The Church at Shettihalli
“How about the church at Shettihalli?” my husband pinged me.
I pondered over this a bit. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t care much for
churches.” “Well, this one looks different. Take a look.” He sent across a
link. A church? What made my husband think of visiting one? I thought while
waiting for the page to load. A few seconds
later I found myself looking at a half-submerged church, or rather, the ruins
of it. I confess at that moment I was not too impressed. “Umm, ok” I typed back
to my husband. Nothing much to lose, I told myself secretly.
We were planning a getaway for my birthday and since the
baby was still too young to travel very long distances, I had picked Belur and
Halebidu, some 220 km from Bangalore. The
husband had sullenly agreed to it. Historical monuments and sites were not
exactly his cup of tea. But he couldn’t have refused my birthday wish, could he?
So an itinerary was drawn up where we decided to visit Gorur Dam and the church
at Shettihalli in Hassan, besides the temples at Belur and Halebidu. The draft
of the temple visits is still lying unfinished, but I promise I shall put up a
post on them soon.
So, there we were, on a fine day on 14th September’12,
driving through Hassan where we had booked our hotel. Our first stop was Gorur
Dam, which we managed to locate after some hiccups. In fact, we had expected to
locate the dam without much trouble. I mean, how could you not find a dam, of
all things! This experience made us jittery about the prospect of finding the
church. After all, it is supposed to be half-submerged in water, a bit
difficult than trying to locate a huge dam. Also, I remembered reading in a few
blogs that some people had a tough time looking for the church. Well, nothing
much to lose, I reminded myself.
Gorur Dam
We had looked up the way to the church on Google Map and decided to follow the route given there, although Google Map has ditched us quite a few times. Just to double check, the husband kept on asking people about the church. Since neither of us knew the local language, we would just ask “Church?” and we would be shown the way readily. Insecurity crept in about the easy manner the people were guiding us. “Are you sure they are talking about our church, and not their own? I mean, there could be numerous churches, for all we know.” I was starting to question our decision to visit the church. But there was no dissuading the husband. And so onward we went.
After sometime, we came across a little kachha (unpaved)
road, veering to the left from the main road. There were tall bushes on each
side of that narrow road. According to Google Map, this was where we were
supposed to venture. We were debating on whether to trust the map when a few
local people emerged from that road. “Church?” we hopefully queried and were
relieved to see their nod. “Boat? You want?” one of them asked. We took a look
at the fast approaching dusk and decided not to take a boat. Oh, but it did create
a flutter of excitement in us!
Anyhow, we took the narrow road and were absolutely
unprepared for the sight that awaited us at the end of it. At least not me. What
lay in front of us took our breath away. We had seen a number of pictures of
the church, from various angles, in and out. And yet the magnitude of seeing
the real thing was immeasurable. Perhaps the dusk played some tricks on our
minds.
The Rosary Church
The church was a big one. The pictures we had found on the
internet did not do justice to its size. Its Gothic architecture was clearly
visible of what remained above the water. One could easily imagine the regal stature of
the church in its functional days. Some online research on its antecedents revealed
that it was known as the Rosary Church. It was built in 1860 by French
missionaries for the erstwhile British estate owners residing in neighbouring
Sakleshpur. The construction of the reservoir across the Hemavathi river at
Gorur to irrigate the lands in Hassan, Tumkur and Mandya districts led the
church to remain submerged in water half the year and emerge above it during
the other half. The area was also known for its thriving bird life during summer.
Dusk
The bridge over the reservoir
There were coracles tied to the banks of the reservoir but
we kept the ride to our next visit. We stood and marveled the structure and its
resistance against the forces of nature, almost defying them as if to say “You
cannot take me.” The last rays of the sun, falling on the behemoth skeletal edifice,
created a mystical atmosphere about it. We resolved to return another day, (“There
are birds here,” the husband happily chimed) and got back to our car. We had
seen a beautiful bridge over the reservoir and decided to take a little drive
over it. The sight of the church kept us company all the way to the bridge. Suddenly
my heart felt heavy over the present fate of the church. In the engulfing
darkness, it seemed so lonely and yet raising its head proudly. A quiet dignity
surrounded the church. “Stay there,” I sent a silent prayer “We will be back to
admire your strength and beauty.” That’s a promise.
View of the church from the bridge
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