<p>Pushing my sunglasses over my windblown hair, I stretched my arms wide and took a lungful of the crisp, cool air. Standing on the crest of Ramgiri Hill, 2.5 km off the Bangalore-Mysore highway and some 50 km from Bengaluru, I took in the panorama: open expanse of land as far as the eye could travel punctuated here and there by green fields, groves and thickets, interspersed with grasslands and the sensuous curves of scattered hills on the far horizon. Bright nimbus clouds speckled the blue sky overhead. Leafy, luxuriant limbs of trees clinging tenaciously to the summit swayed, while hardy, flowering shrubs sprouting from patches of russet earth rustled noisily in the stiff breeze.</p>.<p><strong>Cool, cool drive</strong></p>.<p>Cruising down the highway earlier, my car rolling smoothly on the asphalt ribbon stretching in front, I came upon the turning to Ramadevara Betta, even as the silk town of Ramanagara appeared in front. A portal supported on four lofty pillars greets me as I turn right into the village road leading to the base of the cluster of hills. Surrounded by green fields, I drive through a hamlet ensconced under the cool shade of coconut groves. As I draw closer, three monolithic granite hills loom large. The largest, called Ramgiri, rears up directly in front — an immense monolithic mass of granite appearing to have split vertically, poised delicately on its summit. Local folklore has it that the cleaved rock represents seven rishis meditating on the hilltop, who turned to stone anguished at the approaching Kaliyuga.</p>.<p>As the road begins to climb the gradually rising, rocky landscape — revealing perfectly naked rocks admitting little vegetation, amidst green leafy trees and shrubs –— I come upon a bend skirting a gorge between a large dome-shaped rock and Ramgiri.</p>.<p>“A wooden bridge was constructed to span the gorge on which Amitabh Bachchan finally fell to the bullets of Gabbar Sing,” says a lad shepherding his goats nearby. Indeed, Sholay, the celebrated Hindi blockbuster, was shot extensively on these rugged hills, as also David Lean's Passage to India and Attenborough’s Gandhi.</p>.<p><strong>Legends say...</strong></p>.<p>The winding road ends abruptly at an elaborately decorated archway, leading to a flight of steps stretching beyond. As I park my vehicle in a shady clearing and begin the climb, the heavily wooded environs brace the air making the task seem easy, while the different birdcalls soothe the nerves. The summit holds a temple complex and a gazebo offering a panoramic view of the plains below. A large pond in scenic surroundings adds to the charm of the place.</p>.<p>According to locals, some eke out a living in the cluster of ramshackle dwellings at the base of the hills, with their small patches of land — rabbits, foxes, bear and even peacocks are spotted here.</p>.<p>“This is part of the Eastern Ghats,” says a knowledgeable local, “a narrow belt of scattered hills roughly 30 km wide that extends southward up to the lofty Nilgiri ranges.” He continues, “The British called this place Closepet, after Barry Close, who settled here as the first adjutant general of erstwhile Mysore, under Lord Cornwallis during the time of Mummidi Krishnaraja Wodeyar. It was renamed Ramanagara after independence.” He further enlightens, “Tippu Sultan’s army had made it their bastion during the many wars they fought with the British.”</p>.<p>Kootagal, another hill nearby, looks more like a cluster of massive pillars, seemingly tottering on their base, some leaning over threatening to topple, others erect, amid a ruin of debris at their feet. Some distance away, outlined sharply against the blue sky is a great heap of granite with a pronounced hump at the summit, resembling a kneeling elephant. What’s more, a wild elephant is said to have slipped on its summit once and hurled to its death. Nevertheless, today this is a haven for the adventurous, especially trekking and rappelling enthusiasts who are drawn here particularly in the cool winter months. In all, there is a group of seven hills within a radius of about 10 km. River Arkavathi, flowing gently beside the nearby Ramanagara — when the monsoon is vigorous — adds to the attraction of this place.</p>.<p>History, nature or adventure, these splendid, rugged hills have something for everyone. It’s easy to succumb to the charms of these beckoning monoliths.</p>
