Shared Traditions, Shared Fortunes: Exploring the Cultural History of Kozhikode

EARLIER THIS week came two of my best friends, John Samuel of Action Aid from Bangkok and Bobby Kunhu, a human rights lawyer from Pune. Bobby has his roots in Kozhikode as he is the great grandson of our best-known freedom fighter E Moidu Maulavi though he has been born and brought up in Tamil Nadu. John has been a globe-trotter ever since he left his village in south Kerala and he is one of the most effective leaders of the global civil society movement.

This visit has been pending for almost one year and ever since John expressed his desire to spend a day or two in Kozhikode, I was thinking about what should I show him and where should I take him. It was not an easy thing to decide, because John being as familiar as a fish in water in the first world charms in Washignton DC and the exotic pleasures in Malawi's villages or Bangladesh's marooned mangroves, what could I single out in this most familiar city of ours where a normal visitor cannot find anything particularly exciting?

Then I remembered about our history; our long, variegated and rich history that transcends many centuries, numerous historical phases of our global human heritage, where it freely mixed and interacted, giving rise to an exotic, original culture which seamlessly accommodates various streams within, which nowadays people describe as a syncretic culture. In a world of ethnic cleansing, a world of racial hatred and mono-cultural prejudices, I realized that we do have something unique here, something wonderfully original, something about which we should be proud of.

Thinking about it I could see that everyday as I traversed this city's length and breadth, concerned about nothing more sublime than my own bread and butter, I was moving through exquisite realms of history, through rich streams of cultural and civilizational give and take, an unending process of aadan-pradaan to which I never spared a moment all these years...! (That again reminds me of the story of the donkey who used to carry most exquisite flowers on its back to the temple every day, but he had no nose for its rich smells...)

It was like rediscovering my own identity. In my school days history was my favourite subject and I marvelled at the great past of Rome, of Constantinople, of Delhi and so many other cities I had not had a chance to visit. I have read Orhan Pamuk's wonderful book on his city, Istanbul, and often dreamed about its picturesque streets and buildings, ruminating about the beautiful and expansive Bospherous, all the time forgetting about my own city's thousand years of history that is written in its temple walls, five hundred years of heroic struggles against alien invaders etched on its sea-front battlements and charred remains, its unique dalliances with the ebb and flow of human civilization that is marked in its every inch...

I made an attempt to fill my guests with this unceasing cascade of history that permeates every part of this city as I took them on a quick trip from north to south, from Panthalayini or Fandarini in Arabian records which is a small port north of Koyilandy, some 30 km away from Kozhikode, to Beypore, on the southern tip.

Panthalayini, a natural port, was famous in the ancient world and Arabs used to anchor here over a thousand years ago. Historians say it was here Vasco da Gama actually landed though his ship was later taken to Kappad or Kappakkadavu, a little to the south. Panthalayini keeps its historical memories fresh with place-names that remind you of the trade that flourished here, the streets where Arabs and even Chinese set up camps. Even today there is a place called Cheenatheru, or China street, in this place, say local people.

Travelling southward, one comes across the temples of Puthur and Varakkal, both Devi temples, mentioned in Portuguese records as Gama was taken to both these places of worship by his local guides and he obviously thought they were churches of Mary the Immaculate, and did not hesitate to offer his prayers there.

Then you suddenly enter the world of colonial English who came to Malabar in 1792. With Arthur Wellesley and his English East India Company taking over the region, it is a new age of colonial rule with the Portuguese, French and others either sidelined or pushed to the peripheries like French Mahe some 60 km north, or even Goa, further up in the Konkan coast.

West Hill and East Hill still retain a colonial ambience, with a number of British buildings that include the two early 19th century tiled and slanted-roof structures atop the eastern hill, that today serve as the Pazhassi Rajah Museum and the Ravi Varma Art Gallery. The main building used to be the camp office of the Malabar Collector in colonial days and it was here Conoully, who dug the Conoully Canal that links the city from south to north, was done to death by Mappila rebels. The 19th century was a period of long and bloody confrontation between the British rulers and the Mappila rebels in south Malabar, and the Mappilas were officially termed a criminal community, their movements were strictly controlled, the ubiquitous Mappila knives were banned, and the Moplah Outrages Act was brought in to punish them and the Malabar Special Police, the notorious MSP, was set up to crush them.

On the way to East Hill stands the old Bank House, now known as Express House, after Indian Express took over the colonial villa that used to be the residence of the manager of the British- owned Chartered Bank, the only imperial bank in the city for long. Even after most of the old British buildings were pulled down in the city, this beautiful two-story building that has large rooms and open windows and verandas on all four sides remained in a 70-cent plot with scores of mayflower plants giving it shade, and an atmosphere of explosive colour of red in the summer seasons. It had two massive rooms in the ground floor and two huge bed rooms surrounded by a long veranda on all sides at the upper floor, with spacious bathing tubs done in exquisite tiles. (It was in 1990 that Indian Express took it over and since I was the representative of the newspaper in the city at that time, it was my residence for over a year. From the loose tiles I saw there, I conclude that it was built in late 19th century or early 20th century by A P Chirukandan, a famous contractor, as the mark APC is seen on the rear side of floor tiles. The building today has changed beyond recognition, all its trees cut down and the entire compound converted into a printing press since 1992.)

(This is the first part of a series on history of Kozhikode. The second part will appear next week.)