Glorious Absurdities of Life in Uniform.

🤔🪖 PONDERINGS OF A PONGO 🪖🤔

The Morning Parade Nobody Ordered!

              A field anecdote in which the enemy was imminent, the terrain was hostile, and the chain of command was embarrassingly intact! Your humble Pongo was in the middle of a highly sensitive jungle operation when a cheerful voice rang out from behind the bushes:

        “Sat Sri Akal, Saab Bahadur Jee!” 🫡

              There are battles recorded in regimental histories, discussed over maps, and commemorated with medals. Then there are battles omitted from official dispatches because the survivors have too much self-respect to mention them before ladies and senior officers.

        This belongs firmly to the latter category.

              Welcome to the less glamorous side of Infantry life, where a soldier may face enemy fire without blinking, march for miles with a full battle load, and survive mosquitoes the size of reconnaissance drones - only to discover that his greatest challenge is the call of nature.

              Your humble Pongo has seen enough military life to know that the Army prepares you for almost everything - except perhaps a jungle toilet without walls, a roof, or even a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.

Operation Dawn : A Mission for Nature’s Cause

               It is somewhere in the small hours of a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol, to ferret out and engage the CRG (China Returning Gang) of Mizo insurgents.

              Picture this: dawn is still a rumour, the jungle is tuning up its orchestra of chirps and rustles, and a battle-hardened Infantryman - your humble Pongo - crawls out of his ‘teniya’ (pup tent) on a Long Range Patrol… not in search of the enemy, but in pursuit of something far more urgent and utterly non-negotiable: a decent spot for morning 'operations.'

              In civilian life, one might proceed to a bathroom, switch on a light, turn a tap, and enjoy the reassuring presence of a door with a functioning bolt. In the field, such luxuries belong to the category of unserviceable stores. There is no bathroom, running water, flush, newspaper, or sanitary assistant waiting outside with a towel.

              There is only the jungle, a few trees, a patch of grass, and the faint hope that the Almighty has not posted another soldier to the same coordinates.

              The mission is clear: Locate a suitable site, establish temporary occupancy, complete the operation, and return to the patrol without compromising operational security or personal dignity.

              Simple enough on paper. But then, so is capturing a hill feature on a map.

🪖 Reconnaissance Before Occupation

              First comes reconnaissance. The ground must be firm, the vegetation dense enough for concealment, and the approach free of thorny surprises. A gentle slope is desirable; a sudden depression must be treated with the suspicion reserved for an enemy minefield. And, if luck favours, a bit of obliging moss.

              The canopy may harbour ants, spiders , tiger leeches or some other species of jungle pest whose idea of hospitality is to descend uninvited down one's neck. The undergrowth must be checked for snakes, scorpions, subterranean leeches, and other members of the local intelligence network.

              Then there is wind direction - a matter of importance in artillery warfare, chemical warfare and, as it turns out, personal hygiene.

              Even when civilisation has withdrawn its services, military training continues to function:

        Range. Cover. Concealment. Escape route. - The site is selected. The enemy is not in sight. Occupation is authorised.

🎯 The Morcha (Position) is sited

              Having identified a suitable patch, your Pongo occupies it.

              The process is neither elegant nor suited to a regimental documentary. One must negotiate wild grass, avoid thorns, keep weapon and equipment within reach, and prevent the uniform from entering unnecessary negotiations with the local ecosystem.

              The boots are awkward. The trousers have developed an independent personality. The ground is harder than anticipated. A particularly enthusiastic leech appears to be conducting close reconnaissance of one's exposed anatomy.

        Yet the mission must continue. With grim determination, he mutters the adapted war cry:

              “Akhiri dum, akhiri goli… morcha nahin chhodoonga!”

(Last breath, last bullet… this position shall not be abandoned!)

               It is a magnificent declaration of courage.

        Unfortunately, the enemy is not the problem. The terrain is. And the terrain is winning.

The Unexpected Arrival of a Visitor

               It is precisely when a soldier is most vulnerable that fate decides to test his character.

From behind the bushes comes a cheerful voice:

“Sat Sri Akal, Saab Bahadur Jee!” 🫡 (regimental greetings). The sound strikes the inconvenient Pongo like an unexpected mortar round.

              The jungle falls silent. The birds suspend their conference. The mosquitoes pause in mid-flight. Somewhere in the distance, even a langur appears to reconsider its life choices.

              The voice belongs to a young Munda  -  a cheerful, conscientious soldier whose devotion to duty is matched only by his inability to recognise an officer's occasional need for solitude.

              There he stands: rifle properly carried, 'pug banna hua' (donned his pugri correctly), salute delivered with the enthusiasm of a recruit who has just discovered the Commanding Officer inspecting his section.

              He has found his Sahib. Unfortunately, he has found him at a time when the Sahib is in no position to receive visitors.

              The Pongo attempts a response. It emerges as a faint, strangled sound somewhere between “Sat Sri Akal” (return greetings)  and a request that the earth open up and provide an emergency bunker.

