History
The Chalakudy river already carries six dams along its course. The defining modern story of Athirappilly is the long fight over a seventh.
The Kerala State Electricity Board’s proposed 163-megawatt Athirappilly hydroelectric project would have dammed the river just upstream of the falls. Opponents — ecologists, river campaigners and, decisively, the indigenous communities living in the affected forest — argued that it would reduce the falls to a regulated trickle outside release hours and cut through the low-elevation riparian forest that the hornbills depend on.
The project area is the territory of the Kadar, along with Malaya, Mala Malasar and Mannan communities. Kadar village assemblies — gramasabhas — formally passed resolutions against the project. That mattered legally as well as morally: the Vazhachal Kadar hold community forest rights over this stretch under the Forest Rights Act, which makes their assemblies’ consent a statutory question rather than a courtesy.
The proposal was revived as recently as 2020, drawing a fresh round of opposition. The Kerala government subsequently abandoned the 163-MW project in the face of sustained protest from environmental and tribal organisations. Campaigners generally treat that as a reprieve rather than a settlement, since the proposal has been shelved and revived more than once across two decades.
The timeline is longer than most accounts suggest, and having it in order explains why campaigners here say “shelved”, never “settled”. The starting date is itself disputed: the Malayalam Wikipedia article on the project says the Kerala State Electricity Board has been seeking central environmental clearance for a scheme here since 1970, Mongabay-India and Down To Earth date the proposal to 1979, English Wikipedia dates the 163-MW proposal to 1994 and The News Minute to 1996. We give all four rather than pick one. The rest of the sequence is far better attested. A first environmental clearance came in 1998 and was suspended in 2001 after the Kerala High Court ordered a public hearing. A second clearance in 2005 was quashed by the High Court for procedural violations. A third was granted in 2007. In 2010 the Union Environment Minister, Jairam Ramesh, opposed the project after visiting the site, and in 2012 the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel under Madhav Gadgil called it undesirable — though the Expert Appraisal Committee for river valley and hydroelectric projects approved it anyway in 2015. In June 2020 the state issued a no-objection certificate giving the board seven years to seek a fresh clearance; by October 2021 it had abandoned the project again, and the forest department agreed to return the ₹4.11 crore the board had deposited two decades earlier for tree removal. That is half a century, several rejections and at least three revivals, over one stretch of river.
The other half of the story is a legal fact rather than a campaign. In 2014, eight years after the Forest Rights Act, nine tribal settlements in and around the Vazhachal forest division became the first community in Kerala to receive Community Forest Resource rights, over an area on the order of 400 square kilometres. The Kadar are classified a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group. What the CFR title does is convert their gramasabha resolutions from moral objections into statutory ones: projects proposed inside that area — the Athirappilly scheme, and the separate Anakkayam proposal — run into a village assembly with a legal standing to refuse them.
One person is inseparable from that outcome. Geetha Vazhachal is the first woman to become moopathi, or chieftain, of the Kadar at Vazhachal. An anganwadi teacher who began teaching at seventeen and set up a library for the settlement's children, she led her community through the process of securing those forest rights and through the opposition to the dam, working with environmentalists and through legal and government channels rather than around them. She received the P.V. Thampy Memorial Endowment Award in 2016.
So when you stand at the bottom of the fall, you are looking at something that exists in its present form because a specific set of people fought for it, repeatedly, and most recently won.
Why visit
Because it is the largest waterfall in Kerala and, unlike most big waterfalls, you can walk down and stand at the foot of it.
Because the forest is rarer than the fall: the last substantial low-elevation riverine rainforest in the state, and one of the few places where all four peninsular hornbill species occur together.
Because Athirappilly and Vazhachal come on one ticket and make a genuinely complementary pair — the drama here, the wide quiet river five kilometres up.
Because it is an easy day from Kochi, and the drive up through the Chalakudy valley is a large part of the pleasure.
And because the river you are looking at was very nearly a reservoir. Knowing that changes what you see.