Entwined Myristica
During my photography tour to Agumbe, I had the rare opportunity to explore a distinctive natural habitat — the Myristica swamp, nestled within the heart of the Western Ghats in India. These swamps, represent a unique freshwater wetland ecosystem. Their name, derived from the genus Myristica, which includes nutmeg trees, often a dominant tree species in these swamps.
These habitats are characterized by waterlogged conditions, often found alongside streams and rivers. The evergreen trees feature two types of bizarre-looking roots: knee roots and stilt roots. The former pop out from the ground and are used for exchanging gases while the latter sprout from the main trunk and help support the trees mechanically in the soft and unstable soil.
When our mentor, Vipul, mentioned the possibility of visiting Myristica swamps. I was prompted to read about it before our visit and was startled by my initial research, that they are among the most endangered ecosystem of India. It was difficult for me to imagine that an entire ecosystem could be driven to complete disappearance, all at the hands of human activities.
Finally, on the third day of our trip, we decided to head out post lunch. We trekked through the jungle and across what were once swamps, now transformed into lush paddy fields. As the light drizzle mingled with the occasional sunlight. I trudged for almost an hour, lugging my heavy camera bag. With a parched throat and sweat glistening on forehand, I persisted with unwavering determination, as if it weren’t my own desire drawing me to those trees, but rather the trees themselves were calling me. As I crossed the threshold into a world, where nature’s grandeur took my breath away, a feeling of sublimity washed over me.
While we trekked under the radiant sun, there was a surprising drop in temperature as soon as we stepped into the swamp. The long standing trees filtered the sunlight and when the rain began, its sound reached us before the droplets. In just a little more than an hour, we experienced the full spectrum of weather — from the filtered sunshine to the rumbling thunder, followed by a gentle rain. Finally, a serene mist descended, veiling the entire landscape in an otherworldly beauty.
It felt like fate that the last book I read “The Island of missing trees”, left very deep impression on me, only to find myself standing amidst the enchanting Myristica a few days later. Here is one of my favourite paragraph from the book, bit long but it resonates with feelings of my protagonist –
“My guess is humans deliberately avoid learning more about us (trees), maybe because they sense, at some primordial level, that what they find out might be unsettling. Would they wish to know, for instance, that trees can adapt and change their behaviour with purpose, and if this is true, perhaps one does not necessarily depend on a brain for intelligence? Would they be pleased to discover that by sending signals through a network of latticed fungi buried in the soil, trees can warn their neighbours about dangers ahead – an approaching predator or pathogenic bugs – and such stress signals have escalated lately, due to deforestation, forest degradation and droughts, all of them caused directly by humans? Or that the climbing wood vine Boquila trifoliolata can alter its leaves to mimic the shape or colour of those of its supporting plant, prompting scientists to wonder if the vine has some kind of visual capability? Or that a tree’s rings do not only reveal its age, but also the traumas it has endured, including wildfires, and thus, carved deep in each circle, is a near-death experience, an unhealed scar? Or that the smell of a freshly mown lawn, that scent humans associate with cleanliness and restoration and all things new and zestful, is in fact another distress signal issued by grass to warn other flora and ask for help? Or that plants can recognize their kith and kin and feel you touching them, and some, like the Venus flytrap, can even count? Or that trees in the forest can tell when deer are about to eat them, and they defend themselves by infusing their leaves with a type of salicylic acid that helps the production of tannins, which their enemies detest, thus ingeniously repelling them? Or that, until not that long ago, there was an acacia in the Sahara desert – ‘the loneliest tree in the world’, they called it – there at the crossroads of ancient caravan routes, and this miracle of a creature, by spreading its roots far and deep, survived on its own despite the extreme heat and lack of water, until a drunk driver knocked it down? Or that many plants, when threatened, attacked or cut, can produce ethylene, which works like a type of anaesthetic, and this chemical release has been described by researchers as akin to hearing stressed plants screaming?”
In those quiet moments when we took refuge under our umbrellas, I felt the echo of these words. This overwhelming realisation that Myristica swamps were once widespread, now a fast-shrinking, fragmented, and endangered ecosystem. These intelligent and resilient life forms are now suffering a fate like many other species, moved me deeply.
Myristica swamps plays a vital role in maintaining the ecological balance, it acts as a natural sponge that absorb excess rainwater, thus mitigating floods, it also helps in stabilizing the soil. Study shown that the swampy forests have higher carbon storage than neighbouring non-swampy forests, thus silently playing a significant role in climate regulation amidst global warming. Needless to say that it is home of many species which are endemic to this habitat.
The only way to preserve Myristica swamps is by allowing them to thrive undisturbed, letting nature take its course as it has for countless ages.
I leave you with this thought – “We need to stop seeing ourselves as the owners of the earth, as the centre of the universe, we are not, one day we will all disappear but trees will still be alive—they live longer than us”.
