Kerala Bhraman- Into The Realm

The Bamboo Raft was a success! Go on to Kerala Bhraman- The Bamboo Raft to see what happened. 


"Hi! What is your name?" My guide spoke for the first time in a long time.

"Hello! I am Wreek. What is yours?"

"Ravi."
"Cool! My pet name is Ravi."

"Oh! Same name huh! Are you from Bangalore?"

This added to my resume the number of ethnicity I can represent apart from Bengali. They were Madrasi, Punjabi, Marathi and now, Kannadiga! We truly seem to be someone else but ourselves!

"No, I am from Gujarat but I am Bengali." I replied finally.

As we walked by the bank I saw the boats set sail. The three boats sped past us and sent waves hitting the shore. The sky was leaking and the grass was wet, making our each step sound like chup, chup.

"Now we will go inside." Said Ravi.

Saying this he moved further making way as I laid my eyes onto the leafy gateway and the darkness beyond. They looked so different so close. I was about to experience something barely visible when you are far in the lake on a moving boat.

Small black Trivandrum frogs hopped around our legs at our footfall, their backs embellished by a single thick arc of gold.

"Rana carpus." The last of its kind. Pointed out Ravi at the slender creatures nestling in the wet grass.       

We walked into the forest through a narrow pathway that stood out form the rest of the forest floor. Such tracks were ubiquitous in a forest to keep you out of the way of wild animals. They offered the frequently taken path, evidently the path that gave more chance to spot more animals.

I followed my companion along the path to a place where there were only trees around. The foliage above posed like an awning and permitted very little sunlight.

Interestingly, that day was cloudy and the sun hadn’t come out for hours. The path before us took a right turn. My eyes grazed along the paths direction when they fell upon two wild boars running away from us deeper into the jungle.

We turned as the path turned and the boars disappeared. The trees, so austere cast a stern look at us, their branches looked like hands trying to get hold of our legs. I stopped to look beside me only to be greeted by the vast shrubbery cloaking the view of the lake beyond.

I kept my eyes wide open and walked raptly as carelessness would be foolishness in a forest which is far from the ways of men.

We may not see them. But they do. A constant reminder that sent shivers down my spine.

Even a trained man like Ravi had to be cautious as he had the responsibility of a pack of tourists.

He led the way, constantly dodging cobwebs and skipping fallen logs.

The forest floor inside was brown from the rain and strewn with dried leaves and uprooted trees. Bugs crawled here and there as we walked down the path. Spiders took a liking to Ravi’s shirt and dangled from its sleeves.

We were nearing to the end of the path before it turned once again. This time towards the left.

Katt- Katt- Katt. A strange sound pierced the dense vegetation and went straight for the eardrums.

What is that? I asked Ravi as the faceless sound persisted.

"Malayanan". Ravi replied instinctively and then turned his gaze towards the tree tops, skimming through the branches. Then suddenly, as if struck by surprise, he yanked me towards him and pointed upwards. I followed his finger and squinted at the dense branches above when I saw what Ravi had spotted.

Giant Indian Squirrel

Up on a branch, firmly perched and emitting the strange sound was a Giant Indian Squirrel. Hazel brown in color and its body summed up to the size of a small stray dog. As I enjoyed the magnificent rodent, my thoughts lingered to my home where the squirrels are tiny and cute. Whereas, the Malabar Squirrel was far from cute. They could be pretty intimidating for the beings smaller than them. Its call could crash in the middle of the night causing ones hair to rise.

  

My attention was robbed by a loud whizzing sound similar to that of a helicopter taking off; only slower.

What is that? I shrugged.

Great Indian Hornbill. Ravi replied promptly. He shot his customary glances upwards at the marred patches of sky to get a sight of the bird. The whizzing sound only faded. With no luck at the hornbill, Ravi assured me of sighting one anytime soon in our journey. So we continued down the track.