              “Sab theek hai, Saab Bahadur Jee? (Everything all right, Sir?)

              What can an officer say?

              Instead, the Pongo manages a vague nod and diplomatic grunt. The munda, satisfied that all is well, salutes once more and disappears into the undergrowth. Peace returns. The mission resumes.

🚶‍♂️ When the Scene Becomes a Parade 🪖

              Barely minutes later come the crunch of boots, the rustle of equipment, muffled conversation, a suppressed giggle, and then a familiar command:

              “Squad! Bayen dekh… !” (Squad, look to your left…! )

              Your Pongo's blood runs cold. The voice belongs to the same enthusiastic munda. Only now he has company.

              A whole column approaches in formation - one abreast, rifles carried smartly, boots striking the ground with the rhythm of a ceremonial march. At their head is the very soldier who, minutes earlier, discovered the Sahib's secluded location.

              The wretched man has apparently decided he has found a useful navigational landmark.

One can almost imagine his briefing: “From here, we move along the nullah, cross the elephant grass, and take a slight left near the Sahib Bahadur's position.”

              Military reconnaissance has reached a new level of precision. The map may not show it, but the munda knows exactly where it is.

              The Pongo considers remaining still and hoping to be mistaken for an ugly tree stump, issuing a stern halt, or disappearing into the nearest bush. All three are rejected. The squad is too close, and a senior officer must maintain command presence - even when temporarily deprived of the means to demonstrate it.

              The column marches past. “Squad… saamne dekh!” Eyes front!

              The soldiers look ahead with magnificent discipline - or make a heroic attempt to do so. A few eyes wander. One jaw tightens suspiciously. Another soldier develops an intense fascination with a nearby tree.

              The munda looks pleased with himself. He has located the route, maintained formation, and conducted movement through difficult terrain.

        His morning is going splendidly.

              The Pongo, meanwhile, has become an involuntary participant in a live demonstration of infantry drill. There is nothing in the Standing Orders explaining how an officer should respond when his private ablution area becomes a regimental inspection point.

🫡 Dignity : A Tactical Casualty

              There is no alternative. The Pongo must terminate the operation, restore what fragments of dignity remain, and rejoin the world of rank and decorum.

              Combat trousers are retrieved from their negotiations with gravity. Equipment is checked. The surroundings are reassessed. The officer rises not quite like a phoenix from the ashes, but with more determination than grace. Then, in front of the squad that has transformed-  his retreat into a public landmark, he delivers a perfectly respectable military salute.🫡

              And yes - between you and me - finishing the morning call of nature in the field, sans water - may be with a pinch of moss, can sometimes feel tougher than facing a bullet.

              Because an officer is an officer, a soldier is a soldier, and the Indian Army does not suspend discipline merely because an individual's circumstances have become complicated.

              The squad returns the salute. The munda beams. The Pongo maintains a straight face. The patrol moves on.

              There were a few more days of this agony before we could accomplish our reconnaissance mission. The poor Pongo consequently learnt to answer the call of nature at odd hours of the night, to avoid the prying eyes of inquisitive mundas.

              Eventually, we were back at Battalion Headquarters, rendering our completion and after-action reports.

☕ The After-Action Report

              By breakfast, the next day the incident has acquired a life of its own. The munda discusses the morning scene in the patrol with his comrades. The squad, he insists, noticed nothing unusual. The Sahib was perfectly fine.

              He even returned the salute. This, apparently, proves excellent morale and sound leadership. Somebody grins. Somebody coughs into his tea. Somebody else suddenly remembers an urgent appointment elsewhere.

              Before long, the episode enters the unofficial archives of the battalion - records maintained through memory, exaggeration, and the remarkable ability of soldiers to remember an officer's most embarrassing moments long after forgetting his finest tactical appreciation.

              The war diary will record route, distance, weather and operational observations.

It will not mention the incident.

              But at a Bara Khana, (feasting with men) perhaps after a generous peg of Patiala rum (four finger measure), somebody will raise a toast: “To our gallant Sahib Bahadur - who held his ground against all odds, survived an unexpected inspection, and saluted the squad without losing his commission!”

              The laughter will be deafening. The Pongo will protest and threaten postings, disciplinary proceedings, and other official remedies.

              Nobody will be impressed.

              For, in the Infantry, the higher the rank, the greater the entertainment value of a good story. The best stories are rarely those in which an officer does everything correctly. They are the ones in which he discovers that, despite rank and command presence, he is still gloriously human.

🪖 The Philosophy of a Pongo🪖

              Jokes apart, these ridiculous little episodes conceal a deeper truth.

              Infantry life is not made up entirely of heroic charges, firefights, decorations and solemn commemorations. Much of it consists of uncomfortable marches, sleepless nights, damp socks, bad food, worse weather, inadequate facilities, and the constant business of remaining cheerful when circumstances provide little reason to be so.

              The soldier learns to laugh because laughter is resilience. He learns to tolerate inconvenience because complaining does not make the jungle less wet. He learns to accept embarrassment because tomorrow someone else will provide the entertainment.

