Into the Deep South

Here’s what I love about villages. They actually give time for your whirling mind to slow down to leisurely paces, creating a soothing effect, one can find nowhere else. Ramanathapuram is one such place. Upon stepping out of the train, I thought it to be a bland, boring town which it appeared to be. Appearances could be deceptive? Yes, very deceptive. I didn’t know that over the next few days this seemingly hum ble settlement would make me go “wow”!

One could spend a whole day loitering about the streets. If pick your way through the main bazaar, you will reach a regal gateway that stands out majestically, a stark contrast to the feeble kutcha houses flanking it. The temple elephant smiles fondly at you, its bells tinkling merrily in the breeze. If you are brave enough, you can let it touch your heads. And there stands The Ramalinga Vilas - a proud historic point of this town. This supposedly was the residence of the Sethupathi Kings who ruled this part of the town. 

The pillars inside still stand regal & tall, inlaid with ivory and silver. The wooden ceilings let diffused sunlight inside, creating an ancient atmosphere, which has witnessed generations rise and fall. If you are polite enough and ready with a persuasive smile, the guide might take you to a spot in the old terrace, which gives a panoramic view of the whole town which lies sprawled around. This was a war outpost for soldiers on lookout and king’s preferred place to make his ceremonial public appearances. No wonder I felt like a king standing up there!

There are these paintings too. A keen eye would pick out a fine thread of stories running through them. For instance, the one above is actually about kannapar, a hunter & an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva, who is believed to have gorged out both his eyes to place them on a linga, which had suddenly started to bleed at the eyes. Many others depict the myths about Hindu deities, the court proceedings, the kings with his favourite wives and concubines, court dancers and public ceremonies. Cameras are not allowed in here. And there is a lot of dust, typical of musty old places, so mind take a set of hand-kerchiefs, else you might end up with a coughing fit like I did.

Ramanathapuram Nudhals -These have this particular taste that can transport you to heaven and back. The secret lies in its 200-year-old recipe- old palm jaggery, coconut milk, rice, ghee, cardamom and cashew. These are dark, syrupy and gummy sweets that make a tantalizing display in every bakery front. They deserve some space in your shopping cart! Yum!

Time to hit the gas! A swift ride left me at the legendary Pamban Bridge. India’s first sea bridge and also the strongest. This bridge opens up into two to let ships through. You are lucky if you catch a train riding through the bridge silhouetted against the golden sunshine. You are not allowed to park there. You can leave your car and stand out for a few minutes out there. There are strong winds out there-really strong sea currents. Now, a moment of silence for my hat who fell to his watery death battling with the wind...

“If chaos could be beautiful, this is how it looks like…” Dhanushkodi looks that way with her sandy beaches littered with palm leaves and shells. Forlorn structures- a church, a post-office, a railway station, some house all stand in a state of ruin, silently recalling the sorrow that befell them in 1964,  when a cyclone wreaked havoc, wiping the civilisation off. From then on, she has been the Ghost town of the south. The road leading to the ruins was literally non-existent, when I went there. We had to hire these little vans to make that extremely bumpy trip. But now, there are smooth roads which would be a driver’s delight. So, if you are planning to go there, you need not worry about your poor old mother’s back!

Nature could amaze you in a million bizarre ways. What I experienced definitely makes it one in that million. As you make your way from that sandy beach towards the rough waters tinted a soothing pink heralding sunset, you can spot water from either side, rushing to converge into a fine line the place where the Indian ocean and Bay of Bengal meet. On one side, the sea is rough with rebellious waves. While on the other side, its serene and calm, with just a few timid waves moving about. There it was- effortless harmony; the masculine and feminine spheres of nature in perfect harmony.

What the deal with this old man u ask? He is a survivor of the 1964 cyclone, he still sits there, recounting details from “good ol’ days”. From the moment the storm warning flags went up till the last brick of that city hit the sand, he says it all.

 Then he led me to a tiny hole by his hut, took a pitcher, secured it with a thread and let it slowly into the hole. Moments later it came back up, dripping wet with water. He advised me to drink it. Naturally, I was hesitant. Who would want a douche of fresh salt water? But lo! It was pure, crystal-clear and ready-to-be-taken-out-of-cupped palms! Fresh water at just 30m from a salty sea, surprisingly close to the ground... I was blown!

And as you leave, don’t forget to grab some of these souvenirs. There are mirrors, chandeliers and trinkets made of shells and coconuts, all sold at a fair price. They would make an artistic addition to the sober walls of your living room. And yes, they would stir memories, pleasing memories of such a soothing place resting peacefully in the deepest depths of southern India.