Object No. 10: the black Buddha of Kuttenad

Evidence of the long trek the first followers of the Buddha took from the North to the South of India and on to Sri Lanka is scarce. The Jain religion spread Southwards at about the same time, and although both of these religions were severely repressed by the Brahmins from about the 12th Century CE, there are complete Jain temples remaining, especially to the North in Wayanad. From about 600 CE there were likely to have been many of the Buddhist faith in Kerala, but these are represented now by a very few statues which have survived against all of the odds.

My favourite is the black statue which sits in a very unremarkable stupa in a field on a backwater between Alleppey and Kollam, deep into the Kuttenad region. It has lost some of its torso and one arm, its features are crumbled, but still serene and its legs are very small. (One of the effects of my computer crash has been the temporary loss of thousands of photos, and I can't find my pictures of this isolated, but moving, statue, so I have stolen a couple.)

https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/398850110720541273/

The statue probably dates from the 9th Century, and when we visited it sat forlornly in a very plain, concrete structure, open to the elements and half-buried in the field. It did have offerings and incense burning near it, and had been anointed with turmeric for good fortune by the local villagers. The locals believe that the statue lost its arm when it was trampled by an elephant. The stupa in the picture above was donated by the Dalai Lhama.
These relics of the old faith are unsung across the South. We stumbled across another in the Krishnapuram Palace, about 40 miles South of Alleppey. This palace houses an interesting museum and the larger 10th Century statue is housed in a peaceful garden. It is one of four dug out of wells and tanks in the area and they are still coming to light.
Another sits at Buddha Junction in a grubby shrine, still visited daily by a lone resident.

http://www.alappuzhaonline.com/buddhajunctionmavelikara.htm

Those with a keen eye will see other images which might, or might not, be the Buddha in shrines and temples in the area, integrated into the Hindu pantheon, lacking the necessary serenity but relics of the long, historical journeys of faith taken by the people of South India.

Object No. 8: The palm tree

Many years ago, before I had caught the travel bug, I made a bucket list of all the things I wanted to see in the world. I did not go in for activities or places, but rather humble things  that I wanted to experience. Along with the coral reef, (Tick!) a rain forest, (Tick!) and a growing pineapple (Tick) was a coconut growing on a tree.
Now it seems crazy that I should have picked out something so available as special, but then I had only seen coconuts in pictures of tropical beaches and wild lagoons. The coconut is special when thinking about Kerala. It is a resource that has sustained the country for millennia and is still locally important, although the market value of coconut products varies wildly and is generally low.
The food of the South relies heavily on coconut oil. The many fried snacks are prepared using coconut oil, which takes the place of the Northern clarified butter in traditional dishes. The palm tree has an important part to play in the reclamation of the backwater paddy fields. Palm trees are planted, along with bananas, along the clay bunds, helping to take the water out of the soil and to stabilise the boundaries. AS well as providing a crop, the precious land is enough to tether a cow or two.

There are two products which are all-important. The coir, which forms the basis of the coconut matting trade, experiencing a great resurgence with the demand for sustainable products, and which has always been in demand for rope, and toddy, the fermented palm wine which is drunk all over the South and wherever palm trees are found. The tourist on a houseboat ride is sometimes taken into a dank and noisome den to sample the toddy.

In "dry" Kerala, toddy drinking is sometimes seen as an embarrassing workman's habit, and there is no doubt that is adds to the total of alcohol-related problems. It persists, though, and provides employment for nearly a thousand in the skilled work of tapping the trees, and several thousand in the toddy shops. It is a treat to watch the tappers shin up the trees, a breath-holding circus act, as they are without any kind of safety rope and some of the trees are very tall. The sap of a cut bud is collected as it weeps into the jar during the day. By nightfall the sap has fermented in the heat and toddy is made, all by itself. Toddy collected from palms other than the coconut takes longer to mature.

Recent moves to make Kerala a dry state and to close the grudgingly licensed liquor shops led to plans to expand the toddy industry and to clean up the bars and shops which sold it.

http://zeenews.india.com/news/kerala/kerala-eyes-toddy-to-fill-liquors-gap_1470233.html

Since announcing the ban on alcohol, which would have mant that only 20 five-star hotels would have been able to sell it, and none on Sundays, the government has faced challenges in the High Court which means that the state will stay damp, but not quite dry.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-india-30544717

Seeing my coconuts on the trees has led me to an appreciation of the essential nature of the trees and their part in the life of South India

Object Number 7: Houseboat Food

I am not sure that any aspect of the huge range of the food in Kerala can be contained under the heading of a single object, but if there is one thing that resounds and reminds when you are back home, it is the memory of the food.
Often, the most memorable meals are the ones taken on the houseboat. The houseboat cooks are not trained chefs, but often village men who have learned their craft from the best cooks of all, their mothers and wives.

