My Kantara Moment: A Solo Pilgrimage to a Marooned Temple in Karnataka's Western Ghats
Inspired by folklore and film, I discovered a hidden realm where nature, divinity, and isolation create a profound spiritual awakening.
I watched Kantara Chapter 1 recently—the Kannada film that weaves folklore into a cinematic experience. The movie beautifully portrays daivas (local deities) guarding ancient lands, where humans must bow in reverence to live in peace and harmony with nature. Little did I know I would experience my own little "Kantara moment" on a short solo trip to the Western Ghats. It was on a marooned island graced by a 500-year-old temple and its swayambhu idol (the moolasthana).
Inspired by a YouTube video, I decided to visit the Melusunka Durga Parameshwari Temple near Tirthahalli. What unfolded was more than a temple visit on a remote island. It was a deep dive into a realm where water meets your eye in every direction, tall trees are a testament to the decades that have elapsed, and the goddess herself seems to have chosen this realm, where she can choose her visitors.
Crossing into the Marooned Realm
One needs to cross the Mani Dam (drive over it) to reach this sacred place. Built in the early 1950s (around 1949-1952) as part of Karnataka's irrigation initiatives, the dam brought progress but at a cost: it submerged vast tracts of farmland and villages, displacing an estimated 100 to 150 families who once called this area home.
The government rehabilitated them in nearby regions, such as Tirthahalli, providing new land and support to help rebuild their lives. But a few chose to stay back on the land spared by water. This small community of about 50 houses is the only occupant of this island. They live in modest Malnad houses around the temple and in the forests surrounding it.
One needs to obtain police permission from the local police station (Masthikatte) to cross the Mani Dam—a necessary formality for accessing this restricted zone.
The drive stretched about 8 kilometers on a secluded, winding road, with the dam's backwaters glistening on all sides. Not a soul in sight, just tall ancient trees forming a green overhead canopy. And suddenly a snake slithered across my vehicle; its sudden appearance was a stark reminder of the wild territory around me. It slithered and vanished into the thick undergrowth on the green ground.
I reached the Melusunka Durga Parameshwari Temple, a 500-year-old divine temple, and the moment I stepped out of my car, I was greeted by a bovine welcome near the temple, which gave me a profound sense of being "chosen" by Durga Devi to meet her. The cows surrounded me like I was their long-lost playmate from a previous birth.
They seemed to say, "Welcome, stranger—what have you brought us from the city?" I could sense their happiness and eagerness. I was happy to feed them some bananas and apples I had brought from Bangalore, without any inkling that they would be the ones eating them, not me. They enthusiastically chomped on the fruits.
I had informed the priest earlier that I would be visiting the temple, and he was waiting for me. He and his wife lived right across from the temple in a very modest house. A simple man doing an excellent service by offering puja and performing all daily rituals in the temple.
Everyone living on this island must travel at least 5 km to buy their daily essentials. The priest does so to procure everything required to manage the temple. There is no commercial activity to intrude—no single shop selling flowers or coconuts or chai. And the mobile network? It is nonexistent. My phone became a useless brick.
The priest was kind and performed a simple puja on my behalf at the temple; he also invited me to a cup of coffee at his house. I refused, not wanting to trouble them too much. But the warmth touched me.
The temple itself had a unique Malnad vibe, with a tile roof, old wooden carvings, and colorful wall paintings. And it exuded energy. Opposite the temple was a 500-year-old champa tree, which seemed like a wise old sage to me.
I completed my prayers, bade goodbye to the priest, and proceeded towards the moolasthana of the temple, a kilometer's drive further into the forest on a mud road. The original shrine—where the swayambhu idol of the goddess Durga Parameshwari stood, a self-manifested statue born not from human chisel but from divine will itself.
It's shaped like an elephant raising its trunk with a Shivalinga below it. In the jungle, it was quiet; every tiny forest sound was amplified and audible. Standing near the idol, I could feel the spiritual power in the air.
It felt as though the goddess had chosen this place exclusively for her residence after the dam's construction forced migrations, claiming it as her realm. She decides who crosses into this sanctuary; not everyone finds their way here—it's her invitation, her domain, where the daiva's embrace selects the worthy visitor.
In that moment, I sensed I was one of the chosen, humbled by the energy that predated the dam and outlasted human endeavors. This was my very own "Kantara Moment." Surrounded and soaked in the daiva energy.
The Reluctant Farewell
As evening approached, I headed back on the same winding road. Now, peacocks crossed my path in the fading light—seemed like a final, parting gift from nature. By 5:45 PM, darkness had already descended.
In that deepening twilight, a wave of sadness washed over me—I felt a pang at leaving behind this piece of heaven on earth, a realm where time stood still and the daiva's energy lingered in the air.
It was a different world—with its nonexistent networks, self-sufficient villagers, and vivid forest. What I carried with me was blessings and the lesson of humility before nature and the divine.
Tips for Fellow Travelers
If my experience has inspired you to visit this place, please:
- Obtain police permission for the dam crossing.
- Carry treats for unexpected bovine friends.
- Don't carry plastic.
Respect the locals—remember, they walk 5 km for basics, so tread lightly to preserve this fragile haven.
