Not so quiet flow the rivers

The Arippara falls near the origin of the Iruvazhinji river.
| Photo Credit: K. RAGESH

The rivers have been a lifeline for humans since the ancient days. They have been a source of life, beauty and inspiration, apart from water, food, fertile land, and a connection with others. Generations found their lives closer to the rivers. It was so till a few years ago for a large number of people in rural Kerala. But, is it so in the present globalised era? Does the knot between humans and rivers still hold? Or is it broken apart?

It is true that a drastic transition has taken place in the lives of the people on the river banks. That may be inevitable in the course of time. But it raises many concerns.

I was born and brought up in a village in Kerala on the banks of the Iruvazhinji Puzha. At the age of 36, I have been a mute witness to the changes in the lifestyle of people in my village for at least three decades. For a long time, most of the villagers had a fishing-related livelihood. And my family was no exception as my grandfather was a fisherman. He was known locally for his expertise in fishing till his death in 2023. The fishing nets hung on the roof of the verandah formed the identity of my ancestral home. After catching fish, he used to take it to sell on the village’s small street called Chethaimal or Angady. With that earnings, he could send his children to white-collar professions. And his third generation, including me, is far from his river-dependent life. In a way, the river had been a financial support for my family for years, but that is not so now — rather there is no need for it. But the bond between the river and our lives have snapped in the meantime.

As a child, it was my habit to observe every step of my grandfather as a role model. It was his daily routine to have a nap after lunch. When he went to the bed, I used to try to observe him. After waking up, he would take his fishing net in the evening with baits made my grandmother. And his return would be in the night with his net full of fish. That routine was the only means for livelihood for my family for years, but in the later life, when we became financially in a better position, he did it just as an activity he was doing since his childhood.

There was no bathroom in my ancestral home during my childhood days. It may be unbelievable for the new generation, but a dip in the river was enough. As there was no culture of taking bath at home. Irrespective of age and gender, all the people of the village used to bathe at a specifically identified place on the banks of the river. And, in my case, I always accompanied my mother. Things have changed over the years. Now, each room in my home has an attached bathroom.

Those colourful days have now become a grim reality. At the same time, the river still flows on its course peacefully. But, now, the river is not part of our lives. Rather to say, we have detached the river from our lives. As time passed, the villagers have almost quit their old traditional bond and my Iruvazhinji Puzha has now become a home for otters. And, the otters have taken over the run of the river and there emerges the human-wildlife conflict. The increasing number of river otters has emerged as a safety threat to the residents. So, rather than nostalgia, the human-river bond is an existential question for both.

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