A selection of vegetable dishes, often a chicken curry and, if you are lucky, a kareemi fish cooked wrapped in its own banana leaf appear, accompanied by the huge, red-streaked grains of Kerala rice. Anything and everything can appear on your banana leaf plate, beetroot, cabbage, bitter gourds, yard-long beans, tiny, puffy papadums and a red-hot sambal, and it all keeps coming. A plate of raw cucumber, onion, tomato and carrots will probably be safe to eat, and when you are so stuffed that it is a good job that your only task will be to sit and watch the backwaters go by, the leaves are thrown overboard to add to the pollution and to feed the fish and the crew go astern to finish up what's left over.
A plate of carved pineapple and bananas appear next to finish you off completely.
The lucky passenger will have a dedicated cook who pulls out all the stops at breakfast too. A traditional breakfast of curries and sambal will be available, but if you are like me and can't face hot and spicy breakfasts, you might get appam, a tapioca pancake, puffy, fermented iddlies along with floppy toast and an omelette,
Although the food is moderated for pathetic Western palates it will still be fiery with pepper and aromatic with all the spices which have been grown here for millennia. Each spice is worthy of an object in its own right, as are the dhosas and parathas and variations of coconut products, the lethally fried snacks and street food. I still have plenty of objects to go!

Ten years after the Boxing Day tsunami

There have been many events in memory of the tsunami of 2010 which spent the last of its force on the coast of India. We are reminded of its power whenever we visit the Western coast, where although we can't envisage the shape of the coast before the wave ripped its way through, we can see the lack of structure on the beaches and the uniform size of the small palm trees which have been planted to replace those which were washed away.

The ugly barrier of concrete and stone which stretches down the highway to the South seems a flimsy protection against such a destructive force, but many warning systems have been put into place and everyone along the coast now understands what to do if the sea behaves strangely. A great deal of post-tsunami work has been done and zoning laws, frequently ignored, restrict new building close to the beach. The Hindustan News describes some of it.

"Thatched huts have given way to housing clusters named Tsunami Colony or Tsunami Village, fishing markets have been built further inland and sea walls have turned the once-bustling beaches dreary and barren," 

Most of the 170 people who lost their lives on this coast were fishermen and while the slow process of rebuilding has gone on, they have resumed their lives in the flimsy beachside huts which made them so vulnerable in the first place. Much of the money allocated to the sea wall and rebuilding the infrastructure has vanished elsewhere, according to the local panchayats.

http://www.thehansindia.com/posts/index/2014-12-27/Sea-walls-in-Kerala-still-a-dream-post-tsunami-123114

A less obvious problem has been the amount of land which was washed away. The tsunami in the 14th Century, which resulted in the disappearance of Muziris and the opening up of the inlet to present day Cochin, shows what the power of the sea is capable of. Less dramatic geological changes came about after the 2004 tsunami, but its effect on the farmers whose land vanished has been immense, and they too are waiting for compensation.

The effects on the 8,000 people who were displaced and housed in relief camps in Alleppey alone are long-lasting, and complete recovery will be a long time coming for people and businesses afftected by this huge disaster.

Object number 3, the houseboat.

Houseboats parked at Alleppey

Houseboat on Lake Vembanad

The houseboats which potter around the lakes and canals of the backwaters represent so much of what is good and bad about the tourist push in Kerala.
The kettuvallums, the traditional boats of all sizes, are living history. No-one knows how long they have been constructed using very ancient techniques, out of Anjuli wood and coir, both abundant around the area.
In the Malayalam language "kettu" means tying and “vallam” means country boat – the two together make the local name "kettuvallam”. Those tourists lucky enough to have a trip on a genuine kettuvallum will be treated to a close-up view of the complicated tying and weaving of the coir ropes which hold the whole thing together, and the intricately woven palm-thatched superstructure. The standard kettuvallam is about 20 metres long and 4 metres wide. They are still built using traditional construction methods and mainly from local materials, bamboo poles, coconut fibre and "Anjili" (Artocarpus hirsuta) wood. The hull is a series of wooden planks, long cut and carved and tied together using coir, with coconut fibres stuffed in between. There are no nails used in the hull, and it is easy to see how the planks are tied. This framework is then coated with a caustic black resin extracted from boiled cashew kernels. Modern boats have diesel engines and a rudder and are steered using a wheel at the front. Some maintain the use of bamboo poles to punt along.

A meal on the boat

The distinctive kettuvallams have been used to transport rice and spices through the canals and waterways of Kerala for many years. They could be as much as 100 feet long and carry up to 30 tons. Today the boats are only used to carry visitors around the backwaters, their stately pace being the ideal counterpoint to the bustle onshore. From being an outmoded and dying form of transport, the kettuvallam has taken on a new lease of life and the boatyards are busy building and maintaining today’s fleet. The superstructure is made from woven bamboo, and needs to be renewed every three or four years.Inside, the boats now have every modern convenience including air-conditioning, en-suite bathrooms and well-equipped kitchens.

New boats use modern construction techniques and are metal-hulled and riveted together. They are usually lumbering monsters, lacking the grace of the traditional boats. Some have eight cabins and a jacuzzi on the roof. I just don't get it!

The driver

The source of a lot of tourist dollars, the fleet of boats working out of Alleppey has grown and grown, and with little regulation the boats are adding to the already serious pollution of the lakes and waterways. Most of the beauty of the backwaters lies along its narrow canals, which thread their way through the rice fields, lined with small houses and providing the arteries through which the commerce of the area flows. The large boats with all mod. cons cannot tackle these waterways, so lumber their way round the lake, a constant procession of primitive arks. There is much to see on the lake, but those in the know insist on a small boat and a more difficult voyage into the depths of the backwaters.

More reader feedback- a map.

Another suggestion from my reader- have I got more than one? was that I included a map of my travels. I have done this by means of a page, rather than a post so that it is always there. I have also included a map of the backwaters, painfully drawn from a variety of sources before such a thing was available in India. How things have moved on!