Growing up in Coonoor was idyllic. Life was good and we were reasonably happy most of the time. But there were occasions when a dark cloud would appear to dispel our happiness and fill our hearts and minds with terror. One such incident happened in the 1960s. Our school principal was a strict disciplinarian, and she ran our school very efficiently and never spared the rod when it came to punishing us for errant behaviour. One day, she directed our teachers to warn us of a gang of kidnappers looking for young children. There were rumours of little boys being kidnapped. The younger students were scared and there were many furtive discussions among us. The rumour mill was in overdrive! There were exaggerated tales of horror which really scared us. It was hard for our little minds to comprehend so much evil and sift fact from fiction. Exaggerations and embellishments didn't improve the situation!

The Kundah Dam and Hydroelectric Power Plant is located in the Nilgiris District and was one of the biggest in Madras State (which later was changed to Tamil Nadu) at that time. The dam was built with the help of the Canadian government, a friendly country sharing its technology and expertise in building hydroelectric plants. The Kundah Dam was symbolic of the strong friendship between India and Canada. It was a big success and supplied electricity to the surrounding areas. After the Canadians left, rumour had it that the dam had developed a crack. This was of great concern, not only to those who worked at and were responsible for the maintenance of the dam, but also to the people who lived downstream. There was the imminent danger of flooding if the cracks widened.

Unlike their Canadian counterparts, the workers and labourers and some of the supervisors of the Kundah Dam were superstitious and steeped in traditions of black magic, witchcraft and strong faith in a deity or two. Everyone believed in a deity that offered protection and the Kundah Dam certainly had its presiding and reigning deity. The dam had developed a crack and this was a portent of an angry deity. The deity was displeased and had to be appeased. Weekly offerings of coins, flowers, limes and coconuts were offered. But the deity was not appeased! The cracks began to widen. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The deity wanted a greater sacrifice, the dam workers reasoned. What was more valuable than coconuts? Why, little boys' heads of course, reasoned the workers! And English-speaking heads were definitely more valuable. Hence, the superstitious dam labourers took it upon themselves to solve the problem and set out to find and kidnap little boys from surrounding schools and offer their heads to the dam deity as a sacrifice. Hopefully the deity would be sated and happy and the dam would be safe. Who could argue with this logic?

I was terrified when walking to school and back. I would set off to school with stark terror in my mind, running as fast as I could. Where was my big brother when I needed him? He would run off without waiting for me. There was nobody to refute these dark rumours and console me. There was no adult male in our house. It made us feel vulnerable. I used to take a shortcut to school across a grassy hill which was private property on my way to and from school.

While returning from school one day, as I was trudging up the hill, I spied a man dressed in dirty khaki shorts and shirt. He had the customary white cloth wrapped around his head. He held a stained jute sack which looked like it had something sinister in it. I imagined it to be harvested tender little English-speaking heads. He also had a sharp, wickedly curved sickle in his hand. Definitely a head-harvesting instrument! I suspected him to be a dam worker on the prowl. I was scared and adrenalin coursed through my body. I ran down the hill as fast as I could, away from the grassy hill, and turned onto the road above Ashdale House, the junior boys’ hostel of my school.

Luckily for me, I spotted our neighbour, a tall lady with blond hair, whom I was sure wouldn't be deterred by headhunters. I ran up to her and managed to gasp out that I was being stalked by a headhunter from the Kundah Dam. The lady was surprised and asked me to show her the person. I walked back with her and pointed to the man on the hill. She stared at the man for some time and then burst out laughing. She assured me that he was no headhunter but a local gardener. The sickle was for cutting grass and the jute sack was for holding the cuttings. I felt foolish but also greatly relieved. The lady assured me that I had nothing to fear and told me not to believe in rumours. I was embarrassed. My imagination had run rife.

That eventful day, I lost my fear of the legendary headhunters of Kundah!