March 25, 2012
The sole desktop at the reception desk had konked off in the morning apparently unaware of the dozens of computer engineers staying at the hotel. I was ok with a hand written bill. "Sorry Sir, Sunday means less staff and the Christian staff won't come till church service is over!" apologized the middle aged manager.
A thoroughly exhausting Saturday kept us late in bed Sunday morning. But even at 7: 30 pm, we could come out to see wispy white mist thinly veiling the hills around the hotel. Breakfast and check out at 10:30 am. Subair called to say that he will be our guide for the day as well. He had had enough of the wedding celebrations previous night. "A man needs to work!" he said.
The sole desktop at the reception desk had konked off in the morning apparently unaware of the dozens of computer engineers staying at the hotel. I was ok with a hand written bill. "Sorry Sir, Sunday means less staff and the Christian staff won't come till church service is over!" apologized the middle aged manager.
While we wait for Subair, the discussion turns to the merits of marriage. It quickly fizzles out and goes in the other direction as usual. Amusing! More talk about relatives, close and distant. Interesting stories from the past. Uncle had a particularly touching one about not being able to make it to his younger sister's funeral because he did not have a single rupee with him. By the time another old uncle lent him Rs. 3 to catch the bus and he reached the village 20 kilometers away, she had already been cremated.
Banasura Sagar Dam
Our first destination for the day was Banasura Sagar dam, 21 km north west of Kalpatte. It is the second largest earth dam in Asia and lies across the Karumanathodu tributary of Kabini river. We pass through several hill side hamlets in their sleepy Sunday mood. Metal and concrete skeletons of upcoming resorts and hotels rise up with alarming regularity on the way.
The village where the dam stands is called Pandinjarethara. According to mythology, this is where Banasura lived with his lovely daughter Usha and her friend Chitralekha. Usha falls for Krishna's grandson, Anirudha. Banasura imprisons him. Krishna comes to fight. Shiva and Karthikeya fight on Banasura's side. But he is still defeated. A temple marks the spot where his chopped off arms fell. From the Ayodhya dispute, we all know how Hinduism has a knack for determining the exact spots associated with mythology. If only the historians of the country had a similar knack about keeping records. Even today the local traditions consider malaria, long eradicated from the region, was the cold weapon used by Krishna in the battle.
Sun dialing himself to maximum setting by 11 am forced us to skip the walking and opt for the Rs. 80 jeep service to the dam. A small but well maintained flower garden stands at the end of the dam top road. A pleasant surprise to see the sweet smelling 'Panineer' roses which have become a rarity for some reason in Thiruvananthapuram. By the side of the flower garden is a "Nature Park". Boisterous IT crowd is fully enjoying the swings hung from a few of the trees there. Uncle points me to a gang standing in a circle planning something. "Look at the popularity of jeans!" True, every single one of them, male and female, were wearing blue denims. Where have all the 'lungis' gone?!
An exorbitantly priced Rs. 450 for 15 minute speed boat ride was available. A cardboard sign at the counter notified of a 45 minute wait. A fairly long line of eager boat riders were seated on the few concrete benches and even on the large granite stones forming the embankment near the docking area.
On the other side of the reservoir, a few small houses are visible on the hillside. They reminded me of Girish Kasaravalli's beautiful national award winning movie "Dweepa" which tells the story of a home that is threatened with submerging as the reservoir levels rise.
Though we were no way near as tired as after the Edakkal cave trip, we treat ourselves to tender coconuts after the jeep drops us off back at the dam entrance. The young man at the shop is not an expert in chopping up tender coconuts. His dad who runs the shop has taken a break. A vendor from next door helps out. A Kannadiga family buys a few tender coconuts and walks over to the shade to drink before paying up. "Did they pay?" asks the young man a bit anxiously. "No, but don't worry. They won't trick and run away like our people," assures a nearby trinkets shop owner.
