JOIN US“But it is more a matter of sentiment!” You hear such a statement made in a sheer no-nonsense, practical tone during a conversation and are surprised how it evokes sentiment in you. In fact, when I heard these words, on why the fight is on against the projects with river Nethravathi, it struck me that I had agreed there was fear of playing with nature, but failed to recognise the acts as outcomes of sentiment. Of course, it was selfish to not share the river water.
Sentiments, said my father, are like the river herself, developed over generations. They are background players, growing subconsciously but strongly within us – difficult to explain or fight.
The river makes me feel nostalgic, as children we played or spent silent evenings with Nethravathi and her tributaries. Kayyara Kinhanna Rai’s poem on the journey of Nethravathi from Kudremukh in Chikkamagaluru district till the Arabian Sea, also describes the Western Ghats and the coastal region. I always felt this description dearer than Kuvempu’s poem that calls Karnataka the land of river Cauvery.
Many in Dakshina Kannada are unaware of the river’s origin. Nethravathi has raised us with love. She also raised within us love for her, till maybe a generation ago. However, such love is missing in the younger generation from Dakshina Kannada that lives elsewhere. Which is why, not many young local voices have been raised against the Yettinahole project, rues my father.
It is still thrilling to cross the Nethravathi bridge at Bantwal or Ullal. As children, we always took a peek at the river below, like a ritual. “Look, she is gushing!” was a regular line uttered just after the monsoon, although by January-end we would see mostly rocks below the bridge.
Uppinangady in the district, where river Kumaradhara joins Nethravathi, is considered a holy place by the locals. Many of us have performed the last rites of our kin on the banks of Nethravathi or one of her tributaries. Dakshina Kannada is also home to many holy places. While Nethravathi welcomes people visiting the Dharmasthala temple, one crosses Kumaradhara to reach the Subrahmanya temple. When I think about the dangers haunting Nethravathi, I feel morbid.
People depend on the river for their livelihoods. Farming and fishing continue to be prominent occupations in the district. Nethravathi and her tributaries bring in huge quantities of nutrients that support the crops and also keep the marine life alive. Without Nethravathi water, the livelihood of agriculturists and fishermen will be in peril. Those who say that water from the river is unutilised, are wrong. However, with most of our rivers in the state being already ruined, it worries me to think that it might be Nethravathi’s turn now.
Rampant encroachment
I feel exasperated and angry when I think of the rampant encroachment of the river banks. Illegal sand mining and land encroachment have affected not only the rivers, but also the tanks that survive on the rivers. Besides, most tanks in the state are ill-maintained, they are rarely de-silted and cleaned. As a result, various pollutants accumulate in them. We only realise the problem when we see foam floating on the tanks.
Public apathy has reached to the extent where even when a cow fell and died in a pit dug by sand miners in Kolar district, there was no outcry against them.
I visited a temple tank in Kolar two years ago. I could not fathom the depth of the tank just by looking at it. Locals said the tank was 5,000-year-old, and that six years ago rejuvenation workers had unearthed two seats (peethas) belonging to a by-gone era. But the entire submerged structure is still to be unearthed as the tank has been locked down. All these incidents make me wonder, how are we going to instill civic sense in our children? If there is no sentiment left for the water bodies that sustain our lives, will they ever understand the significance of those?
All my sentiments about Nethravathi have now turned into fear and worry. Will Nethravathi too become another model for what not to do with our water bodies?