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🚴‍♂️🚴‍♀️Kuttanad on Wheels - Cycling Through a Land Below the Sea 🌾🚣‍♂️

(🚴‍♂️🚴‍♀️ Discovering Alleppey on a Bicycle 🚴‍♂️🚴‍♀️)

              Six years ago, during the Covid pandemic, when the roads were unusually free of their usual milling traffic, I undertook a bicycle ride through Kuttanad. (Coordinates: 9°25′30″N 76°27′50″E)

              The journey was so enchanting that I simply could not resist jotting down the experience - albeit six years late!

              There are places one visits. And then there are places one experiences - And Kuttanad is one of them.

              To cycle through Kuttanad - Kerala's famed Rice Bowl - is to enter a world where land and water appear to have exchanged their usual roles.

              Here, paddy fields lie several feet below sea level. Canals become highways, boats become buses, and narrow bunds masquerade as roads. Coconut palms sway over simmering waterways, emerald-green paddy stretches towards the horizon, and above it all hangs an immense Kerala sky.

               It is, quite literally, a journey into the heart of a land below the sea.

🤔 A Land Wrapped in Legend

               The origins of Kuttanad are lost somewhere between history, folklore and mythology - which, in Kerala, is often where the most interesting stories begin!

               One local tradition links Kuttanad to the Mahabharata. It is said that the five Pandava brothers passed through these parts during their exile. In those days, the region was supposedly covered by dense forest, which was later destroyed by a great forest fire.

              Hence, goes the story, 'Chuttanad ' - literally, the burnt land - gradually became Kuttanad.

There is even a curious bit of folklore to support the tale. Dig deep into the soil, people say, and one may still find traces of kari - charcoal - perhaps remnants of that ancient forest fire. Interestingly, many Kuttanad place names end in kari: Ramankari, Mitrakkari, Kainakari, Chennamkari and several others.

              Coincidence? Ancient memory? Or merely folklore doing what folklore does best - keeping us intrigued?

               There is another tradition that sits more comfortably alongside recorded history. Kuttanad was once part of the Chera kingdom, and one popular interpretation traces the name to the Chera ruler Cheran Chenkuttuvan, who is believed to have reclaimed land from the sea.

Thus, Kuttanad is sometimes interpreted as “the land of Kuttuvan.”- Kuttanad.

              Whatever the truth, legend, history and landscape seem to meet rather comfortably here.

🚴‍♂️ Pedalling into a Water World

              My trusty Riverside-120 🚲 was my steed - although, unlike a horse, it had no objection to being parked against a coconut tree whenever I stopped for a better view!

               I set off along the Commercial Canal North Bank, from Stone Bridge towards Chungam, ( the toll gate where the waterway borne commerce passed through from Vembanad Lake to Commercial Canal)) eventually reaching Pallathuruthy, where the waterway opens into National Waterway 3 and the Pampa River.

       And then...

              Dead end! But in Kuttanad, a dead end is rarely the end of an adventure.

              I turned onto narrow lateral tracks skirting the waterways and continued northwards. Calling them “roads” would perhaps be giving them rather more credit than they deserved. They were, at best, barely tolerable two-wheeler tracks - and occasionally even those disappeared into tall bamboo grass.

              But that was precisely the charm. There was no traffic. No honking. No city noise.

              Only the gentle rhythm of the bicycle, the rustle of coconut palms, the occasional call of a bird, the laboured croaking of bullfrogs performing their amphibian chorus, and the soft movement of water beside me.

              Cycling here was not about covering kilometres. It was about absorbing the landscape.

              Every bend seemed to reveal another picture postcard - a canal glistening in the morning sun, a solitary canoe gliding silently past, a traditional Kerala house reflected in still water, coconut palms leaning lazily over the canals and, beyond them, endless paddy fields merging with the horizon.

🌴 Where Roads Meet Water

               Eventually, the tracks brought me to the broad opening of the main water channel leading from Alleppey Boat Jetty, through Vadai Canal into Punnamada Kayal, and onwards to the vast expanse of Vembanad Lake.