We had been walking on the track uninterrupted by turns and the amount of shrubbery increased with every meter. Some trees had long tentacle- like climbers hanging down from their bodies. Ravi claimed that some of those trees were around twenty years old.

We were lifting our legs high above while walking to avoid leeches or other bugs. As I followed Ravi, our heads down looking where we kept our foot, I seldom craned my neck to see the intense maze we were venturing into.

At times of crisis like unusual “god forbidden” encounters when fleeing is the only choice, the cover could be a potential illusion. One false turn and your world could turn upside down!

My next question to my partner, only seemed obvious.

“Have you ever spotted a tiger in your walks?”

Hearing the name, Ravi had halted. Anyone would have. He looked blankly around him, his eyeballs running sideways trying to recollect past memories. As a final reply, he simply nodded his head in denial.

“… Not very easy. Very rare.” He said, his lower lip bulging and arching downwards.

I was relieved by the revelation and set out a virtual sigh as Ravi continued.

“They live very deep in forest. In a small area.”

I had heard similar statements regarding tigers on popular shows on Animal Planet and National Geographic Channel so I was pleased to get a consistent view.

I kept dashing my head in every direction nonetheless.

A left turn awaited us a few meters ahead. The turn would take us out of the green room we were walking through for so long. And so it did.  Ravi motioned me towards the ending after showing me a mahogany tree whose trunk had an uncanny resemblance to King Cobra.

Outside was a narrow stream and supposedly the spot where Bison quenched their thirst. We could make it out from the impressions of innumerable hooves in the wet mud on the bank of the stream. We walked by the rippling stream, basking in the warm sunlight after a long time.

Following the downstream would possibly take us to the Lake where the boats were but that wasn’t the intention of our trip. I sensed somehow that we might soon trail back into the cover and so enjoyed every moment in the sun.

As we walked, the distant expanse of the lake was becoming visible. Motionless and lifeless. The boats weren’t there, perhaps they had already crossed that portion and had made the turn at the place where the hills began.

The sleeping man, breathing and his hair staggering with the wind. 

I could see the slight figure of the Nilgiri. Bleak and blue.

The sun was getting clad by the wisps of clouds every now and then and the water body grew dimmer by the minute while the stark hills imposed majestically. A soft and moist breeze brushed the grass and collided with the trees, making them shiver as they let out a long hiss by impulse.

The ecosystem was coming to life in front of our eyes, presenting a merriment because of the incumbent rain. I couldn’t fight the temptation of clicking pictures.

Ravi waited, vigilantly as his eyes grazed in every direction skimming the horizon and the forest green.       

“Let’s go!” He motioned me towards him. We began walking once again, this time away from the lake and the stream altogether. We were approaching a small rocky clearing when I saw Ravi spread his hands and walk rapidly to a nearby boulder. He climbed upon it and stared down at something intently before gesturing me to do likewise.

I soon caught up and looked wide eyed at the spectacle. Right at our feet as if on display was the skull of a Bison. Its hollow eyes pitch dark and the bone completely bare and dry. Its towering horns were intact.

Cool! I mused and Ravi grinned.

Then he picked up the litter by the horn and hopped down the rock. I quickly followed.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked curiously.

“Let’s see.” Ravi replied, unsure himself.

I eyed the skull. What beast could have preyed upon it? The carnivores I knew that dwelt inside the forest were the Dholes and the Tiger. Could a tiger have loitered out in the open in search for food? The question was unnerving and I think Ravi sensed the doubt because he quickly put the thought away by accusing the Dholes for killing the bison.

“A pack of dholes can be very dangerous.” He said and moved along for the further journey.

Kerala Bhraman- A friend from Attingal

To catch up with our trip till now, scoot off to Kerala Bhraman- The First Touch under the Travel section of my blog.

We had planned to get up early next morning, hit the cliff and take some shots for a panorama while the sunlight was still low. But the last day’s exertion had left us tired and we snored till quarter past seven in the morning. The dogs in the backyard stretched as the days first sun rays touched the hotel walls. 

