Silent Valley:
A Valley of Poetic Excellence
There is no place dearer to me than Silent Valley. Perhaps,
much dearer than Veloor is my memory of it. Silent Valley is a passion for me. I grew mostly in the lap of Silent Valley till I was fifteen though not continously. I love it. I will continue to love this place as long as I live on the earth because the feeling I have towards Silent Valley has taken roots deep down in my heart, deeper than any other memory. The ups and downs of the place had cut inroads in my little heart, too incredible to fade from my memory.
The lush tea plantations, the shola trees which keep guard over the tea bushes, the mountains circling the small valley, the meadows, the winding mud paths around the tea plants, and all connected with this valley are so precious for me that I cannot banish them from my mind. It looks as if Silent Valley is my possession. Yes, indeed, the Valley is mine in my mind. I don’t have any title deed; yet it is all for me, my private treasure, a personal possession, dearer than any other thing. You talk to my brothers and sisters—they will make the same proclamation. That doesn’t make the charm of Silent Valley dwindle in me.
The Silent Valley I hold closer to my heart is one of the tea estates in the Kannan Devan Tea Plantations in Munnar. Not the one in Palghat. This is a small estate, a lovely tea plantation. Except for the beauty and silence of the place, it didn’t have any significance other than being a tea estate in our young days; even now it continues to be insignificant, two major reasons being, the deprival of the glory of the ancient Kannan Devan Hills and the decline in tea crops. It doesn’t have the importance of Maduppetty or Mattuppetti, Rajamala, or even the Munnar Town. Still, it is for me dearer than all the other estates in the High Ranges; it is much dearer to me than any other place in the world. Show me the most beautiful place in the richest America. Oh, No…No…No… Silent Valley is more than anything for me. A very quiet place! Looks like a green bowl, bowered by the ‘disciplined’ row of tea plants and circled by mountains beyond the forest far away.
The tea plantation will be stretching as far as to the wilderness. Over the mountains, we had seen the elephant family moving and we were thrilled, watching them down from the valley. I had often longed in vain for a baby elephant as my possession. I loved elephants. Yes, Silent Valley is truly a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. Its memory is always refreshing and nourishing to me and my siblings. “Why should I say ‘it’? Why can’t I treat ‘it’ as a ‘she’?” Yes, that’s what I’m going to do. Silent Valley, my mother, my friend, my companion! She is part of my being; part of my soul.
I must have been eleven then. I was travelling in a small van from the Munnar Town with my mother, brothers, and sisters. The van was the only conveyance that connected Silent Valley to Munnar in those days. We had left our home at Puthenangady in Kottayam for the fascinating Silent Valley where my father was working as an Estate Conductor in the Kannan Devan Tea Estates, managed by the British during those days.
As usual, we were excited to be back there for the holidays and to be in our dreamland once again with our father. Munnar and her associate estates all had the pristine glory in those days. My brothers and sisters shared the same feeling and excitement for Munnar. They had more years of interaction with this scenic beauty compared to me who was the youngest of the six children. We had already travelled a long distance from Kottayam in a private bus; the inside of it witnessed a competition among the siblings for the window seat at the start of the journey. My goodness! How the trees ran back! How my ears resounded with bellows of air when I cupped and un-cupped my palm over my ears again and again to get the feel of it! I wish to be a child again. We took certain stops on our way to Munnar, or rather the “Swaraj” bus people made the halts at definite points convenient for us at Muvattupuzha and Adimaly.
My only demand was for a ‘laddu’(a sweet ball of delicacy) whenever we got into some hotel for either lunch or tea.
Now we are in the puny van. (But it was a most respectable vehicle for us then.) We were excited. Our father would be waiting for us. He had been staying in the Estate Quarters with a male servant ever since my mother returned to our home in Kottayam to take care of our education. All my brothers and sisters had stopped their hostel life and flown back to the ‘nest’ where the Mother Bird had nestled a home for them. When we reach Silent Valley during our Christmas and Mid Summer holidays, our father used to store many gifts and some eats for us; plenty of cakes during Christmas; the rest, our mother would make for us. Whenever my father came to our Puthenanagady home, he brought us chocolates and biscuits. Being the youngest, I had the privilege to receive the packet first.
When I was very small, my siblings fooled me saying that Appachen would come in ‘Mazha-car’ (rain-car) I believed it and looked forward to his arrival in ‘Mazha-car.’
My brother, Babu, just senior to me, and I used to wait for his packet. Also for coins. My father had another habit of giving us a cloth bag of coins as our pocket money during salary days, which we shared between us and deposited in a small ‘kudukka’(Piggybank- like thing made of mud). This practice continued in our school or college days till my father’s retirement. Our days in Silent Valley. Oh! It was a time of absolute joy for us. Ammachy would make all sorts of eatables and snacks for us. Diamond cuts, Achappam, Kuzhalappam, ‘vettu’ cake(a variety of cake with a cut at the centre, harder than the normal cake), and such delicacies; mulberry jam, squash, etc. Appachen would be there with all his gentleness and tacit concern. A simple and innocent man-servant Achenkunju was there with Appachen. A man with the heart of a child. Like ‘Potturumeez’ in a Mammootty film. Lots of mulberries, sugar cane. Plus Ammachy’s farm with cabbage, cauliflower, carrot, tomatoes, green peas, double beans, chicory, and what not. It was black soil in the plot granted to Appachen by the Company.