              Camaraderie is forged not only in grand speeches, but in shared discomfort, mutual assistance, and the ability to laugh together at military absurdity.

              The munda who greets his Sahib at an unfortunate moment is doing what he was taught: acknowledge his superior, maintain discipline, and carry on. The squad is following orders, maintaining formation, and completing its patrol.

              Only the Pongo has failed to appreciate that, in the jungle, seclusion is a temporary privilege, not a guaranteed entitlement.

              The Army teaches you to defend your position, stand your ground, and never abandon a comrade.

 🪖The Infantryman’s Last Word🪖

              The Army never taught us how to choose a jungle toilet, survive an unexpected inspection, or return a salute while defending the last scraps of personal dignity.

              We learnt the hard way. We adapted. We survived. And, years later, we laughed.

        That is the peculiar magic of Infantry life: hardship becomes memory, embarrassment becomes folklore, and the men who shared both become family.

              The patrol ended. The squad dispersed. The Pongo and munda grew older. The uniform was eventually hung up.

              But the story survived - because soldiers preserve what official histories leave out.

        So here is to the Infantry: to the men who march, endure, improvise and laugh; to the comrades who turn discomfort into fellowship; and to the glorious absurdity of military life.

               May your boots stay dry, your water bottle remains full, your patrol route stays clear, and your chosen patch of jungle remain unoccupied, with plenty of moss nearby.

               And remember the golden rule of the Pongo:

        In battle, hold your ground. In the jungle, choose it wisely. And whatever happens, never lose your sense of humour. Because an Infantryman who can laugh at himself can survive almost anything - even a morning parade he never ordered.

        That's Infantry. That's camaraderie. That's resilience. That's life in uniform.🤔

                🪖 Deg Teg Fateh! 🙏

                                                                                                                                                                                   – Ravi Nair –

Gujarati Street - Alleppey

 GUJARATI STREET - ALLEPPEY

    (Discovering Alleppey on a bicycle)

 (Coordinates- 9.495101°N , 76.3214678°E )

              There is something wonderfully nostalgic about cycling through Alleppey.

   At my age, I suppose I am no longer merely cycling through its streets. I am travelling through time. Every familiar road, every canal and every old building seems to carry a memory. Some are my own - memories of a younger Alleppey that I knew and loved. Others belong to generations that lived here long before me.

  And then, occasionally, an otherwise ordinary street opens a window into a story so extraordinary that I wonder how we could have overlooked it for so long.

 One such place is Gujarati Street, in the Sea View Ward.

 For more than two and a half centuries, this little street has been associated with the Gujarati Jain community of Alleppey, whose roots here go back to the days of the celebrated Valiya Dewan Raja Kesava Das - the founder father of Alleppey.

 It was during his reign that 42 Jain families from Kutch in Gujarat were brought to Alleppey. They came from a distant land, yet Alleppey gradually became their home. Drawn here by the opportunities offered by the flourishing port, they engaged in the trade of spices, timber, arecanut and other merchandise, becoming an integral part of the vibrant commercial life of the town.

 Their story is inseparable from the story of Alleppey's rise as an important centre of maritime commerce. ️

 Standing on Gujarati Street today, it is difficult to imagine the Alleppey of those days - the bustling warehouses, merchants negotiating their deals, boats moving through the canals, and the ceaseless loading and unloading of goods.

  And then, there were the languages. Gujarati, Kutchi, Marwari, Malayalam, Tamil, Konkani and other tongues must have mingled in these streets, reflecting a remarkably cosmopolitan town where people from different parts of India came together in pursuit of commerce and opportunity.

   The Gujarati Jains contributed significantly to the commercial and industrial development of Alleppey. They became an important part of its maritime trading community and, in the process, influenced the town's socio-economic and cultural life during its prosperous heyday.

The Temple at the Heart of the Community

                At the heart of this community stood - and still stands - its most revered place of worship: the Sri Jain Shwetambar Temple.

   Believed to be over 130 years old, the temple is far more than a place of worship. It is a living reminder of the Gujarati Jain community's long and distinguished association with Alleppey.

   Even today, with only about 14 Jain families remaining in the town, the temple continues to serve as the spiritual and community centre of the local Jain community.

A Temple of Exceptional Beauty

                The first thing that strikes a visitor is the temple's distinctive Jain architectural style.

   Its intricate workmanship, graceful proportions and exquisite detailing give the shrine a character that is at once artistic and deeply spiritual. Built with Rajasthan stone and white marble, it reflects the craftsmanship and aesthetic traditions brought by the Gujarati Jain settlers from their homeland.

   Unlike many other Jain temples in Kerala; Alleppey Jain Temple has a very distinct and definitive architectural grandeur and style. It is the only such Jain Temple in Kerala that did not use iron to build and also to flaunt a dome atop.

   Its greatest treasures, perhaps, are its remarkable frescoes, marble figurines and intricately carved images. Some of these figures are carved from single pieces of marble, displaying an extraordinary level of craftsmanship.