The road from Banasura Sagar to Pookode takes us through the south eastern region of Wayanad district. Arecanut and plantain estates aplenty. At one point, the road turns to provide an unforgettable view of the lush, green, pristine forests that cover the surrounding hills. Dense, real jungle. Surely the birthplace of many myths and legends. One of the oldest mosques in Wayand is called Kalyanampalli because its foundation was laid on a day a prominent wedding 'kalyanam' was also happening in the village of Chovel. This was nearly 400 years ago. The mosque was a gift by the local Hindu chief to a wandering Sheikh who cured his wife who had been paralysed for 15 years. Local tribes had first spotted this Sheikh seated on top of a rock deep in the jungle with two tigers. They reported it to the chief who led a search party. But they couldn't find the Sheikh again till next day at another hill very far away from the first one. Being the gift by a Hindu chief, the mosque looks more like a temple. Such architecture instead of being a glorious example of the communal harmony of this land's past is unfortunately ripe these days for the vested, malacious rumor spreading by Hindu fundamentalist groups.
On the road, we find groups of saffron clad young men. "They are all going to Kashi on pilgrimage," Subair informs. But a few kilometers on, we notice another group which has less saffron, more white and wearing huge wooden crosses as necklace. "They are Christian pilgrims!" I wondered who were the original pilgrim groups whose habit have now been taken on by both Hindus and Christians in the area.
We had a regular "fish curry meals" for lunch from a restaurant that specified that they don't use MSG or food coloration. Right outside the restaurant, a handicraft, spices and perfume story. Achan buys "puttu kutti", the long hollow cylinder made out of bamboo used for making popular breakfast dish, 'puttu'. We only have a steel one at home and the bamboo ones available in Thiruvananthapuram markets are made of bamboo that easily crack. Wayanad bamboo can be trusted. I get disappointed that plain home made chocolate is not available. The young women who run the shop helpfully suggest that shops at Pookode lake would have some.
Pookode Lake and Lakkidi View
Pookode is a manmade lake surrounded by a beautiful nature trail. Paddle and row boats are availble for renting. Slender bamboo dominates the wilderness maintained around the lake. These are young, green bamboo unlike the brown, older ones we saw at Kuruwa and Thirunelli. They don't crackle in the wind. They almost whistle. The whistling provides company to the unseen variety of birds that reveal their invisible presence in the tree canopies with a variety of songs, coops and cries.
Abundant lilac lillies cover the lake shores. As usual plenty of monkeys. I walk around talking photographs. Seated on a thick vine, I pose for a photo that leaves no doubt about the evolution of man from the gibbon, the only primate species in India. Some narrow walkways lead up and disappear into the thickly forested hillsides.
Great to spot a Garudashalabham, the largest species of butterfly in south India, in its natural setting here. We sit by the shore for a few minutes enjoying the cool breeze. The setting is perfect for a nice afternoon nap. Romancing couples occupy most of the concrete and wooden benches conveniently placed on the trail with thickets providing natural privacy.
Achan buys a few seeds from the local shop in the lake premises. We head back to the store near the restuarant to pick up chocolate since Pookode lake also didn't have plain flavor. Subair takes us past Vythiri to the Lakkidi view of Thamarassery churam.
At Lakkidi, he shows us the famous "Chain Tree". The British supposedly killed the tribal Paniyar guide who led them up Thamassery pass at this tree. I guess that is pure, classic capitalism at work. "aandiyo? chaandiyo?" Subair is not sure of that wronged tribal guide's name. From O.K.John's book, I learnt later that the legend at Thamassery talks about a tribal chief by the name Lakkidi who guarded the pass. An Englishman under the instruction of the Samoothiri and other feudal families from the plains goes to Lakkidi pretending to be a tourist. There he manages to blind the heroic Lakkidi and then kill him. Lakkidi's followers dispatch the Englishman soon with an arrow as he tries to escape. Having led a life rich with black magic and battles, the wronged ghost of Lakkidi haunts the families that had paid the Englishman. The ghost is finally chained to the tree. The tree continues to be a spot of annual pilgrimage for many tribes of Wayanad.
