Mukundan sat on a small rock, along a stream, surrounded by huge, green mountains, under a cloudy sky. Water flowed in a rhythm, each note easily distinguishable from the other, producing a soft whisper. Sun peeped in through the clouds once in a while, its rays coming in concentric circles, like on sunrise, though it was afternoon.

Mukundan was somewhere in Himachal Pradesh, in the lap of nature, that is how the tourism brochures described the location. Every now and then he moved his fingers through his

overflowing greying beard. His crumpled kurta, and fading jeans gave away his identity. He is what we call a Buji -- a Buddhijeevi, an intellectual.

He was there to protest when the Tehri dam was being built. He and his friends threw their lot with Bahuguna, that of the famous Chipko movement. He was again seen with the Narmada Bachao Andolan, somewhere behind Medha Patkar and Arundhati Roy, whom the world knows as a Booker winner, whom I saw at the Kochi airport, whom I envy because an old friend I met at the airport recognised her but not me.

He was there on the banks of Yamuna to protest the Delhi government's decision to allow a temple and the Commonwealth Games housing complex on the riverbed. He was there at Eloor in Kerala, where untreated effluents from factories were being dumped into the Periyar, gifting the river a slow and painful death.

Now, for the first time Mukundan had fled a battlefield. After years of activism he was faced with a moral dilemma, and when no solution was in sight, he found salvation in the Himalayas.

As he sat idly, along the stream, surrounded by huge, green mountains, under a cloudy sky, he remembered the old story told and retold several times by his grandfather. The story of Srirama -- how he married Sita, how he lost Sita and how he got Sita back by crossing the Indian Ocean over a bridge built by monkeys and squirrels and humbling the ten-headed demon Ravana.

The narrow stretch of water that divided Rama and Sita then, has now divided the whole nation. On the one hand is a state government that wants the Rama Sethu, a natural formation of sandbank, demolished to create a channel that would save ships going to the east 36 hours of travel time, earn jobs for hundreds. On the other hand, rightwing political parties that want nobody to touch the sethu they believe was built by Rama. Caught in between is the Congress, which is gifted with the ability to get into trouble where there is none. Its government at the Centre could have just said there is no evidence that the Rama Sethu is manmade, but instead chose to say there is no evidence Rama or Rama Sethu ever existed.

On the one hand are atheists who don't want myths to stand in the way of development, on the other hand are atheists like Mukundan who don't want any harm done to the environment. Caught in between are fishermen who fear the proposed channel will hinder their work and kill marine life, but who cares for them?

Mukundan did not hold press meets, did not go on hunger strike, did not organise chakka jams, did not give speeches. He feared his friends would brand an RSS-wallah.

He had lost most of the battles he waged in the past. He knows Ram Sethu is one battle he could have won. Not because the Congress is worried about environment, but because it is worried about losing votes to the BJP.

So here he is, along the stream, surrounded by huge, green mountains, under a cloudy sky.