The art of river rafting

It is a dangerous game of brinkmanship. Nikita Krushehev, loudmouth of the Cold War years, had put it this way: Politicians are the same all over — they promise to build a bridge even when there’s no river. In India, they do one better. They demolishbridges of friendship that have existed for centuries in their quest to colonise every river.

If it’s just a good fight that these neta log of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka want, there is so much else they can justifiably squabble over. With a little imagination they could have indulged in a quick bout of wrestling, both in Parliament and outside it, over the virtues of Madras silk vis-a-vis the Mysore variety. Then again, the superiority or otherwise of the carvings at the Belur and Halebid temples over those of the Meenakshi koil is a subject that has some promise.

With a little imagination, they could even launch a full-scale war on whether the idli took birth in the east of the peninsula or the west. Whether those humble full moons melding urad dal and rice in everlasting marriage, rose over the Arabian Sea in the temple kitchens of Udipi, or whether it was in Kanchipuram, known the world over for its deft silken weft, where it all began.

There are many who claim that the pepper corns,channa dal, and the mandatory pinch of turmeric in the true Kanchipuram idli puts some spine into an otherwise insipid dish, but the votaries of the Mysore buttee idli — so-called because they come cradled in tiny baskets — will always maintain that the classical appeal of the dish lies in its simplicity. Urad dal, rice and a touch of fenugreek, that’s all any true idli connoisseur wants, they maintain. Now I believe that there is in all this enough combustible material for a handsome riot.

And if that doesn’t work, they can always break each other’s heads over which state is entitled to claim Veerappan, sandalwood smuggler and videotape hero, as its own. Imagine an epic battle breaking out over who should have the book and film rights to a future blockbuster, written and directed by the jungle terror himself. It would require the wisdom of a Solomon to decide whether it is Karnataka or Tamil Nadu that should lay claim to the man, seeing that both states have worked equally hard tokeep him free. For these past 10 years and more, the special police forces from both states sent expressly to track him down have been prevented by forest shrubs and jungle bees from honing in on their target.

When there is so much to fight for, why bring the Cauvery into the picture, is what I say. Let this wonderful river that was conceived somewhere in the secret spaces of the Kodagu hills continue to cut a swathe through the adamantine surfaces of the Deccan Plateau and enter the paddy green stretch of the Thanjavur delta. Allow her azure waters to fatten the giant mahseer that leap about in her depths and provide joy to village children looking to escape the summer heat. Let her water infuse moisture into the sugar cane brought to the sugar mills at Mandya and let the Thanjavur farmers get their kuruvai crop — regarded as the jeeva nadi (heartbeat) of the land.

Look how even-handed the 802-km river is. She first runs for 381 km in Karnataka, with the next stretch of 64 km forming thenatural boundary between the two states. Her final lap in Tamil Nadu measures 375 km. Surely there is a message in this 50-50 arrangement? Surely, given a little give and take, there is enough tanneer, neeru, to go around? Believe me there is. But only as long as politicians are not allowed to muddy its pristine waters by wallowing like thick-skinned buffaloes in them.