March 24, 2012
We were understandably exhausted and hungry from the Edakkal cave expedition. Subair asks if we want any Chinese food. We had seen a hotel advertising Chinese and Karnataka food, whatever that is, at the foot of Ambukuthi hills. "Something authentically Wayanadan would be ideal," Achan suggests. Rest of us concur. "Can you wait for an hour? We can get to a great place for lunch!" Subair says. Yea, we can last on homemade chocolates and some apples for an hour.
We head towards the Amabalavayal-Sultanbathery road. At the intersection, a car is parked near the middle as if reading the board. We turn right. The car turns too without looking. Scratch. Stop. Small altercation. That driver speeds away. Subair gets back in the car and calls up all his friends at the different police stations asking to block the culprit car. Just another day in his life, I suppose.
At Sultanbathery, we find that the ancient Jain temple is closed for lunch till 2pm. We can't wait that long. Sultanbathery before it got that name from the presence of Tipu Sultan's battery, was called Ganapativattam. An ancient Ganapati temple still stands here and is hugely popular.
Onward to Pulpally. Pulpally finds its place in Kerala history as the battle ground between the valiant King Kerala Varma Pazhassi Raja who lead an armed revolt with the help of local Kuruchyar tribe against the British way back in 1805, 52 years before the so called first war of Indian independence. As is to be expected, Pazhassi was betrayed not by the tribes but his own royal kinsmen and was killed while retreating from a battle.
Pulpally is famous for its pepper plantations and teak forests. Subair recalled a story to illustrate the arrogance of pepper planters of Pulpally when the price goes through the roof in the international markets. Couple of years ago, during one such high yield, high price season, a planter had come to Pulpally market looking for a jeep to take the sacks of pepper to Kalpatta. The jeep driver was interested only in passengers and asked the farmer to step aside. The farmer was a bit tipsy in the late afternoon as all farmers in the area tend to be. He blocked the jeep and asked for its owner. Then on the spot, he bought the jeep, took the pepper in it, sold it at Kalpatta and made more than he had paid for the jeep.
The forests in this region remind one of the orderly tall coniferous forests Hollywood has popularized. Signboards warning of elephant crossing appear every couple of kilometers. In the interstate Sultanbathery-Mysore road, traffic is banned from 9pm to 6am to prevent collisions. Subair remembers a scary drive through this road in an autorickshaw whose headlight was blown while accelerating.
The eclectic music selection ranging from Flo.rida to Madhusoodanan Nair that is playing from the USB in the car fails to prevent me from dozing off. I slip into sleep every few minutes. No amount of home-made chocolate can keep me awake. But then Subair starts hitting 90-100 km/hr and that jolts me back up. Santoshji had managed to hit these speeds in the Delhi-Agra road. But there the road was straight and it was mostly boring flatlands on either side. Here, the road turns every few meters and trees and bamboo thickets that resemble gigantic grain bushels stretch on either side as far as the eye can see.
We turn into an unpaved path towards Kuruwa. Careful negotiation required to prevent scratching and ruining the bottom of the car. Sound of crickets and cicadas even at 2pm in the afternoon. Intermittent laburnum in their yellow flowering glory. Suddenly the region to the left clears. A vast paddy field comes to view. Palm leaf thatched hut perched on bamboo poles meant for the night watchman stands to one side of the field.
We are in the territory of the Kuruva tribe. Subair stops in front of the only building by the side of the path. "Mary Mess" says the hanging board. "Mula ari, Bamboo rice available here" reads the cardboard sign below it. A small round cabin with thatched roof sprouts to the side of the building which is clearly a hotel as well as home. We take our seats on the round bamboo benches in the cabin. Subair knows the owner Babu very well. We order four lunches.
Three women and numerous small children of the Kuruwa tribe are sitting on the other side of the restaurant area and inside the house watching a Malayalam movie on Asianet Channel. They seem glued to the action. "They can understand Malayalam but they don't speak it much," Subair explains. Government has provided numerous schemes for the "development" of these tribes. But I don't know if anything makes up for ruining their way of life. "They are not interested in our type of schooling. But if any of them manage to pass high school, government jobs are guaranteed for them. Don't be fooled by their thin wiry frames. They are very strong people. It must be all the wild meat they eat." I don't see the point of educating these tribes when obviously all the so-called education hasn't prevented the rest of the society from destroying both their habitat, lifestyle and livelihood.
Babu, his wife and another woman serve us what quickly becomes one of the most memorable lunches of our life. Granted we were famished, but this rice, fish curry, fish fry, beef olarthiyathu, sambar, buttermilk, tapioca and cabbage thoran were absolutely delicious. I had never eaten such a large quantity of rice ever in my life. Hot and spicy food in the warm afternoon with a gentle breezy. Bananas are free at the end of the lunch which cost us only Rs. 75 per person.
As we finished eating, two English young women showed up. One of them starting plucking bananas from the wrong bunch and had to told so. They were part of a student group who were camping at Kuruwa for some nature study. "Look how shabbily they are dressed. Unclean people," Subair repeats the common Indian prejudice against Europeans. I don't ask him how the nation which doesn't have a single clean public toilet in the entire country can judge other cultures on their cleanliness.
With full stomachs we walk towards Kuruwa islands. These are a group of 22 river islands formed between tributaries of river Kabani. Only one of the 22 is open to public. We get there using bamboo rafts which are pulled by forest dept staff using ropes that connect trees of the mainland with those in the island. Last week as soon as the islands were open again to public this season, a drunk young man from some college in Mangalore had drowned.
Gorgeous green view from the raft while crossing. "Are there alligators in this river?" uncle asks. "there are," the guard nonchalantly says and continues to take us to the island.
The trees that slope into the stream from the island create wonderful reflections that ripple as the raft moves in. From the island, the camping ground of the English students is visible farther to the side of the mainland. A pretty bamboo bridge takes us into the island. At the ticket counter the young lady had apologetically told us while giving the ticket, "there is only a nature walk there!" We weren't looking for anything more.
The Kuruwa island is packed with bamboo thickets that crackle in the afternoon breeze. Ancient trees twist skywards. Root structures of long dead trees now stand as termite mounds. The walk in the shade is great after the heavy lunch. After a few hundred meters, we begin to hear loud noises of boisterous bathing. At one point, we can cross the stream and at a shallow end bathing is allowed. The IT crowd has created a Kumbhamela effect in that small area.
A small group of young Indian men were chatting up couple of white women who were enjoying the stream from the shiny, smooth black rocks on the side. I recognize one of those young men, a batchmate back in Mumbai. He doesn't recognize me. The white ladies soon leave after which the young men perform a post mortem of the meeting. "Zindagi mein do cheez karne the woh aaj ho gaye. Ek Wayand aaye, doosra firangi bandi se baath ho gayi!" (Two things I wanted to do in life, got done today. One, came to Wayanad, two, talked to a white woman!) It takes centuries for the stream to polish the rough rocks so smooth.
With settled stomachs we return. It is almost 4pm, the official closing time of the islands but visitors keep coming. Back at Babu's hotel, we order teas. The English group is munching on steaming hot "banana fry" as they call it. The tribeswomen and children were still glued to the TV. A new movie was playing. After buying quarter kilogram of bamboo rice, we leave Kuruwa. Final destination for the day: Thirunelli.
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