<p>Pushing my sunglasses over my windblown hair, I stretched my arms wide and took a lungful of the crisp, cool air. Standing on the crest of Ramgiri Hill, 2.5 km off the Bangalore-Mysore highway and some 50 km from Bengaluru, I took in the panorama: open expanse of land as far as the eye could travel punctuated here and there by green fields, groves and thickets, interspersed with grasslands and the sensuous curves of scattered hills on the far horizon. Bright nimbus clouds speckled the blue sky overhead. Leafy, luxuriant limbs of trees clinging tenaciously to the summit swayed, while hardy, flowering shrubs sprouting from patches of russet earth rustled noisily in the stiff breeze.</p>.<p><strong>Cool, cool drive</strong></p>.<p>Cruising down the highway earlier, my car rolling smoothly on the asphalt ribbon stretching in front, I came upon the turning to Ramadevara Betta, even as the silk town of Ramanagara appeared in front. A portal supported on four lofty pillars greets me as I turn right into the village road leading to the base of the cluster of hills. Surrounded by green fields, I drive through a hamlet ensconced under the cool shade of coconut groves. As I draw closer, three monolithic granite hills loom large. The largest, called Ramgiri, rears up directly in front — an immense monolithic mass of granite appearing to have split vertically, poised delicately on its summit. Local folklore has it that the cleaved rock represents seven rishis meditating on the hilltop, who turned to stone anguished at the approaching Kaliyuga.</p>.<p>As the road begins to climb the gradually rising, rocky landscape — revealing perfectly naked rocks admitting little vegetation, amidst green leafy trees and shrubs –— I come upon a bend skirting a gorge between a large dome-shaped rock and Ramgiri.</p>.<p>“A wooden bridge was constructed to span the gorge on which Amitabh Bachchan finally fell to the bullets of Gabbar Sing,” says a lad shepherding his goats nearby. Indeed, Sholay, the celebrated Hindi blockbuster, was shot extensively on these rugged hills, as also David Lean's Passage to India and Attenborough’s Gandhi.</p>.<p><strong>Legends say...</strong></p>.<p>The winding road ends abruptly at an elaborately decorated archway, leading to a flight of steps stretching beyond. As I park my vehicle in a shady clearing and begin the climb, the heavily wooded environs brace the air making the task seem easy, while the different birdcalls soothe the nerves. The summit holds a temple complex and a gazebo offering a panoramic view of the plains below. A large pond in scenic surroundings adds to the charm of the place.</p>.<p>According to locals, some eke out a living in the cluster of ramshackle dwellings at the base of the hills, with their small patches of land — rabbits, foxes, bear and even peacocks are spotted here.</p>.<p>“This is part of the Eastern Ghats,” says a knowledgeable local, “a narrow belt of scattered hills roughly 30 km wide that extends southward up to the lofty Nilgiri ranges.” He continues, “The British called this place Closepet, after Barry Close, who settled here as the first adjutant general of erstwhile Mysore, under Lord Cornwallis during the time of Mummidi Krishnaraja Wodeyar. It was renamed Ramanagara after independence.” He further enlightens, “Tippu Sultan’s army had made it their bastion during the many wars they fought with the British.”</p>.<p>Kootagal, another hill nearby, looks more like a cluster of massive pillars, seemingly tottering on their base, some leaning over threatening to topple, others erect, amid a ruin of debris at their feet. Some distance away, outlined sharply against the blue sky is a great heap of granite with a pronounced hump at the summit, resembling a kneeling elephant. What’s more, a wild elephant is said to have slipped on its summit once and hurled to its death. Nevertheless, today this is a haven for the adventurous, especially trekking and rappelling enthusiasts who are drawn here particularly in the cool winter months. In all, there is a group of seven hills within a radius of about 10 km. River Arkavathi, flowing gently beside the nearby Ramanagara — when the monsoon is vigorous — adds to the attraction of this place.</p>.<p>History, nature or adventure, these splendid, rugged hills have something for everyone. It’s easy to succumb to the charms of these beckoning monoliths.</p>