Pulluvan

Three years ago, my father died after a prolonged illness. We have a tradition of offering prayers to free the soul of the dead on the banks of the river (Bharatapuzha - River Nila) in Tirunavaya. It was whilst offering prayers and when I was about to take a dip that I noticed that there wasn’t enough water in the river to take bathe properly. It wasn’t even the start of summer yet I literally had to roll over to make sure that my body was wet enough.

As much it pained me to see my father dying in front of my eyes, the sight of the Nila dying choked me to the core. This was the river I went to when I felt sad or happy. This was where I shared my secrets and where I lay down looking up at the stars. It was part of my day to day life; it was part of my growing up. Like many other Malayalees, I grew up reading literature from the banks of this river.

Literature, by writers from the banks of Nila was such an integral part of our lives. MT Vasudevan Nair,( who famously said, ‘'For me, Nila's significance is greater than that of the greatest ocean in the world. Much of my inner and external life is associated with the river Nila and Koodallur village located on its bank''…… read more here ) or

O.V Vijayan (Who nostalgically wrote about Tootha puzha in ‘Guru Sagaram’ that formed one of the richest tributaries of the River Nila) or

C.Radhakrishnan (Who once told us when we met him in Chamravattam, ‘Nila is my University, this is where I learnt my science, my biology and astronomy’) and many others were part of our reading, and our day to discussions in schools and universities.

Probably it was just a coincidence that I talked to Hari Govindan, the musician ( son of legendary Sopana Sangeetham singer - Njaralathu Ramapothuval ) during those days and he mentioned a headline in the ‘Mathrubhumi’ newspaper "Thilothagathinu polum udhagaatha Nila": which roughly translates into ‘ Nila : A river that doesn’t even permit ‘obsequies’'. He mentioned that it was probably a ‘Nimitham’ (Omen) that I called him on the same day.

A few days later, I was walking on the riverbed with some of my European friends who had come to visit my village and this was also where we all come together to share the legends of the river. Walking "through" the river bed in the splendid moonlight, we could hear the haunting music in the distance. It was altogether an enthralling experience - the rawness, the depth, and the rustic appeal of the string instrument that accompanied the male and female voices. (That was Pulluvan playing the ‘Veena kunju’.)

Wondering what they were doing in the late night singing on the banks of the river, we came across a small group of people, singing and talking about the river. They were nostalgic about the river that once flowed where they sat now. They were talking about the emptiness they had in their minds and in their lives.They were passionate, romantic, and very sensitive. They were a group of musicians, activists, teachers, students, mothers and children,(in the middle of the night!)

They had one thing in common.

The river,
The dying river.
The river they couldn’t live without,
The river they wanted to share with their future generations.

They didn’t just want to show photographs or talk to their children about their memories of a river that ‘once’ used to be part of their lives. Instead they wanted to hold their children’s hands and stand on the banks of the river and tell them stories about the river. They didn’t want to live in the past; instead they wanted the river to continue their lives.

That was where I saw many things in common.
And this is what I felt deep within me…..
I wanted to hold my child’s hand and share with her the beauty of the river.

The River…
that was part of my life and
would continue to be part of my life…….

On the way back, while still dragging my feet through the fine sand bed, I heard Sooryan (the Pulluvan) singing aloud, the rustic, nostalgic, haunting verses praising the snake Gods!

© GP 2006