              The sight was breathtaking.

              The waterways were alive with movement.

State Water Transport Department boats plied their daily routes, carrying commuters, provisions and cargo deep into the Kuttanad countryside - towards Changankari, Kainakari, Thayankari and countless other hamlets whose very names seem to belong to the vocabulary of the backwaters.

               Boats of every conceivable shape and size came and went, leaving behind trails of ripples that slowly dissolved into the tranquil water.

              For a cyclist, there is something wonderfully intimate about witnessing this world from the narrow edge of a canal rather than from the deck of a tourist boat.

              You are not merely looking at Kuttanad. For a few precious hours, you become part of it.

🌧️ A Landscape Frozen in Time

               This ride happened during the Covid pandemic, when the normally bustling Alleppey backwaters had fallen into an eerie silence.

Houseboats lay anchored in scores, motionless on the waterways.

              There were no foreign tourists in colourful holiday attire. Homestays - from humble thatched dwellings to concrete houses proudly announcing “Bed & Breakfast” - stood empty and forlorn. The silence gave the landscape an almost sepulchral stillness.

              And yet, strangely, there was beauty in it.

              Freed from the usual tourist bustle, Kuttanad seemed to reveal its more authentic self - a slower, older Kerala where life followed the timeless rhythm of water, weather and agriculture.

               It was almost as though the pandemic had pressed the pause button on tourism and allowed Kuttanad to breathe again.

🚴‍♀️ Cycling Through the Paddy Fields

              Perhaps the most exhilarating part of the ride was through the paddy fields of the Kuttanad Below Sea-level Farming System (KBSFS).

Rice cultivation was in full swing. Farmers were busy among the fields, while waterbirds stood patiently by, apparently supervising the harvest - or waiting for a plunge when opportunity arose.

              Imagine cycling along a narrow embankment with brilliant green paddy on either side, water shimmering between the fields, coconut palms rising in the distance and the immense Kerala sky stretching overhead.

              There was something almost meditative about it. The bicycle moved slowly. The scenery appeared barely to change. And yet, every few minutes, something new caught the eye:

              A farmer bent over his crop. A country boat moving between the fields. A flock of birds suddenly taking flight. A breeze rippling across the paddy like a green wave. The distant drone of a boat engine gradually fading into silence.

              This is Kuttanad.

               Not a place to be rushed through.

              A landscape to be savoured.

🌱 The Miracle of Farming Below Sea Level

               Kuttanad is one of the world's remarkable agricultural landscapes - a vast system of reclaimed wetlands where rice is cultivated below sea level, in some places four to ten feet beneath it.

              The Pampa, Meenachil, Achankovil and Manimala rivers descend from the High Ranges and middle lands carrying water and fertile silt into this great watery basin.

              For generations, the people of Kuttanad have learnt a remarkable lesson:

              Do not fight the water. Learn to live with it.

              They constructed bunds and dykes, reclaimed wetlands and devised ingenious methods to keep seawater and backwaters away from their crops.

              The result is an extraordinary man-made agricultural landscape where land, water and human ingenuity coexist in a delicate balance.

              The advent of kerosene, and later electric motors, gradually replaced the traditional and laborious Chakram - the manual waterwheel used to drain water from the fields. Reclamation consequently became easier, cheaper and less hazardous than it had been in earlier times.

              Systematic reclamation of the backwaters began in 1865 under the aegis of Pallithanam Luka Mathai and gathered momentum during the early twentieth century.

              Then came the call to “Grow More Food” in the 1940s.

              The final major tracts of reclamation, including the famous Q, S and T Blocks, were developed under the leadership of Joseph Murickan, affectionately remembered as Muricken Outhachan.

              And here the story becomes personal.

              I remember seeing him as a small boy . He would sit bolt upright in one of the very few black Hindustan Landmaster cars then plying the roads of Alleppey in the 1950s.

