could likely go underwater with a massive reservoir taking their place. Bheemeshwari and Galibore Adventure Camps, a popular weekend getaway for Bengaluru residents, will also reportedly go underwater.
The ₹15,000-crore Mekedatu project envisages a drinking water-cum-balancing reservoir impounding 67.16 TMC ft, along with a 400 MW hydropower component. In a recent conversation with The Federal, Irrigation Minister N Chaluvaraya Swamy explained why the project was crucial for the state, stressing that it would supply water to over two crore people. He also claimed Karnataka would be using only excess water that would otherwise flow to the sea.
With work set to begin next August, the entire stretch could be off-limits for the public. The Cauvery won't know the difference. It will keep flowing, just deeper, probably stiller.
The Mekedatu reservoir is a political hot potato between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. Karnataka calls it essential to meet a city's surging thirst, Tamil Nadu insists it would adversely impact farming in the Delta region.
Images hold what words often can't. From Mekedatu, a photo feature, before the place becomes another collateral to human demands.
NH-948 (Bengaluru-Coimbatore) winds through farmlands, rocky outcrops and hillocks on the way to Mekedatu. The views become rewarding long before one arrives at the spot. Drive slowly, soak in the sights, sounds and experiences. Govt buses also ply from Kanakapura to Sangama, though the frequency is not great.
Villages, tiny shops selling idlis and vadas and stretches of farmland slip by along the scenic highway. Take a turn from Hagalur, and suddenly the traveller is deep in Karnataka's countryside.
Off the highway, the route passes through Doddalahalli, the village where Chief Minister DK Shivakumar was born — the initials stand for Doddalahalli Kempegowda Shivakumar. Mekedatu lies barely 25 km from here, which explains why the project is so close to his heart.
Sheep-rearing is a common livelihood source in this region.
Conversations with villagers here about the controversial Mekedatu project reveal many are not aware whether their land lies within the project's ambit. Those who did were reluctant to talk, but some retorted, “This wont and cant happen in my lifetime”. A young farmer said if Shivakumar remained CM for the next few years, he would make it happen.
Just before Ground Zero, is a forest checkpoint where visitors must share their vehicle details and destination.
All private vehicles are allowed only up to Sangama. The river one sees here is the Arkavathi, a tributary of the Cauvery. Comparatively small, the river originates in the Nandi Hills of Chikkaballapur district, Karnataka.
Mekedatu is about 7 km away, deep inside the Cauvery Wildlife Sanctuary. No walking, cycling or biking is allowed. Visitors must hop on the dedicated, government-authorised shuttle bus and resign themselves to a bumpy ride!
The bus ride along the Cauvery and through the forest is part of the experience. The seat beside the driver's cabin offers the best view — and a crash course in off-road driving!
The 14-km round trip costs Rs 100. In the past, people would cross the river using coracles when water levels fell; the forest department has since banned both. Buses ply between 9 am and 5 pm.
Somewhere along the 7-km Sangama-Mekedatu ride, a balancing reservoir is proposed. No boards or markers are visible from the bus. The dam will rise 3 km before the gorge. Most visitors appear to have no idea what is planned beneath the landscape they are passing through. Ignorance is bliss!
Once off the bus, visitors should resist the urge to rush. The climb down — about 50 steps — is treacherous. Take your time and earn that breathtaking view.
The view that greets visitors as they climb down will leave them awestruck. The mighty Cauvery is violently squeezed into a gorge barely 10 to 15 m wide. This dramatic chasm, carved deep into solid rock by centuries of relentless torrents, is a breathtaking force of nature. Seeing is believing.
Mekedatu means 'Goat's Leap' in Kannada. According to local lore, the gorge narrows so much that a goat could clear the stretch in a single jump.
As one stands at the edge, the river gushes past with unstoppable fury. In the distance, the rugged cliffs kiss the mountains. With the proposed reservoir project, this raw, untamed landscape could become out of bounds for public. Just 7 km from this gorge is the Tamil Nadu border and a temple accessible only to locals.
If the project progresses, Muthathi could become one of the first settlements to disappear under the reservoir. Muthathis Anjaneya Temple draws devotees from across the region and many of them appear to be unaware of the potential impact of the project. It is claimed Kannada film icon Dr Rajkumar was named Muthuraja after the deity at this temple.
Families of devotees trek into the forest along the Cauvery to cook fresh food — often chicken brought for the occasion. Over open wood fires, they prepare Naati-style (or village style) biryani or chicken curry with ragi mudde (balls). Around the tradition has grown a small economy of shops, firewood and giant cooking vessels.
Officials say nearly 450 families across villages in Madiwala, Bommasandra and other nearby areas could face displacement because of the project. Madiwala also has a temple which draws locals during festivals. For the record, Madiwala is the last village on Karnataka side.
The project could result in the loss of over 12,000 acres of prime forest area, including some of the country's finest riverine habitats, says wildlife biologist Sanjay Gubbi. More than six lakh trees could be lost, he adds, cautioning that the potential ecological damage runs far deeper than the tree count alone.
Of particular concern is the threat to the grizzled giant squirrel, found nowhere else in Karnataka. The species survives in a 12-km stretch along the Cauvery within the Cauvery Wildlife Sanctuary — its only known habitat in the state. If this habitat is lost, it cannot simply be recreated elsewhere, says Sanjay Gubbi.
The Karnataka government calls the project vital for Bengaluru's water supply. Development versus conservation is a hard and tricky question and there is no easy way to judge right and wrong. The Cauvery will survive the dam, but this quiet corner may not. For countless forms of life, the flow might never be the same again.
