There is a ‘somewhere’ that exists between land and water. A place where the ability to live and breathe in and on both these elements. An ability that belongs to the hopping, egg-laying, moist- and wrinkly-skinned, astral-eyed, four-legged amphibians. One which can be only witnessed in awe by the two-legged, much bigger mammals that we humans are.

Frogs. Protruding eyes. Glistening glandular skin. Folded limbs. All attached to a stout body, tailless. Frogs on dry land. Frogs in freshwater. Frogs on trees. Frogs underground. Frogs in two or more of these habitats in turns.

Frogs. When India is monsooning, it is almost a tradition to visit a place like Kodagu. For it is part of the Western Ghats, a biodiversity hotspot that is older than the mighty, mighty range of the Himalaya.

For Kodagu offers a vast array of visual treats in its raintime charm, and invokes your aural awareness that might not be so much at the forefront of your perception, especially when if it is numbed by the familiar and monotonous drones, rumbles and cacophonies of urban life.

As the gloaming hour approaches, to join the symphonies of frenzied cicada songs are the frogs’ fervent calls. You see, it’s the monsoon season, which means it is also the mating season for these amphibians. Time for the sacred act of creating more life. In its wilds of happening, human senses are invited, too, in witnessing. You may not have considered these creatures glamorous yet. But even if you do not get out to see them, listening to their croaks and calls is no bad way to participate either.

Meet the Micrixalus saxicola. Now lo and behold its common names: black torrent frog, Malabar tropical frog, Jerdon's olive-brown frog and small torrent frog. This moss-kissed one, with its luminously moist body, has all our heart. If you venture out in the dark hours, if you are fortunate, you will find one camouflaged breathtakingly on another moss-kissed thing such as a rock or a patch of Earth. If you are very, very fortunate, you might even see a male lifting its hind leg as if kicking the air – part of its courtship ritual. Perhaps you will pray for its luck in attracting a female frog before you leave him behind on your path of more exploration.

One leap it makes can sometimes be marked on one end by land and water on the other. A splash. A few ripples. And all else is quiet. Such a small thing that can happen in the immense rainforests of Kodagu, but that is a whole world of splendour before a pair of human eyes.

Such are the silent celebrations of monsoontime. Not only are your senses feasting on its many marvels and mercies, but also your understanding of words ‘small’ and ‘big’. This dialogue with the world is invisible, and hence intimate.

Would you, then, propelled by this surrender to the more-than-human world, dare push the horizons of your conscious will to wonder? If you are nodding furiously, affirmatively, then perhaps it is time you said namaskāra to the Raorchestes akroparallagi.

There are galaxies, in hiding, right here on Earth. These galaxies, when time is ripe, know how to bloom. You never needed telescopes to probe into the dark matter out there in the heavens. You only needed to peel your eyes when you found the variable bush frog, Raorchestes akroparallagi. When it is looking for a mate, its vocal sac blooms, studded with starry, sparkling little details. A galaxy with all its stars and nebulae. Alive and radiant. Fragile. Fantastic.

Its eyes are where more celestial glory swirls. In each of its eyes, orbiting mysteries, making the unknown the most alluring. On it is a vivid, lustrous green. Its belly a bright yellow, granular. Bringing the kind of happiness that Van Gogh hoped for when he, as famously believed, ate yellow paint.

It is believed that in the womb of the Western Ghats roam and crawl and hop and fly and burrow and slither many sublime creatures that are yet to be seen by the human eye. The depths of its forests have kept unfurling their rapturous things of wild — belonging both to flora and fauna — like fragrance emanating from fresh flowers.

And to simply know that they exist is enough. A knowledge that makes you ache for more ways of sensorial perceptions to continue conversing with this big, beautiful world. For it will always be bigger and more mystifying than we can ever really know it. Always vast with the promise of an emerald embrace.

Sourabha Rao

Sourabha Rao is a professional writer, poet, translator, former freelance columnist and voiceover artist, with literary proficiency in English and Kannada. She deeply cares about producing stories primarily on nature and wildlife, social issues, history and art. She strives to write truthfully and creatively in an earnest attempt to create content that educates and entertains, has impact, and mobilises positive social change. She has written op-eds and photo-stories for leading Kannada and English newspapers, and has collaborated with filmmakers in wildlife conservation and water conservation. Sourabha lives in Bengaluru, while a big chunk of her heart has stayed back in Mysuru, her forever-muse.

‘Anura’: An Amphibian Aubade

Sourabha Rao