The story of Netravali is the story of a forest that's healing itself. As many as 17 mines were in operation in this dense evergreen forest gnawing into the bowels of Mother Earth till 1999. Then in a masterstroke that silenced the mining blasts, the Governor of Goa declared Netravali as a Sanctuary. Since Mollem National Park and Cotigao Sanctuary were already protected areas, the addition of Netravali made it one contiguous evergreen forest running along the Western Ghats, north to south. Thus throwing open the corridor for tigers and leopards to cross over from Karnataka to Maharashtra, just in case they decide to go for a really long walk!
A look at the mountains of Netravali from its foothills reveals that the red wounds of mining are healing, as a soothing green balm is being applied by Mother Nature.
The bus from Margao dropped us in the middle of nowhere, with the conductor insisting that's where Tanshikar Spice Farm is. There was no signboard to follow nor a soul to ask. Following our instinct we followed the road, and thankfully it took us to the farm.
Chinmay and his wife Gauri offered us a welcome drink of buttermilk and then took us around their 200-year-old ancestral house. An hour later, our lunch was laid out tastefully in the dining area by this wonderful couple. As we savoured every dish, we discovered that the main ingredient in their cooking was love.
They woke us up from our siesta with a hot cup of tea laced with a tinge of farm-fresh vanilla. A conducted tour of the farm followed. First, Gouri took us to a vanilla plant, which looked like a giant orchid. The most amazing thing about this plant, she said, is that it cannot be pollinated by birds or bees. It has to be done by human hands alone! Then we were introduced to another amazing tree, the clove. Among them we were told there are male trees, female trees, and some trees that are both male and female. And then there were these creepers of the pepper plant lovingly hugging the host tree.
In the evening, we went to the Krishna temple at the edge of the farm. Here we saw a miracle. It's called 'Budbudyachi Tali' or the 'Lake of Infinite Bubbles'. If you stand at the edge of this lake and clap your hands, in seconds you will find bubbles rising to the top of the lake, like dolphins. When you stop clapping, the bubbles disappear. There are three theories that try to explain this magical phenomenon. One of them is that at the bottom of the lake there's a gigantic rotting root that releases these bubbles when you clap. The second one is that there's limestone on the lake bed that releases these bubbles when there's vibration. This theory doesn't hold water because there are fishes in this lake, and fishes don't survive near limestone. The third one is the most poetic of them all: When you clap, Krishna, the eternal flute player, starts playing his flute and the bubbles come up from his underwater flute. I would any day take the third explanation.
The next day morning we set off into the exotic butterfly land that stretches along the Netravali river. Half way up the mountain, we paused awhile to take a sip of the cool river and to dangle our feet in its swirling waters. The sighting of the oakleaf butterfly on a nearby bush was for starters. Perfectly camouflaged, it pretended to be a dried up leaf and we believed it. Till it fluttered away in one impatient moment. Then came the main course: over a 100 butterflies flitting about in suspended animation. Butterflies with strange names and stranger colours: plain tiger, common migrant, grass jewel, common map, southern birdwing and black rajah! Even the butterfly that normally glides, the tree nymph, was quicker than usual. Maybe all the excitement around had rubbed off on its gossamer wings. On a bush nearby was the blue mormon butterfly, sitting absolutely still. Closer inspection revealed that it was dead. And I marveled at its beauty even in death.
On our return, as we looked back at the mountains looming behind, we saw a new reality staring down at us. The areca palms, the coconut palms and the cashew plantations of Netravali village were slowly but steadily pushing the trees of the forest deeper and deeper into the sanctuary. And a question crossed my mind: How long can nature hold on to its last green bastions in Goa? Only time will tell.