After a cup of tea made in our own pantry, we embarked upon the beach from the restaurant. The sand was wet and the kochuripana (hyacinth) leaves were green and fresh. The beach was coming to life with the flower lady setting her stall; washing it and reading the newspaper on the go. 

Morning read

Coconuts being set out by the roadside, ice cream parlors with their attractive colors looking upon the passersby. Pandits who sat on carpets under umbrellas with a pyre burning before them performed the last rites of the departed; their kins who sat there too, followed his every instructions. They were interesting subjects and had some stories to tell.

Readiness

Rituals

 Brahma having found Vishnu in his abode, prostrated. But he didn’t know that the Protector was lost in the melody of Narada muni’s veena and hadn't paid attention to the Creator. When Vishnu came around, he realized he had been in trance and had walked a long way from his residence. So, he left immediately leaving Brahma in the same position; face down before the sage who was perplexed to see him behaving that way. The Devas took it in a different sense and that angered Brahma so he gave them a curse to fret; each of them would take birth as humans on earth and bear the brunt. Panicked to have distressed the lord, they confessed to Narada and asked for his help.

Narada, in his usual coolness dropped a cloth made out of wood bark on earth and asked the gathering to pray for mercy where it had landed. With the assurance in their hearts, the Devas descended to the location- a seaside supposedly and worshiped for salvation; as men who passed it on to the men who came later and it has been going on this way for centuries. 

As "Tapioca" states under "Myth of Varkala," the Papanasham or the Beach of Redemption has been associated with ancestor worship. Ashes of the deceased are immersed into the sea and the place got a holy mark by virtue of its sacred history.    

So long! Dear Departed

Valkalam is what they call a cloth made out of wood bark and it is popularly said that Varkala got its name from the same cloth dropped millenniums ago by Narada muni. 

Yet another myth is that when Sita was abducted by Ravana and was being flown away to Lanka, she dropped her necklace- Varkalam so that Rama could track her. It is said that the trinket fell upon the beach and has since got its name Varkala.

The Janardana Swami Temple was built 2000 years ago and was dedicated to Vishnu. It is the cynosure of Varkala which has also been named as Dakshin Kashi- The Varanasi of South. 

With the breakfast dreams in our bellies, we returned to the Marina Bay Restaurant; again, all wood. It was separated from the beach by a small wooden bridge over a thin stream of water that came from somewhere and flowed into the sea.

The restaurant had the air of the joints by the beach where parties are hosted. The ones with a stage to perform to a wide audience seated at their tables. The men at the restaurant who were Nepalese offered a change in ethnicity. 

Marina Bay Restaurant

They served us watermelon juice and American breakfast (toasts, omelet, hash brown potatoes) and Indian breakfast (aloo ka paratha and dahi). The potatoes were a perfect brown and fit well with the omelet. A kingfisher ate his catch of the day at the bridge, while we had ours.

Shibu uncle, a friend of ours lived nearby. He was excited when he heard about our itinerary and insisted that we spend the day with him while he would take us around Trivandrum and to his house in Attingal. We had exchanged calls the previous day and had it all planned; our rendezvous was the helipad.

After quick bathes I and my father climbed up the steep road to the cliff. It was barren and hot. The sky was clear and the cliff was warm and red. We had expected to meet a long haired man standing by a gypsy on the helipad. But, Shibu uncle who waved at us from the far corner of the helipad had cropped his hair and a Fabia stood instead of the gypsy.

After a short chat we drove down the same lane and into the hotel compound. 

While the two men helped themselves to black tea, I dropped to the lower verandah to play the shutter. A group of women in blue with white bandannas hurled with large broomsticks on the beach with the sea waves going to and fro behind.