              He was revered as “Kayal Rajavu Murickan” - the Backwater King, and “Krishi Rajan Murickan” - the Farming King, an accolade bestowed upon him by none other than Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru.

              It is remarkable to think that the extraordinary agricultural landscape I was cycling through decades later had been shaped, in part, by people whom I had actually seen as a child.

              The traditional Kuttanad farming system has since earned international recognition from the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) as a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage System (GIAHS).

              Quite an achievement for a land that, technically speaking, is below the sea!

🚣‍♂️ The Other Face of Kuttanad

              Across the water, I could see the famous Punnamada Finishing Point, where Alleppey's spectacular Vallam Kali - the Nehru Trophy Boat Race - and the 'Arppo Irro' wild calls of rowers and the spectators transforms these tranquil backwaters into a theatre of roaring crowds, pulsating drums and racing snake boats.

              Behind it rose the imposing silhouette of the Ramada five-star hotel.

              Across another stretch of the lagoon stood The Lake Palace Resort, seemingly floating amidst this watery paradise.

              The contrast was fascinating. On one side: Luxury resorts, fine hospitality and modern tourism. On the other: Rustic village life, paddy fields, humble farm dwellings and country boats.

And flowing between them, as they have for centuries, were the ancient waterways of Kuttanad.

               It was almost as though two entirely different worlds had accidentally been placed in the same frame.

               I even discovered that commercial enterprise had created a jeepable track through the paddy fields from the rear, providing access to an otherwise water-bound resort.

               A small but telling reminder that even this timeless landscape is not immune to the march of modernity.

❤️ The Joy Was in the Journey

              My exploration was, admittedly, only peripheral.

              My faithful Riverside-120 🚲 could go only as far as the roads, bunds and embankments permitted. Beyond that, the bicycle and I had to accept defeat gracefully!

              But perhaps that was enough.

              Because in Kuttanad, distance is not the measure of a journey. Experience is. It is the sensation of pedalling beside a silent canal.

The cool breeze sweeping across the backwaters. The smell of wet earth and freshly growing paddy. The sudden cry of a waterbird.

And the relentless thug-thug, thug-thug of water pumps drawing water from the fields into the backwaters - the modern successors to the traditional Chakram, once worked by men labouring over them.

              There is an exquisite intimacy in travelling through Kuttanad on a bicycle.

              A tourist in a car might see it. A passenger on a houseboat might admire it. But on a bicycle -

you feel it! You hear it! You smell it! You breathe it!

              Perhaps that is why, six years later, the memory remains so vivid that I couldn't resist making the journey all over again  - this time in words.

              After all, Kuttanad is not merely a place on a map. It is a mood ! A memory ! A landscape that quietly gets under your skin !

🏡 And perhaps... A Return Home

              There is, however, another reason why this particular journey feels so personal. There is, after all, a little more of Kuttanad in me than most visitors might realise.

               I hail from Kuttanad through my paternal moorings. So perhaps this was never merely a cycling expedition.

              Perhaps, beneath the pedalling, the canals, the paddy fields and the waterways, there was something more profound taking place.

Perhaps I was retracing - unknowingly at first - a landscape that had been part of my family's story long before I came to know it as a cyclist.

              Maybe that is why Kuttanad felt less like a destination and more like an old acquaintance. A place that did not need an introduction.

A place that simply seemed to say:

“Welcome back.”

               And so, six years after that solitary ride through the Covid-silenced backwaters, I find myself pedalling through Kuttanad once again - not on my Riverside-120 this time, but on the wheels of memory. And perhaps that is the finest journey of all.

              For sometimes we travel to discover a place.

              And sometimes, without quite realising it, we travel to rediscover ourselves.

❤️ Kuttanad - my land below the sea, and perhaps, in a small way, my land of belonging.

🚴‍♂️ 🚣‍♀️ 🚣‍♂️ 🚴‍♀️ 🛶 🚤 🚴‍♂️ 🛶 ⛵ 🚴‍♀️

- Ravi Nair -