Javadhu hills trek: Through Thorn Forests and Rocky Heights to the Enigma of Kullar Caves
Our Hiking in Javadhu Hills
Yesterday, October 2nd, marked more than just a trek. It became a memory etched in both nature and love - a 12 km journey through the rocky terrains of the Javadhu Hills, from the stream-laced lowlands to the ancient dolmens at the summit.
It was my wife’s first trek. She hesitated at first, understandably. The idea of venturing into thorny forests, scaling rocky paths, and pushing through the wilderness can be daunting. But I wanted her to feel what I’ve always believed in: that nature, in its raw form, has a way of speaking to the heart. And what better way to show her than to hold her hand through every step?
Her First Trek, Our Shared Journey!
In the wilderness, we don’t just discover the world around us - we discover each other, and the strength that grows when we walk side by side.
Hesitation and Hope
We started the trek at 7:30 am, the sun mildly spilling its golden warmth on the forest floor. Our backpacks carried only the essentials: plain water, ORS powder for strength, red bananas, peanuts, and protein bars. I also carried personal safety equipment. To be honest, I’ve never feared wild animals on such treks - it’s always humans that have worried me. So I made sure we were prepared, just in case.
But beyond the gear, I carried something heavier: the responsibility of making my sweetheart’s first trek not just bearable, but memorable.
The initial climb wasn’t easy. Her heart raced fast, forcing us to pause 3–4 times. Each time, I reassured her, reminding her that the trek wasn’t about rushing to the top, but about savoring each step together. I never wanted her to feel I was dragging her along. Instead, I wanted her to feel she was discovering herself in this adventure.
Every Step Counts, Even the Pauses
Every climb has its pauses, every journey its moments of stillness. In her rest, I saw not weakness but the quiet strength to rise again.
For me, the trek felt different. My body was strong, flexible, and I didn’t feel tired or in pain. Years of Tai Chi practice had given me balance, energy, and endurance. Alongside it, my habits of running, swimming, cycling, cardio, and strength training had prepared me with resilience. Each uphill climb felt more like a flow than a struggle. And because I carried no fatigue, I could devote my focus entirely to her.
Strength in Stillness
Like water carving stone, Tai Chi shaped my body with endurance and my spirit with calmness. That is why the wild no longer feels heavy—it feels like home.
Meanwhile, my mind stayed attuned to the smallest details around us - the march of ants carrying their dead, the hovering wasps, bees guarding their hives, butterflies spiraling in the sunlight, the silent grandeur of towering trees. Every step in nature felt like a conversation. I knew where to touch, where to rest, where to hold. This deep sense of awareness came from Yutori, that Japanese principle of spaciousness, of moving calmly without hurry, making room for life as it unfolds.
Kullar Caves and the Mystery
By the time we approached the caves, we had been walking for more than three hours. The trail had already tested us with rocky stretches and slopes so steep that one wrong step could have been fatal. Then came the final climb - a sharp, punishing slope that looked nearly impossible to scale. We were in the middle of nowhere, jungle closing in on all sides, the silence broken only by our breaths and the crunch of gravel beneath our boots.
Hand in hand, we took each step carefully, supporting each other, and finally pulled ourselves onto the summit. And there, before us, the forest gave way to a sight that felt nothing short of otherworldly.
Spread across the hilltop were tens of strange stone structures (15-20), glowing white under the morning sun. The first one I saw was small, built of carefully stacked stones, no taller than a child’s waist. It looked like a cave for little people, a thought that made my wife let out a soft laugh, half in wonder, half in disbelief. “These look like tiny homes… for dwarfs?” she whispered, her voice laced with awe.
And that’s exactly why this place is called Kullar Caves - “Kullar” meaning dwarf.
A Selfie with Secrets
Here, even a selfie feels like stepping into history’s greatest question: who built these, and why?”
As we wandered further, we discovered another type of structure: the dolmens. Unlike the smaller stone piles, these were formed with huge slabs of rock, like miniature huts. But again, each was impossibly small, barely two feet high. Some even had perfectly round holes carved into their walls, all facing east. I bent closer to one of the dolmens, running my hand along the perfectly circular hole carved into the stone. Out of curiosity, I tried lining my gaze through it - and realized it framed the eastern horizon almost exactly. Could it have been aligned to the sunrise? Was it meant to capture light, or to mark time? I knelt down and traced edges of the circle with my fingers, my inner consciousness could feel the sacredness in that. It doesn’t feel accidental, it felt intentional. I had a feel that all these are sacred.
