There is an exclusive joy in traveling to places in your own vehicle. Not to worry about train and bus timings, not bound by schedules give a tremendous sense of freedom. The car was a new acquisition and we had just moved into Bangalore (in 1993). We set out to explore Hogenakkal which sounded like a perfect destination for a week-end outing. The place was enchanting (please see my blog post Smoking Stones) but the facilities there were absolutely pathetic. So after spending an uncomfortable night in a stinking room we decided to pack our bags and move on. The map said that Mettur was not far off and so we drove there to see the famous Stanley Reservoir. But disappointment dogged us there too as authorities had banned entry of visitors to the dam and the garden because of terrorist threat. I espied another route to Bangalore via Kollegal and Kanakapura which would also give us an opportunity to see the Sivasamudram waterfalls.

So we motored on and as we approached M.M.Hills (Male Mahadeswara Hills) we were stopped three times by heavily armed police. Each time, I was asked to get down from the car, write down particulars like car registration number, address etc. It never occurred that I should ask someone the reasons for the additional security arrangements. We started climbing the hill. The road was fairly decent and several times I remarked to my wife about the lack of traffic on the road. After a brief halt at the temple in the village on the crest of the hill, we started the downward journey. Still no traffic at all. The hill were strangely quiet, almost an eerie silence. Even the usual bird life was absent.

Suddenly we encountered a long stretch of plain road on the leeward side of the mountain. Years of water logging had washed away the road and only mud remained. It was an unholy mess and there was no way I could avoid driving through the mud. My poor Maruti trembled and winced but I coaxed it through. There were tracks of a larger vehicle having gone through but the tracks were much too wide apart for the tiny Maruti. Right at the middle of the bad patch, the car got stuck. I could neither move forward nor backward. The wheels fought for traction but failed. The wheels were spinning but the car remained stationary. With no other option, we got down onto the slush and tried to push the car but it was stuck quite deep. We were knee deep in the slush but for all the effort we could muster, the car had not moved an inch.

Help! Where can help come from? I remembered the sparse traffic. Only one police van had passed us. God! What have I got into! Then the miracle happened. An empty bus trundled up the slope. The driver and cleaner saw our plight, without any hesitation rolled up their trousers and jumped into the quagmire. They asked me to get behind the wheel and then bodily lifted the car out of the rut and pushed it away. The car screamed with joy but before I could park it on the good road and come back, the bus crew got in and drove away without even waiting to hear my gratitude.

After reaching Bangalore, I narrated our adventure to a colleague. He looked at me strangely and said You are very lucky. To be caught in Veerappans territory in that kind of trouble, that too with a lady Everything came flooding back the check posts, quiet hills, empty roads, police van. Vow, what a close shave. The next day, the whole office was talking about my attempts to meet Veerappan in MM Hills which I learnt was the brigands backyard. A true misadventure indeed.