We were checking the repairs done on the fence in the east where we came upon these rocks whose story our writer told us.
A bull went grazing up the slopes beyond the stream that flows by these rocks. Those were days when the village by the stream did not exist and thick jungle covered the slopes and all the hills behind them. After a while the bull sensed eyes on himself and looked up and froze: a tiger stood crouched in the distance, ready to run at him. Our bull recovered and turned and fled down the slope and the tiger bounded after him. The bull crossed the stream whence he came, with life's end on his mind, and the tiger prepared to leap from a low ledge over the stream on to the bull's back. Just then a light shone from an opening among the rocks before the bull—a soothing light, a beckoning gleam. The tiger leapt and the bull shot into the crevice, and was engulfed by a heavenly heat, and he felt himself melting, melting, merging into Mahadeva, and was soon transformed into a rock-statue of Nandi, bull of Shiva-Mahadeva.
Now, villagers offer daily prayers to the deity in this crevice. What became of the tiger, the writer didn't say, but tigers never win in our cow and bull tales. Anyway, we now have a story to add depth to the name of our Nandi Thota.