   At the sanctum One can observe the statues of four “Theerthankaras” in the temple and it has been arranged to provide maximum view for the devotees who come to worship at the temple. The statue of the 12th Tirthankara Vasupujya Swami is placed at the centre as principal deity and the statues of the 15th Tirthankara Swami Dharmanatha and the 11th Theerthankara Swami Shreyanasanatha have been placed at the right and left sides of the statue of Tirthankara Vasupujya Swami. At the top floor of the temple, the statue of the 23rd Theerthankara Parshvanatha Swami can be observed as well.

   This statue is unearthed in Kuttanad - a fascinating reminder of the possibility of an older Jain presence in the region.

  There is also a pilgrim house near the temple where Jain pilgrims can stay and offer 'puja' (worship).

Jain Traditions: A Way of Life
               To appreciate the community that built and sustained this temple, it is worth pausing to consider the principles that shape Jain life.    

  At the heart of Jainism lies ahimsa - the principle of non-violence towards living beings. This ideal extends beyond avoiding physical harm to cultivating compassion, restraint and respect for life.

  Traditional Jain dietary practices reflect this commitment. Strict observance generally involves vegetarianism, abstention from alcohol and avoidance of root vegetables such as onions, garlic and potatoes, since harvesting them may harm the organisms living in the soil and destroy the plant itself. Practices vary among individuals and communities, but the underlying concern is the minimisation of harm.

   The temple, accordingly, maintains its own standards of conduct and expects visitors to respect its religious discipline.

    For Jains, however, the ultimate objective goes beyond ritual observance. It is moksha - liberation from the cycle of birth and death, attained through the purification of the soul and freedom from karmic bondage.

    The temple is therefore not simply an architectural landmark. It represents a philosophy of life that has travelled across centuries and geographical boundaries, finding expression even in a small corner of Alleppey.

Jainism and Ancient Kerala.

    The history of Jainism in Kerala may, however, go back much further than the arrival of the Gujarati families. There is a possibility that Jainism reached Kerala as early as the third century BCE. One tradition connects its early spread with Chandragupta Maurya, who, according to Jain tradition, renounced his throne and accompanied Jain sages southwards, eventually reaching Shravanabelagola in present-day Karnataka.

    It is possible that Jain followers subsequently travelled farther south and reached Kerala, carrying with them the teachings and traditions of Jainism.

    The precise chronology and extent of this early Jain presence remain subjects of historical inquiry. Yet archaeological and cultural remnants point towards a much older Jain connection with Kerala.

Jainism in Kuttanad ( Alleppey)
                 Jainism has deep historical roots in the Kuttanad region of Kerala, though its contemporary presence is very minimal. Historically, the broader Alappuzha (Alleppey) and Kuttanad regions served as key sites for ancient Jain transitions, leaving behind significant archaeological footprints before transitioning heavily into Hindu traditions.

The Kuttanad Tirthankara Discovery
                 The most profound physical evidence linking Jainism directly to Kuttanad is a historic statue of the 23rd Tirthankara, Parshvanatha Swami. This ancient stone idol was unearthed directly from the waterlogged lowlands of Kuttanad.

           To protect and honour this historical artifact, the statue was later moved and installed on the top floor of the Swetamber Jain Temple located on Gujarati Street in neighbouring Alappuzha town. It serves as a lasting reminder of Jainism's flourishing past in the Kuttanad delta.

           The temple in Gujarati Street therefore represents more than the story of a community that came to Alleppey from Gujarat. It connects two fascinating chapters of history - the ancient spread of Jainism in Kerala and, centuries later, the arrival of Gujarati Jain merchants who became an important part of Alleppey's commercial and cultural landscape.

From Flourishing Traditions to Fading Footprints
                 Jainism arrived in Kerala as early as the 3rd century BC via monks travelling south from Shravanabelagola. For centuries, Jainism and Buddhism thrived alongside early Hindu traditions in southern Kerala.

           However, around the 9th to 12th centuries AD, Jainism faced a steep decline across the region due to a lack of royal patronage and the revival of Saivite and Vaishnavite Hindu movements. In Kuttanad and surrounding areas, many ancient Jain shrines and places of worship were structurally adapted, assimilated, or repurposed into Hindu temples. Local deities were gradually integrated into the Hindu pantheon, which explains why the physical remnants of practicing Jains are now rare in Kuttanad, while historical relics remain embedded in the landscape.

A Vanishing Chapter
                But, like so many chapters of Alleppey's commercial history, this one too has gradually faded. As the centre of marine merchandise and maritime commerce shifted increasingly towards Kochi, many Gujarati families migrated from Alleppey. Their homes, businesses and institutions slowly disappeared from the town's commercial landscape.

           Yet one important legacy remains.

Gujrati Hitwardhak Vidyasala.

                The Gujarati community realised the importance of proper education to their children in the midst of their commercial indulgences and established the Gujrati Hitwardhak Vidyasala, a school that is more than 160 years old. It became an important institution for the community, educating generations of Gujarati children. But history, like commerce, is constantly on the move.

          With the gradual migration of the community from Alleppey to Cochin, the school eventually closed its doors in 1999.