The tribes around these hills believe these structures weren’t built by humans at all, but by gods. They call them Valiyar - dwarf deities, and worship them even today. Some legends say they were the Nagas, a race that came from the sky long before human civilization, establishing their kingdom here: Naga Nadu. They say it was the Nagas who first gave Tamil to mankind.
Standing among those stones, I saw her face change. The exhaustion of the climb gave way to curiosity, wonder, and something deeper - a spark of courage. “It feels like we’re standing in someone else’s story,” my inner consciousness murmured. For me, it was more than that. It felt like we were being written into the story ourselves.
And why here, of all places? Even today, it takes hours of exhausting climbing to reach this plateau. In prehistoric times, this would have been madness. Why not build near rivers, fertile valleys, or forests where life thrived? Why choose a barren, isolated, dangerous hilltop? What secret made this place so important?
We found a flat rock beside a cluster of dolmens and set our packs down. The forest stretched endlessly below us, and the white stones seemed to glow brighter against the deep green backdrop. She leaned against me, sipping water slowly while I split a peanut butter. For a while, we said nothing, just sat together, our backs warmed by the sun, our eyes wandering across the endless view.
The stones loomed around us like silent guardians, holding secrets beyond time. Yet for us, they gave something simple and precious: rest, perspective, and a renewed sense of strength. When she looked at me again, there was no hesitation in her eyes - only confidence.
As I was sitting silently and observing the caves and dolmens, more questions raised:
Were these truly burial sites, as archaeologists claim, even though no bones have ever been found?
Why carve holes so perfectly aligned with the east? Was it the sun they honored, or the stars? Are they shrines aligned to the stars, carrying forgotten astronomical knowledge?
Or were they the homes of a race we can only meet in legends—the sky-people, the Nagas?
It felt like we were sitting in the middle of a riddle… and no one has solved it yet.
And in that moment, I realized the caves had done something powerful. They hadn’t just given us rest—they had drawn us into a story older than history, a mystery still alive in the stones.
For her, it was the moment doubt gave way to wonder. For me, it was the joy of watching her step into curiosity, courage, and accomplishment. Together, we became part of the question itself - two wanderers in love, sitting in the middle of a mystery that has no end.
We packed up and stood again, ready to continue. The caves had changed something. The trek ahead would still be tough, but she was no longer following me, she was walking beside me, equal in strength, equal in spirit.
The Summit and Joyous on Her Face
Step by step, sweat and grit carried us uphill ~670 meters of altitude gain, ~11.5 kilometers of effort. The landscape transformed as we moved—dry forest giving way to breathtaking viewpoints where the world stretched endlessly below us.
The Summit of Smiles
The climb tested our bodies; the summit rewarded our spirits. And in her smile, I saw the reason for every step.
At the top, beside the dolmens that crowned the summit, the wilderness opened up in all its raw, rugged glory. But for me, the most beautiful sight wasn’t just the mountains or the valleys, it was also my wife’s glorious face. That subtle mix of exhaustion and joy, of disbelief and pride, of someone who had just conquered not just a trek, but her own doubts.
That was the moment I wanted. The moment of accomplishment happiness glowing on her face.
More Than a Trek
We returned at 2:00 pm, tired yet full. But the trek wasn’t just about walking 12 km in a thorn forest. It was about trust, patience, and love… It was about walking hand in hand, resting when one faltered, and celebrating every small victory together.
Smiles of Accomplishment
The wilderness tested us, but it also gave us this: the glow of accomplishment on her face, and gratitude in mine.
Yet this journey left me with more than memories of effort and companionship. The Kullar Caves and their enigmatic dolmens lingered in my mind like unanswered riddles. The dwarf-like structures, the perfectly carved circles facing east, the stories of Valiyar and the celestial Nagas, they stirred something deeper in me. Standing there, it felt as though the stones were whispering truths too ancient for words, asking us to pause, listen, and question.
For me, it wasn’t just a trek through the Javadhu Hills - it was a date with nature and with her, where the wilderness witnessed both our togetherness and our awe at mysteries far beyond us. The caves reminded me that love and life are not just about reaching destinations, but about learning to walk the unknown, side by side.
As I watched her step off the trail with pride, I knew this was just the beginning of many more adventures we’d share, not only on mountains, but in life itself. And yet, a quiet part of my heart insists that I must return. Not simply to retrace the path, but to stand again among those stones, to feel their silence, and to search for the secrets they still guard.
Because some journeys don’t end with the descent. Some journeys ask you to come back to look deeper, to listen harder, to learn more. And the Kullar Caves have already called me back once.