From the tree, past the insititute of hotel management and cafe coffee day, we reach Lakkidi for the breathtaking view of Thamarassery pass. 500 meters below, we can see coconut groves and rubber plantantations on either side of the twisting highway. On the other side of the mountain is Nilambur famous for its teak forests. Rolls Royce company insists on using Nilambur teak wood for their dashboard panels. Irresponsible tourists are feeding plastic packaged fast food to monkeys. A monkey mom drags about its dead baby still hanging somehow to her chest. Melting empathy and harsh cruelty...nature thrives!
Kanthampara Falls
Off to our final tourist destination of the trip: Kanthampara Waterfalls. Two of the other famous waterfalls in Wayanad, Meenmutty and Soochipara are closed for the season. The road that leads to the waterfall is jammed with school kids. Nearly a hundred of them. Annual school picnic from Padmasheshadri School of Chennai.Where the road ends, there is a large shallow pool with a short, unimpressive 2 meter tall waterfall. We are pretty sure this is not "the" waterfall. Subair points us to the narrow walking path that leads away to the left. We walk down. It takes 5 minutes before we begin to here the unmistakable sound of a waterfall. Soon followed by sounds of laughter and merriment.
A clearing leads us to the flat rocky top of the falls. Huge warning signs in white paint are prominently visible on this top area. Subair later told us that a mom and child had plunged to their death last week from there by accident. To a side, a group of young boys were sitting and drinking!
A little further down the narrow path and we are treated to the falls. It is at least 20-25 meters high. Water quantity is great considering how other falls have dried up already. A college group, all male, are enjoying in the pool at the bottom on the fall. At a secondary pool further down, three middle aged men with big potbellies are seated, half submerged in the water, leaning on the rocks. On a flat rock, couple of bottles of alcohol and several plastic bags of what looked like spicy curries and pickles. Another man shows up from the sandy banks to the side and shouts loudly for "beef fry". One of the drunks totters through the rocks to hand him the packet of beef fry. Rather despicable situation at a beautiful public tourist spot! I was surprised that there were no guards and no representatives of tourism dept anywhere around.
By the time we get back to the shallow falls near the road, the school kids have arrived. They are disappointed by the tiny falls. One of the boys goes scouting down the path for the bigger falls. We tell Subair of the drunkards at the main falls. If these school kids head there, something will surely go wrong. Subair makes a few quick phones calls. In a couple of minutes, four motorbikes bring eight young men to the site. They rush off to the main falls.
In ten minutes, all the drunks are back on the road drying themselves with no sign of any intoxication. The school kids proceed to the main falls. Subair comes back smiling, "Last week we had to thrash some fully drunk and stoned medical college students from Kerala. These Tamilians are much more decent. They got out and apologized as soon as we showed up! It is perfectly fine for people to drink and enjoy, but why do some insist on ruining it for others?!"
Subair's friend runs the "Puzhayoram" resort beside Kanthampara falls. Guests are treated to bonfire musical nights in the sandy banks right beside the falls. "Let me know next time you come here. I will make all arrangements," he promised.
The Return
Back to Kalpatta via Meppadi. Noticeable number of churches, convents and Christian schools at Meppadi between the several hills of tea and coffee plantations. Tall, straight, branchless, reddish Silver Oak trees provide support for pepper vines in these estates. We also pass by an Ashram of Mata Amritanandamayi and some institute affiliated to Art of Living Ravi Sankar. The invasion of the civilized fools to the land of the tribals. I silently wonder how long Wayanad will survive as a forested land.
Back at Kalpatta, we have tea and bid good bye to Subair. He was soon going to come to Thiruvananthapuram with a bunch of tourists. How long is the drive? "Usually 10-12 hours, but it is a family party then we have to account for more time for all the vomitting along the way!" On the way back to Kalpatta from Kanthampara, he had gotten busy on the phone with his brother in Saudi Arabia who offered him a driver job with the Saudi government. "I just need Rs. 20,000 per month. You can keep the rest. See what you can do for the visa." He told his brother. "They are insisting on someone tall and fair. I guess I fit the bill?" he seeks our affirmation. We head bob with smiles in agreement
We spent 45 minutes looking for a bus to Kozhikodi with empty seats. Kalpatta bus stand provides a glimpse into the social composition of Wayanad. Based on people alighting from the buses, I would say Wayanad is 45% Muslim, 35% Christian and 15% Hindu.