          Yet memories linger. The spacious courtyards of the old Gujarati school once came alive during Navratri, filled with Garba and Dandiya, while Rangoli added colour and festivity to community celebrations. These were more than religious or cultural occasions. They were moments when families came together, friendships were renewed and a community maintained its bonds - far away from its ancestral home in Gujarat.

           With the school’s closure and the dispersal of its community, much of that vibrant world gradually faded from the town’s everyday life. The old school and the Jain temple, each in its own way, remind us that the history of a town is preserved not only in monuments and official records, but also in the institutions and memories of its people.

A Mahatma Gandhi Connection
                 And then there is yet another remarkable thread in this story.

           Mahatma Gandhi visited Alleppey in 1927. During that visit, he is said to have been a guest of Khatao Khimji, a prominent member of the Gujarati community. The old haveli associated with him is said to be known today as “Eresseril.”
                Just think of that for a moment.

           A Gujarati merchant family from distant Kutch. A haveli in old Alleppey. And Mahatma Gandhi walking through its doors nearly a century ago. How many conversations must those walls have heard? How many stories have disappeared with the people who once lived there?

The Alleppey I Knew… and the Alleppey I Am Rediscovering
                Perhaps what makes all this particularly poignant for me is that Alleppey is not a place I have discovered as a tourist. It is my home. I have known its streets for decades. I have watched it change. I have seen old landmarks disappear, familiar faces grow old, and generations move away.

                And yet, when I get on my bicycle and ride through these streets today, I discover another Alleppey - one that was always there, quietly waiting to be noticed.

                A canal I may have crossed countless times suddenly has a story. An old building becomes a memory. A narrow lane becomes a chapter in history. And a temple becomes a link with people who travelled thousands of kilometres from Gujarat and, in time, became Alleppyans.

                Perhaps that is the special magic of growing old in a historic town.

                The older you become, the more deeply you begin to see the place you have always known. What once looked ordinary begins to acquire meaning. What once seemed forgotten suddenly becomes precious. And so, Gujarati Street remains. The Jain temple remains. Quietly standing amid the changing face of Alleppey, they preserve the memory of a time when merchants from distant Gujarat came to this coastal town, made it their home, contributed to its prosperity, and became part of its extraordinary cosmopolitan story.

                Perhaps that is why I keep cycling.

                Because you don't merely cycle through Alleppey.

You pedal through its memories.  

 

- Ravi Nair-

Thirumala Temples - Alleppey

 

 

Thirumala Temples of Alleppey 

(Discovering Alleppey on a bicycle)  

(Coordinates: -Old Thirumala Temple:9.4876820° N,76.3401378°E ,A N Puram Temple:9.4963684° N, 76.3461788°E)

  Two temples, one stolen deity, and a town shaped by faith

A Cyclist's Discovery

Some discoveries happen in distant lands; others await us on familiar streets, often unnoticed for several years. All it takes is a bicycle, a curious mind, and the willingness to look beyond the road.

It was on one such ride that I first noticed the New Thirumala Temple at Anantha Narayana Puram. What caught my attention were two imposing murals at the entrance, depicting Lord Narasimha Moorthy with Lakshmi Devi and Lord Venkatachalapathy. Their commanding presence was difficult to miss, even from the saddle of a passing bicycle.

Lakshmi Narasimha

I learnt that Lord Narasimha, the fierce incarnation of Lord Vishnu, is revered as an Ugra Moorthy. Thereafter, my daily cycling route acquired a small but meaningful ritual: whenever I passed the temple, I would slow down and pay my obeisance.

Venkitachalapati

Curiosity soon led me to the Old Thirumala Temple, nestled in the traditional Konkani settlement of Thirumala. What began as an ordinary cycling excursion gradually became a daily journey of devotion and discovery. My bicycle was no longer merely a means of exercise. It had become my passport to Alleppey's history, heritage and spiritual landscape.

The more I learnt about these two temples, the more I realised that they were not merely places of worship. Their stories were intimately intertwined with the growth of Alleppey and Cochin as a flourishing commercial town, the migration of the Konkani community, the intrigues of princely states and an extraordinary episode involving the clandestine removal of a sacred idol.

Here, then, is the fascinating story behind these two landmarks of our town.

The Konkanis: A Community Shaped by Migration

The Thirumala temples are closely associated with the Gowda Saraswat Brahmins (GSBs), popularly known as Konkanis, a community distinguished by its dialect, traditions, religious practices and remarkable entrepreneurial spirit. Their history is one of migration, resilience and adaptation. Over the centuries, they established themselves in trade, commerce, education and other professions, making significant contributions to the social and economic life of Kerala. 

Wanderings of Gowda Saraswat Brahmins

Traditional accounts trace them as originally living on the banks of ancient River Saraswathi during the Vedic times. The Konkanis migrated to the south after the river dried up, and settled near the present-day Orissa/Bihar area (Thrihothrapura). Sage Parasurama invited 96 families of GSBs to "purify" or "sanctify" the new land that was reclaimed from the sea (Konkan-Goa region).

