
Teased by the heroic past, tortured by the present showbiz status and worried about the bleak future, many a prestigious chundan vallam snake boats used in Kerala8217;s traditional boat races are spending their autumns in obscure sheds tucked away under the shadows of lazy palms.
Bewildered at the sea-change their lives have undergone, these end products of history sadly realise that their voyage into chronicle and museum has begun. And the people of the land, themselves caught in a time-lag, is haplessly watching the last journey of these majestic monuments to Kerala8217;s maritime yesterdays.
Although traditional boat races still set the sleepy waterways of Kuttanad ablaze, the event has been rendered devoid of soul. Familiarity may not have robbed the spectacle of a boat race but the mounting cost of marinating a chundan is haunting the populace, who have traditionally been lovers of farming, boats, and, of course, water.
Coupled with the dwindling flow of lucre from agriculture and thegeneral environmental degradation of the landscape, the issue has assumed alarming proportions. Time was when chundan vallams used to be the proud possessions of a village. Even if the boat was owned by a family or individual, it was the it-is-ours feeling that propelled the villagers to field her in races and pageants. They shared the expenses; if not in cash, in kind. It could be a bunch of coconuts, bananas or tapioca. The youth volunteered as oarsmen. The victory was a common celebration and the defeat, a common sorrow.
But change, both political and economic, has been sweeping across the land over the last few decades. Today it is reflected in every nook and cranny of these polder lands 8212; perhaps the most extensive stretch of its kind in Asia. Kuttanad 8212; the Rice Bowl of Kerala 8212; was a seaside marshland ages ago. Over the years it got progressively freshened by streams from the highlands, making it the fertile region it now is.
If agriculture was the password to Kuttanad8217;s prosperity in thepast, wrong farming practices adopted are its bane today. About 500 to 800 tonnes of pesticides alone are sprinkled on the green vastness every year. Every harvest season, scores of representatives of pesticide companies descent on Alappuzha to market their products. The general impression is that the larger the quantity used, the greater its effect. Today many have realised the lethal effects of this excess use of chemicals, yet nothing much has been done to correct farming practices.
Take the case of Carbofuran. The claim is that this chemical degrades into harmless elements once it is applied. But the Toxicity Data Handbook, published by the Lucknow-based Industrial Toxicology Research Centre, refutes this claim. Terming Carbofuran as extremely hazardous, the book states that the chemical takes 30 to 60 days to degrade half of its quantity with 8220;over three per cent of the chemical reaching the milk of the cow in the first 48 hours8221;.
As a result of all this, the integrated pest managementsystem in Kuttanad has totally collapsed. The massive fish-kill and the increasing number of ailments testify to this fact. Though no serious study on the impact of these chemical on human beings has been done, doctors of the local medical college claim that incidents of urinary bladder cancer here are very high.
The land is also losing its fertility. With the high costs of labour and other expenditure for agriculture mounting beyond controllable proportions, many have turned to other crops like plantains and coconuts. Acres of fields lie idle as its owners8217; coffers are dry. As a result of all this, the new generation has lost interest in agriculture. Road and railway tracks have taken the place of sleepy waterways. Many have migrated to other parts of the state for more lucrative jobs.
Ancient houses, the owners of which were once the patrons of these snake boats, today stand on the shores like heaps of broken dreams, amidst strains of vanchipattu boat songs brought in by the serenading winds.Vanchipattu is to vallamkali boat race what samba is to soccer. The chundan vallom had its birth about six centuries ago. It is believed that strategists advised the king of Chempakassery, who was at war with the king of Kayamkulam, to mount an attack on water. That was how the search for a new fighting vessel began. Local carpenters were asked to design a skiff that would stun the enemy with its speed and manoeuvrability.
One particular carpenter took up the task in right earnest. The boat he designed even had a place to position guns at its centre. It could carry even 100 warriors if required. The construction of a chundan requires great skill and can take up to six months to complete. It is usually made of a hollowed trunk of a single tree. The kings and their wars are now just memories. Left to sink or swim in the Kuttanadan waters, their famous snakeboats were given a new lease of life because of the boat races.
The boat race season starts with Moolam Thirunal, thefirst day of Onam, at Champakkulam in Kuttanad. There are several races, but the most prestigious of them all is the one for the Nehru Trophy, that is traditionally held on the second Saturday of August. If all the other races sprouted from mythology, the Nehru Trophy took birth when Prime Minister Nehru happened to pay his maiden visit to the region. The Kuttanadan people greeted Nehru in their snakeboats and he was so enchanted that, to the dismay of his security men, he jumped into one and sailed with the villagers through the lake. A prestigious race was held to commemorate that visit.
Today, even this race stands threatened. As Kuttanad gets urbanised and traditional village practices fade away, vallamkali too has slipped into the control of youth clubs and committees. In the case of Nehru Trophy, it is the state government that has been the traditional organiser, but it has failed to sustain the spirit of the event.
Says Joseph Joseph, secretary of Alappuzha Town Boat Club: 8220;The governmentshould allow us to go for direct sponsorships. Moreover, efforts should be taken to get this sporting activity, the biggest team event on earth, recognised by international agencies.8221; However, Thamban, an ardent vallam fan, blames the people for the crisis. 8220;We8217;ve moved away from the boats,8221; he says.
The Sports Authority is now training local youth kayaking and they8217;re doing the country proud. But it is not in the interest of the traditional races. While an elders row their hearts out as they propel their chundans to the finishing point, the young slide past in their fibreglass canoes, with a sneer on their lips.
Everyone here is worried about the future of these races, but no one has come forward with concrete solutions. It8217;s only in the racing season that the problem is even discussed. Once it is over, the boats are forgotten once more and left to drift aimlessly into an uncertain future.