A Boat Ride through Kerala's Greatest River

by Shara Thomas (Canada)

A leap into the unknown India

Periyar – Kerala’s deepest and longest river. The locals recounted past stories of swimming laps across this great river. But now, they avoided it unless absolutely necessary. Over the past two years, Periyar echoed with devastation to the surrounding communities that were left helpless due to the severe flooding brought on by the monsoon season. My father had heard tragic stories from his neighbour and quite melodramatically retold it to my sister and I, in efforts to dissuade us from venturing out to the river. But truthfully, that only piqued our interest. The stories were quite sad, actually. Families were torn apart in seconds. And those who succumbed to the powerful currents of the river have not been recovered or so I’m told. And yet, the gravity of the situation was lost on us. “We definitely have to check this out!” exclaimed my sister. Our father was very apprehensive about our plans, but decided to tag along for his sanity. The route to Periyar was picturesque, striking a fine balance of stillness and movement, characteristic of mornings in Kerala. On the right side of me, local markets and toddy shops were starting up for the day. To the left, the sun was rising over a still paddy field. Our trek led us to the edge of the main road which often brought in pleasant surprises - passing-by drivers constantly honking to signal that a vehicle was approaching, large lorries carrying logs of timber that would have us scrambling off to the side and of course, the occasional cow having its breakfast and minding its business. We reached the main intersection where traffic quite literally suffocated every square inch of the road. Passing a wall with purple flowers hanging over the edge, my sister and I plucked a flower each and naturally put them behind our ears to add some beauty to our adventure. We turned into a narrow alley that led us to a steep stairway that dipped to the edge of the river. The damp moss-covered stone steps had us extremely cautious of our foot placements, and at the base, a traditional Kerala wooden canoe with an oarsman at the end awaited us. He quietly regarded us, perhaps unaccustomed to travellers who willingly chose to experience the treacherous commute that is a living reality for some. Of course, my father did not board the boat, so the three of us – my sister, cousin and I – hopped into the narrow boat hoping not to fall into the water, as there were no life jackets on board. And so, our journey began. Pure bliss overcame us instantly as the boat drifted silently through the water. Quite the contrast from the chaotic morning frenzy that dominated the working district only a mile away. The edge of the river was lined with a variety of tropical trees, their silhouettes elegantly reflected onto the glossy surface of the water. The water, itself, was cool and refreshing to touch. Everyone, excluding the rower, was captivated by the scenery and the experience as a whole. Meanwhile, the guards in our minds were lowered and eased of the previous anticipation and tension. A moment later, the oarsman calmly notified that he could not fight against the water’s pull alone. Panic subdued in the three of us. But as we looked ahead, there was no trouble at the surface. The smooth, gentle glide of the water against the boat fooled us, and we were moving farther and farther away from the little port. He instructed my cousin and I to pick up the oar at our end of the boat and start rowing. Rowing, in our case, was a two-man job; the oar was heavier than expected. It makes you wonder how our guide, up to this point, managed to maneuver the oar and lead the boat that supported the weights of himself plus 3 additional people. As I reflected on ground, I finally understood the fear. What seemed like a harmless boat ride in monsoon season could have had a different outcome. Yet, as a tourist, I was more inclined to leap into the unknown and view the Periyar through a lens of opportunity and adventure.