Not many Indian cities inhabit the old world with the kind of discreet charm that Mysore does, with its palaces, quaint mansions, boulevards, parks and a forested hillock practically within city limits. But the gently winding road up Chamundi hill, from which one gets the best views of Mysore, is getting the city’s nature-lovers all wound-up. That’s because there has been a steady increase in tourists and pilgrims visiting the shrine atop the hill, and the state government is pushing through with a plan to widen the hill road and create a parking lot and other structures to cater to the rush.
It’s a recipe for disaster, say residents rallying under the Mysore Grahakara Parishat (MGP), a consumer rights forum campaigning against the development plan. “As conditions prevail on the hill, any widening of the road or providing multi-level parking will worsen the chaos,” says Bhamy V. Shenoy of the MGP, which plans to move the National Green Tribunal to stop the construction. The forum believes the move to divert 0.89 hectares of forest land to widen the road is a ploy to grab land. For the record, chief minister Siddaramaiah, who inaugurated the project recently, also hails from Mysore district. “The government wants to spend Rs 80 crore for a multi-level parking and guest-houses and a shopping complex. Who in their right minds will think of a shopping complex in a forest area?” Shenoy asks.
In a city steeped in history, the Chamundi hill (the summit is 1,074 metres above sea level and the hill has a periphery of 11 sq km) is perhaps its most iconic symbol. Historians believe the Chamundi temple came into prominence sometime in the 16th century, when it became the family deity of the Wodeyars, the rulers of Mysore.
But until 20 years back, as many Mysoreans recollect, the hill was a tranquil place, even though it attracted tourists and devotees. Nature enthusiasts say the reserve forest around it is home to several hundred species of birds and flowering plants—around 139 species of birds have been spotted in the reserve forest, according a study—while leopards lurk about the thickets and are frequently sighted.
Says a forest watcher hailing from one of the villages at the foot of Chamundi hill: “Earlier, we could just breeze in, there were no queues. Now, if you went to the temple on the special days, you’ll have to wait from 7 am to 9 am for a darshan.” And, as everyone points out, the traffic has become unmanageable. “You will see vehicles lined up along the road for more than a mile as the parking slots are full, especially on Fridays, when devotees throng the temple,” says a traffic policeman posted at the last bend to the hilltop whose job it is to divert ascending vehicles lest they clog up the road to the Mahishasura statue, another iconic symbol of Mysore.
It’s much the same during summer weekends, and of course, during the Dasara festival later in the year. When pilgrim traffic peaks during Ashada (June-July), private vehicles are stopped at the foot of the hill and visitors are ferried up for free in government buses. Many who live on the hill think the situation demands a parking lot and the widening of the road. But activists like Shenoy want a ban on private vehicles and the introduction of electric or CNG buses. “This may sound like an out-of-the-box and extreme solution. But that is exactly what we need to solve a problem that is getting worse,” he says.
A few years ago, the government had mooted a proposal for a cable car service to Chamundi Hill, but it was shelved following protests from environmental activists, who feared it would damage the green cover.
“Why should there be any concrete structures on the hill and trees cut down for road widening? We are worried about the impact on Mysore city, where temperature levels had soared to nearly 40 degrees (Celsius),” says an activist from a local group which too has taken up the cause.
“Ask these protesters how many trees have they planted? I’ve been doing it for years,” retorts Anthony, who runs a restaurant atop the hill and has been living there for 40 years. He thinks the idea of a parking lot is well-intentioned. Besides, he points out, it’s coming up on land acquired by the temple (which is managed by the Karnataka government’s Muzrai department) from private parties. As for the rush of visitors, what can one do about that, he asks.
“The shops are the only livelihood for the people who stay here. They don’t have farmland or other opportunities,” says N. Narendra Nayak, a member of the Chamundi Betta gram panchayat, which has a population of around 2,900. Currently, there are about 150 shops on the hilltop, including those without a license.
The proposed shopping complex will house 117 licensed shops and that will help decongest the main street, says Nayak. Thayamma, who sells trinkets and toys in a small roadside shack, says there’s a rush only on a few occasions during the year, like the ongoing summer holidays, when she can earn Rs 500-1,000 a day. Her family has been living in the hilltop village for a few generations, she says. “Today is a lean day, so I can probably make only Rs 500. This is our only income,” says Thayamma. Yet another shopkeeper near the Nandi statue halfway up the hill reckons there’s no harm in developing the place, but without maintenance it’s going to be just as chaotic.
“Mysore city has grown rapidly over the years, covering the entire space around Chamundi Hill from all corners. Now, taking the growth even to the hilltop will only benefit contractors, politicians and other stakeholders. These ‘development works’ are surely going to destroy the very nature of Chamundi Hill,” writer S.L. Bhyrappa said in a recent newspaper article. For Mysoreans, the battle’s all uphill for now.
By Ajay Sukumaran in Mysore