Whatever the variations in these early accounts, the better-known historical chapter of the Konkani migration is associated with Goa and the arrival of Portuguese rule. 

The Great Exodus from Goa

The Portuguese conquest of Goa and the subsequent religious persecution, forced conversions and desecration of Hindu places of worship drove many Konkani families to seek refuge further south, particularly during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Travelling by sea along the Western coast on boats, 12000 families moved into the coastal regions of Karnataka and Kerala. Calicut was among their destinations, where the Zamorin initially extended them a welcome. As more families arrived, however, some moved further south to Cochin.

At Kochi  (Cochin) the (a Dutch controlled territory), they were welcomed by the Raja HH Veera Kerala Varma Thampuran and the Dutch, and were allotted large tracts of land for their settlements, business and also for constructing their Temples. Many taxes were exempted for them and were privileged. The GSB community also flourished and prospered financially and socially and as a measure of their contribution to society they were honoured with key political posts both at the Raja’s court as well as with the Dutch Governor. They established themselves as a prosperous mercantile community

They built homes, places of worship, warehouses and trading establishments. Their commercial networks expanded, and members of the community acquired considerable influence in the affairs of the kingdom.

Their relationship with the ruling establishment was not always harmonious, however. The prosperity they had painstakingly built would soon be tested by a bitter confrontation with the Cochin crown. 

The Cochin conflict: When Faith and Power Collided

In 1791, the new Raja of Cochin, Sakthan Thampuran, demanded certain forms of Tax from Konkani settlers. This led to serious frictions between the Crown and certain leading merchants of the community. The Dutch intervened as the move was violative of the agreement made by Dutch in 1772. On refusal, the Raja arrested a number of Konkani merchants and ordered them to pay customs to the king thereby violating the earlier Dutch agreement. 

The Dutch Governor even ordered Dutch Forces deployments. The relations of affected Konkanis with the Raja continued non-cordial. And the Raja initiated severe punitive actions against the erring.  This led to open war of the Crown and the Dutch. The Dutch Army which attacked the Mattanchery Palace of the King was repulsed. These all added to only severe persecution of some sections of Konkanis by the Raja. The dispute escalated. Merchants were subjected to punitive measures, and community traditions preserve accounts of severe persecution, including the execution of a prominent merchant named Kini, on non supply of jaggery (Solid dark unrefined sugar) to royal house hold.

The conflict was not merely about taxation or commercial privileges. It struck at the heart of the community's religious and social security. Their temple was attacked by the Kings soldiers and plundered. This ignominy of the Hindu King ravaging a temple was a blot on the otherwise serene and tranquil history and saga of the temple. The devotees desired to safe guard their precious idols- the Venkatachalapati idol (Thirumala Devar) along with the idols of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple, which were initially transported to the Dutch for safety and later smuggled out to the GSB temple at Thuravoor , which was under Travancore Kingdom, through a lot of planning and adventure through the coastal route.

Thus began one of the most extraordinary chapters in the history of the Thirumala temples. 

A Sacred Journey to Alleppey

In 1792, according to the traditional account, persecuted Konkani families fled Cochin and sought refuge in the Travancore kingdom, including at Thuravoor and Alleppey. These two places were old settlements of Konkani community in Travancore.

They placed their grievances before the Travancore authorities through the influential Dewan, Raja Kesavadas, who is closely associated with the development of Alleppey as a planned commercial port.

The Travancore administration permitted the refugees to settle in Alleppey while the political situation in Cochin remained unsettled.

With them came their religious traditions, commercial skills and determination to rebuild their lives. They had brought along with them the holy idols of Venkitachalapati and that of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple, which were installed for prayers at Old Thirumala Temple. The Sri Venkatachalapati temple at Thirumala was an ancient religious sanctuary of earlier Konkani settlers at Alleppey.

Sri Venkatachalapati Temple - Old Thirumala

Another version states the Venkatachalapati idol along with the idols of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple and Narasimha Moorthi from Thuravoor temple were shiftedby Temple authorities  to Alapuzha Venkatachalapati Temple (Old Tirumala Temple) and kept in the North Agrasala.

The fact is that these idols remained there for more than 60 years. Accounts differ on the precise movement of individual idols, particularly the holy idol of Narasimha Moorthy, with some traditions associating it with Thuravoor and others as retrieved from ruins of a temple at Purakkad subsequent to the theft of Venkatachalapati idol, after a Deva Prasna.

The sacred idol of Lord Venkatachalapati, together with other idols associated with the community's temples, became central to the story of their settlement.

The Old Thirumala Temple of Venkatachalapathy, Alleppey, became an important centre of worship for the Konkani settlers. For the displaced community, the temple represented far more than a religious sanctuary. It was a symbol of continuity, collective identity and the hope of beginning anew.

Old Thirumala Temple Eastern Entrance

The Rise in Trade and Enterprise

It is difficult to tell the story of the Thirumala temples without recalling the remarkable transformation of Alleppey during this period. Under the vision of Raja Kesavadas, Alleppey developed into an important centre of maritime trade. Its waterways, canals and access to the coast offered considerable commercial advantages.