Uncle recalled more details of his first trip to Wayanad. He had come to accompany my oldest cousin who had received his first bank officer posting in Kalpatta. My youngest uncle and my oldest cousin are nearly same age. "I took an agricultural loan of Rs. 650 from the village office for that trip. At that time I had no idea how I would pay it back. Luckily in a couple of months, I too got a job."
We give up on the desire for seats and climb into the next Kozhikode bus as Achan grew impatient and worried about making it to the railway station on time though we have more than 4 hours of the train's scheduled departure. Our tickets were initially RAC (reservation against cancellation). Though they had become confirmed before Friday, we didn't have the seat numbers yet. Amma texted them while we were at Kalpatta bus stand: B58, 62 and 63.
Luckily the bus we got into was an "ordinary" bus as opposed to "super fast" or "express". Ordinary buses stop at almost all points along the way. So before we begin the journey down Thamarassery Churam, all of us manage to find seats. Lot more traffic on the pass. Plenty of folks returning to the plains after the high range weekend. My mind keeps going back to the story of the tribal guide who revealed the presence of this pass to the British. Great movie potential in that story. All the markets in the little towns and villages we passed through are super active on the Sunday night.
Kozhikode
Back at sea level in Kozhikode, we have more than couple of hours to kill before the train. We head to Kozhikode beach. Past 9pm on a Sunday night, the beach is packed. Stark contrast with Thiruvananthapuram's beaches where it is impossible for find more than a handful of people after 8:30pm especially women. Groups of women and couples as well enjoy the night beach breeze at Kozhikode. "Kozhikode drastically changed once Muslim women started stepping out of their homes," uncle opines. As Muslim women in Kozhikode might be coming out, Hindu and Christian men elsewhere in Kerala are increasingly going in....to toddy shops and liquor bars! And the remaining are flocking to the latest expensive superstitions and quack gurus. There...that is my night time beach pop sociology!
When uncle was here in the early 80s, Kozhikode was just a glorified village with some shady businesses like cabaret centers and most of the men sitting around waiting for a visa to the gulf countries. Today, it is a flourishing city with one of the safest night lives in the state. Malappuram and Kozhikode, the Muslim-majority districts of Kerala have clearly bucked in the last few years their decade old stereotyping of backward, unemployed, underdeveloped areas. Malappuram last week seated the maximum number of students in Kerala for the Class X public examination.
Slight difficulty in finding an autorickshaw to the railway station. We compromise and get into one that had recently unloaded some fish. Its hot and muggy at the railway station. After dinner of Appam and egg curry at the railway canteen, uncle and I head to explore the part of the city near the railway station. It is past 10pm but the "Hot Buns" restuarant featuring "authentic" middle eastern cuisine is packed. Even a white couple is tucking into kebabs and sheverma!
We spot a halwa shop. Kozhikode is famous for its halwa. As I type this, I regret forgetting to take a snap of the colorful, delicious display of an incredible variety of halwa at the shop. We were given at least half a dozen samples; top quality ones made in ghee, mixed fruit ones, pine apple halwa, second quality ones made in coconut oil, mixed nut ones, corn flour based ones, rice based ones. Uncle buys half a kilo of mixed nut halwa, I go for half a kilo of rice based Kashmiri halwa that has saffron in it.
Malabar express arrives on schedule at 11:10pm. Unlike the onward journey, upper berth this time provides comfortable sleep for me after the long Wayanadan Sunday. It is 6 am when I wake up. Parting the window curtains, golden rising sun over lagoon of Sasthamkotta flanked by coconut trees. We were back on the coastal plains.
Back at the hotel, Achan had remembered a line from his primary school text book: Kerala has three types of geographical regions: Highlands, midlands and coastal plains. Coincidentally this was also the first sentence of his masters thesis in geology. From the high lands of Wayand back to the coastal plains of Thiruvananthapuram: an unforgettable weekend. The lone tusker will forever trumpet in my mind at a moment's notice!
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