Nurungukal

     In 1970 I turned thirty. By that time I had resigned from railways and had joined Central Warehousing Corporation. Now I understand it was a foolish decision to leave a job which assured a reasonable pension for your livelihood in old age. Which I am now deriving strenuously from agriculture.

      By that time we had lost our father. Mother in each of her letters slowly started pursuing me to get married. In those days all mothers were very particular that age 30 is a dead line to setup a family for any bachelor. My mother was also no exception. Many proposals came and finally we settled down on one case, the one person which is with me now , an embodiment of grace, simplicity and compromise. The alliance was initiated by my brother who was in Indore. His bosom friend who was a textile engineer there, suggested the case of his sister-in-law. My brother was a well known  mechanic of that time, specialized in tuning the fuel injection system of diesel automobiles. He was an expert in increasing the fuel efficiency of trucks and Sardarjis used to queue up in front of his work shop with their huge trucks. He used to narrate about escorting him deep into the ravines of Chambal  valley blind fold by notorious dacoits. In fact he thronged for such trips, as each one made his purse bulge..

       Next day of our wedding we were taken to their Tharavad in Wayanad. It was for the first time I was visiting that misty village. My earlier experience of life in such a hilly track was when I had to spend a few months  in Aruvangad in Nilgiris. Although Wayanad was much lower, it was salubrious and serene. It was drizzling and the sun was too shy. But the rays made a bunch of different colours as they passed through threads of rain drops.

        The family was known for its land holdings. The story goes that they had close association with the Pazhassi Raja of Kottayam { north Malabar }.  The Raja frequently came to Wayanad either on a hunting spree or on administrative grounds. During such sojourns he and his retinue stayed at designated places in Wayanad. Each such places were managed by a power full Nairs popularly  known as Mooppil Nayar  and                                their ladies were known as Moopilmma. My wife hailed from such a family. The Raja was a devotee of Shri Porkali Bhagavathy, a deity so power full and dependable. During such visits Raja used to carry an Idol of the Devi to carry on his worship were ever camped. Such sites were  later known as Kovilakams. In due course of time although Raja dynasty lost its glory due to several invasions by foreign powers Mooppil Nayars enjoyed their property and wealth. In 18^th century the East India Company forced the family to part with  large portions of their dense forest lands. These lands were later converted into tea plantations by inundating the forest . The entire forest wealth was mercilessly cut and shipped to England through Beypore port. Many of the carvings and wood works which adorn the  chambers of Britton carry the pathos of an onslaught on our nature and eco system. The tea plantations which has undoubtedly contributed to the climate change in this part of the land stand as in the words of Nappolean…..ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism   The ghat road which we use now was once the route of colonial marauders.

Many land reforms took place in later decades. The family had to relinquish a vast portion of their land. Yet they even now have placed their tender hope of retrieval on a deed which their forefathers had made with the East India Co.

     Many ups and downs, jolts and jumps had to be managed  in our journey together so far. Now as I lean on the Ashoka tree in my garden, I used to wonder whether we were instrumental in sustaining the balance of nature for the future generation or was it due to our actions that things are slipping from our hands. Its my appeal to all  stake holders that tomorrow will dawn bright depending on how deep you wish that every life on earth is precious. Together we live or else better leave…………………