Shibu uncle

Cleaning the beach

An artist himself, Shibu uncle has an eye for beauty of the nature and proclaimed in the car after we had taken off, that he was taking us to one of his favorite places. A road; on whose one side there was the sea, and on the other a lake; Kappil beach and Kappil Lake. It was an awing spectacle. On one hand, the call of the waves; desperately bringing its arms nearer before gently shying away. Laying the mats to the deepest mysteries beneath the land. On the other, the quiet, rather coy and timid habit of the lake, glittering in the sunlight. Both worlds present at the same place yet separated by the road. It could be an artist’s muse and a poet’s inspiration.

A man in shades and white shirt and black trousers came over as we got off the car and asked if we would like to go for a boat ride in the lake. We said we wouldn’t and walked over to the lake; a pair of palm trees formed a gateway.

 

Gateway of palm

By the lake was a tree whose wood is used for furniture but I don't remember the name. In the lake just beyond the tree was afloat a big wooden boat waiting to quench its thirst and a black dingy lay on the shore under the shade of the tree.

The dingy on shore

The lake reminded me of the several movie shooting sets because it had everything- a wide open lake with dense and green palm groves and fishing boats rowing in the lake repeatedly to bring in the best for the day. It was mesmerizing and spell binding and I slipped into my usual reverie which was a casual affair. I wanted to be a part of anything and everything I saw. Maybe a drop of water from the lake, a leaf of the palm tree, the very molecule of nature.

Fishermen of Kappil Lake

But I could never. It was far from possible; an impractical dream. Something prevailed between us that made it look like a flying pig in the sky! Something big and unfathomable. Fear, perhaps. However, I was brought out of my daydream pretty soon afterwards as we returned to the car to proceed in our journey. 

The ashram of Narayana Guru was a new kind of venture. We saw his Mahasamadhi where he had been buried, the fact being that his body has been preserved in the exact position he was found in after the Samadhi. 

Samadhi of Narayana Guru

Although the place offered a pacifying ambiance, there was something quite unsettling about it. The guru had been a social reformer and a spiritual leader. He wasn’t keen on dividing people on basis of religion and had desired to be remembered as a man who toiled hard for a better place for the eternity to live. But there, in his tomb he lay. Silent. Sighing, as the eternity continuously crowns him with the image of a man with a glowing halo behind his head. Posters of brands of apparels, groceries and medicines and whatnots were displayed on the road unabashedly. The guru’s popular portrait printed on each one of them. Sadly, he had risen from the small niche he had preferably constructed to an urban plaything.

We saw ourselves driving on the same road we had gone by the previous day. On reaching Trivandrum, for the first time since the other day, we encountered the cityscape of Kerala. The roads seemed similar to those of Dehradun. As we walked on the sidewalks we caught glimpse of people waiting at the bus stop, a book store and an Ayurvedic product depot. It was well past twelve and we were hungry so Shibu uncle led us to a restaurant that served traditional Travancore cuisine where we hoped to try the famous Saadya. 
Lunch only got more fun as it was elaborately purveyed on a washed banana leaf. First, a lady served us the pickles; three of them. Then came a spoonful of a curd and cucumber preparation. Then the Thoran. Next was a preparation of mixed vegetables. On one side she put a pappad, and two bhujias. The rice which was puffier than usual was topped with sambhar. When we were waiting for more courses to arrive (enjoying the dexterous serving), Shibu uncle prompted that all was served and that we should dig in.

I couldn’t resist taking pictures before eating.

Bon apetit!

I buried my fingers into the warm rice and when I filled some in my fists, I felt the fine touch of the soft white; I was in heaven! The food was delicious and complete with every flavor and texture; salty, sweet, sour and spicy, soft and rough. Each course tasted different from the first. After we had gone through the main course, payasam was served as the dessert. We licked our fingers while they folded the banana leaves and took them away. Lunch was a delight! Later, Shibu uncle drove us to his place in Attingal where the remainder of the day awaited.  

What happens in Attingal? Watch out for the next chapter!