The arrival and settlement of the Konkani merchants added another dimension to this growth. They established pandikasalas - warehouses and trading establishments - and engaged in extensive commercial activity. The community's entrepreneurial energy contributed to the expansion of trade and the growth of the town.

A fascinating tradition connects the presence of the sacred Venkatachalapati Idol with Alleppey's prosperity. 

Temples  and the Rise of Alleppey

The story of Thirumala temples unfolds against the remarkable transformation of Alleppey into a major commercial port. Under Raja Kesavadas, the Dewan, the town developed around its waterways and maritime connections. Konkani merchants contributed to this growth by establishing and building commercial networks. Their enterprise helped strengthen Alleppey’s position as a centre of trade.

Powerful local belief emerged that the presence of Lord Venkatachalapati brought prosperity to the town. To the faithful, Alleppey’s growing fortunes were a manifestation of divine grace; historically, the towns rise also reflected strategic planning, maritime trade and the initiative of its merchant communities like Jains, Marwaris, Kuchis, Parsis, Konkanis etc. Faith and commerce became inter-twined in the collective memory of Alleppey.

For a cyclist exploring Alleppey today, it is a reminder that the history of a town is often hidden in the stories of its temples. 

Anantha Narayana Puram: A New Home for the Lord

As the sacred idol acquired increasing significance in Alleppey, the Cochin rulers sought its restoration. The accounts of the period describe repeated efforts by Cochin to recover the deity, while the Travancore authorities were reluctant to part with a holy idol believed to be closely associated with the prosperity of Alleppey's port.

The Travancore administration wished to provide the deity with a more suitable and secure place of worship.

According to the temple's traditional history, Dewan Krishna Rao acquired land and provided timber and financial assistance for the construction of a new temple, approximately two kilometres south of the Old Thirumala Temple.The new temple came to be associated with Anantha Narayana Puram, a name bestowed upon the locality in connection with the Travancore royal establishment.

Anantha Narayana Puram Temple - Eastern Entrance

The construction of this temple was an important milestone for the Konkani community of Alleppey. It provided a new centre for worship and reinforced the community's enduring presence in the town.

Anantha Narayana Puram - Northern Entrance

But the story was far from over. What followed reads almost like a historical thriller.

Sri Pushkarani Thirtha Temple Pond - AN Puram

The Midnight Disappearance of Venkateshwara - Thirumala Devar

Sakthan Thampuran made vain attempts to bring back Tirumala Deity from Alleppey to Cochin. He also made attempts to get back the Tirumala Deity through the Dutch Government functioning at Cochin. After the death of Sakthan Thampuran, Raja Rama Varma who succeeded him took keen interest in the deity and wished to get it back to Cochin. The Raja therefore requested Col. Munro, the Resident of Cochin and Travancore to use his good offices for restoration of the image in question to Cochin; But the request was turned down by as a result of urgent representation of Travancore officers that the presence of the image was considered to be intimately connected with the prosperity of the Port of Alleppey.

The dispute remained unresolved for decades.

Then, on the night of 7 February 1853, came the episode that would forever mark the history of the Anantha Narayana Puram Temple.

The desperate Cochin Konkanies who returned to Cochin planned the recovery of the deity by hook or crook. Ultimately the idol of Venkatachalapati was clandestinely brought back to Cochin on the midnight of 7th Feb 1853 (just 10 months after it was installed in the new temple). It was taken out of the Alleppey Ananthanarayana Puram Temple at night in a basket covered by Naivedyam (Mooleepu) - food offered to deity and carried to Cochin by country boat via Aroor, beyond which was the Cochin State.

The people of Alleppey came to know about this only in the next morning by the time the idol was beyond the Travancore State boundary and could not do anything.

Imagine the shock and consternation of the devotees when they learnt that their beloved deity had vanished overnight! For the people of Alleppey, this was no ordinary theft. It was the loss of a sacred presence around which faith, community   identity and local tradition had grown over generations.

The Legal Battle between Two Kingdoms

The disappearance of the idol led to a prolonged dispute between Travancore and Cochin.

Since it was found that the Raja of Cochin had his hand in the Robbery, the Maharaja of Travancore supplicated with the governor of Madras, through the Resident of Travancore for the restitution of the idol in question, and the whole matter was referred to the Hon. Court of Madras, and a long drawn-out suit ensued between the two states, Cochin and Tranvancore. The Konkanies of Cochin got through all ordeals and finally the Idol was duly reinstated in the Cochin Temple itself.

The episode illustrates the extraordinary extent to which a temple deity could become entangled in the affairs of princely states, political authority and public sentiment. 

The Present Deity

The present deity of Sri Lakshmi Narasimha Swamy has been consecrated there after Deva Prasanams and as per the Will of the God.

The original idols of Laksmi Devi and Narasimha Murthi of Thuravoor are still at the Temple. A new idol of Venkatachalapathy was installed in this temple  by Srimad Varadendra Tirtha in 1933 A.D.

Thus, despite the upheavals of the past, the temple continued to serve its devotees. The loss of one sacred image did not extinguish the faith of the community. Indeed, perhaps that is the most enduring lesson of the entire episode: a deity may be carried away, a temple may suffer adversity, and political boundaries may change, but faith can survive the passage of centuries. 

The Legend of the Miraculous Idol

The story of Lord Venkatachalapathy stretches back much further than the migration of the Konkani community to Kerala.

Legend has it that Saluva Barasiharya the Emperor of the kingdom of Vijayanagar was an ardent and faithful devotee and a frequent pilgrim of the hallowed Lord Venkatachalapathy of Tirupathi. On account of infirmities consequent upon his old age and despite his insatiable desire to offer worship but being physically unable to do so, it is believed that the Lord Himself appeared to him in a celestial dream.

Thereafter a sculptor promptly came to the place and miraculously materials and ingredients for a panchaloha (made of five metals) idol along with a work site appeared. The next morning the emperor opened the door of the work place and lo and behold an exquisite and effulgent idol of Lord Venkatachalapthi had adorned the temple spreading His splendour and radiance.

No one was left with any doubt that the Divine sculptor was none other than Shri Srinivasa (Lord Vishnu) the Lord of the Seven Hills who incarnated Himself for the benefit of mankind. The idol became the personal Deity of Saluva Narasimharaya for the rest of his life and was bequeathed to the great emperor Krishnadevaraya who ascended the throne in 1509. 

How the Holy Idol became GSB Property

After the decline and fall of Vijayanagar city as a result of the battle of Talikota in 1565 the idol was in interests of safety abandoned in a well by a priest from which spot the renowned seer of Kumbakonam Math Swami Vijayendra Theertha discovered the precious idol. During the course of his peregrinations and travel from place to place he camped for some time in Kochi as a revered guest of the GSB community in 1589. The idol was gifted to the community by him. Later on the prathista (installation) was done by Swami Vijayendra Theertha. The distinctive feature of this temple is that the yearly seven-day Akhanta Sapthaham (non-stop prayers and rituals) is performed here.

For the devotees, the idol is not simply a work of sacred art. It is the embodiment of a long spiritual journey - from Vijayanagar to Cochin, and from the world of royal patrons to the daily prayers of generations of ordinary worshippers. 

The Halo of Venkatachalapathy

With Kochi becoming the new abode of the Lord, the city thrived and grew in stature as a premier hub of international trade especially with the European countries. However it is believed to have waned with the holy Idol being shifted to Alleppey.

The chequered history of the temple is also fused with the history of the Alapuzha town as deliberated earlier and its remarkable progress earned it the sobriquet of “Venice of the East”. The halo and the aura of the idol was so manifest and obvious

The Konkani community was among the many groups whose enterprise and perseverance helped shape this transformation.

          The halo of the deity, as it were, extended beyond the sanctum sanctorum and into the history of the towns itself.

The Konkani Contribution to Modern Kerala

The contribution of the Konkani community to Kerala's educational, medical, cultural and commercial development deserves wider recognition.

In and around Alleppey, the community's educational initiatives include institutions associated with the T.D. educational network, the S.V.D. U.P. School at Purakkad and the development of medical education in the region. T.D. Medical College, established in the 1960s, became a significant landmark in Kerala's medical education.

These institutions reflect a tradition of community investment that extended beyond business and religious life into the advancement of education and public welfare.

The temples, schools, trading establishments and charitable initiatives together tell the story of a community that endured displacement, rebuilt its fortunes and made a lasting contribution to its adopted home. 

Back on the Bicycle

And so, my cycling journeys around Alleppey have taken me far beyond the pleasure of a morning ride.

A pair of imposing temple murals led me to discover a story of migration, persecution, royal intervention, maritime trade, a miraculous idol and a midnight disappearance that reads like something out of a historical novel.

The Old Thirumala Temple, tucked away amid the traditional Konkani settlement, and the New Thirumala Temple at Anantha Narayana Puram are much more than two points on my cycling map. They are living repositories of Alleppey's collective memory.

Perhaps this is the true joy of discovering one's own town on a bicycle. You begin by exploring its roads and end by exploring its soul. Alleppey has many stories to tell. Some lie in its canals and backwaters; others in its old warehouses, merchant houses and forgotten lanes. And some, like the story of Thirumala Devar, reside quietly within the walls of its ancient temples, waiting for a curious traveller to pause and listen.

Towards the evening of life, the bicycle has become more than a means of keeping fit. It is a time machine on two wheels - carrying me through the living history of the town I call home.

And whenever I pass the Thirumala Temple, I slow down, offer my obeisance and pedal on, a little richer in knowledge and a little more connected to the heritage of Alleppey.

Discovering Alleppey, one pedal stroke at a time.

Jai Venkatachalapathy!🙏

                                                                                           -Ravi Nair-

(Acknowledgement: Based on material attributed to Quora and temple histories, with historical details retained as traditional accounts where independent verification is required)

 

 

 

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