Very fertile land. Ammachy with the assistance of the servants did all the planting of the vegetable garden on this land, while Appachen was busy with the estate plantation. My brother and I played with mud cakes and leaf curries, which we displayed for sale inside a makeshift shop. Occasionally we would eat raw carrots freshly plucked from the soil. I remember the number of futile attempts I made to catch small sparrows by making shoe holes in the ground. The disappointment I felt when no birds came into my holes remains vivid in my mind even now.
But the birds would be happier in their nests than in the artificial nest we made for them. Now I know! There stood in the middle a scarecrow donned by Appachen’s trousers and shirt. He was our funny companion. There was a fence of bushes leading to the doorway. In the small tree which stood just in front of the front door of the portico, sparrows used to come and chirp. Great fun we had! Weekend visits to neighbouring quarters where Ammachy’s and our friends lived. Of course, Appachen’s also. In almost every family, there were children of our corresponding age. Lovely occasions when we were served with so many varieties of snacks and savouries by the neighbours. There was a rare and strong bond of love and friendship among the families in the estate at that time, which people said was lacking in the after-years. And my Sreerengu! Can I ever forget her? She was a Tamilian woman who used to come and help Ammachy with washing and other domestic chores.
Every salary day she gave me what we call ‘madakkusaan’, a many-layered sweet and crispy delicacy red in colour. I used to sit on the top of our gate with my brother waiting for her ‘paniyaram’(name in Tamil for any delicacy). Years later, I had frantically and nostalgically hunted for this delicacy in Kottayam. Though it could be found in some local tea/coffee shops I felt shy about buying them from there. But nowadays it is commonly found everywhere, though it lacks the pristine taste of the ones Sreerengu brought us.
Ammachy had allotted Sreerengu another duty. To comb my hair. It was a painful process when the knotted tangles were untangled. Ammachy remained callous though I resisted. Years later, when I was working in Bishop Kurialacherry College, suddenly I thought of Sreerengu and grieved deeply in her memory. I longed to see her. On two occasions when we visited Silent Valley we had enquired of her, but nobody had any idea of her. Was she still living in some parts of Tamil Nadu, I wondered? When I shared my feelings with one of my senior colleagues, Rev.Sr.Rose Karuvelil, she asked me to pray for her as Sreerengu might need prayers at that time.
I did as she told me. In the coming days, I had an inner compulsion to write a story of Sreerengu with the title “Paniyaram”. Once I wrote it my feelings of sorrow subsided and I felt relieved.
I was like a tomboy in my childhood days; climbing up trees was a fascination for me. My sisters had made fun of me for asking Ammachy, why she said I was a girl when I was born! That was why I became a girl! How stupid of me! While I was with my maternal aunt for one year, I climbed up tall jackfruit trees. I was in Standard Four then. I continued my style of tomboy in Silent Valley also.
All the more, Jackey, our pet dog, was there; our ‘sundari’ (beautiful) cat was there! And my swing! Appachen had made a permanent swing for me in the courtyard. I spent my lonely hours on the swing-board talking to myself, talking to my sisters who were far away in the hostel in ‘Mahilalayam’ school in Alwaye, and who never heard my low-toned soliloquy.
While we were sitting in the van, we had been longing to see everybody and everything of Silent Valley. Our van zig-zagged along the narrow, rough, and dusty road, with tall and handsome shola trees on both sides of the road. The van passed by some estates, Graham’s Land, Goodervilla, Nettikkudi… and finally it took the last turn to enter our estate. The Tea Factory stood there; ready to tell us the stories of the days we were away from them.
The Club was adjacent to the Tea Factory. When I was left alone, with my brothers and sisters in their boarding schools far away in Kottayam and Alwaye, I was fortunate in accompanying Appachen to the Club which was forbidden to women and girls. It was such an exciting occasion for me. Wearing a small coat gifted by one of our family friends, Dr.Parameswaran’s wife (He changed his name to Warren to give it an English touch!), I trotted on Appachen’s side and reached the Club. Sometimes there would be a boy of my age, and we played carroms. At other times I got the duty of holding the ‘base’ when Appachen and his friends played the game of cards.
I was very, very fond of the ‘Joker’in the lot. This might be the reason for my fascination for the game of cards in my later school and college days. I still remember the night– usually, we returned at late nightfall– when getting the warning of a lone tusker (A lone tusker could be dangerous) we left the Club early and I cuddling to Appachen’s side in fear, walked silently back to the quarters. The next morning opened with stories of the tusker’s tantrums.
Proceeding further, our van reached the junction where four muddy roads met. My favourite spot! One road was leading to the Sayyip’s (Sahib’s) Bungalow.
Once a year we were invited to the Bungalow by the Estate Manager. The Estate Managers used to be English men initially, and later Malayalee Managers with English sounding names took their position. I remember how I ran to the front road hearing the sound of the motorbike, as I knew ‘Sayyip’ would be coming, just to salute him. Wow! The heavens opened when he bowed in return with a handsome smile. Like the Prince in Fairy tales. Oh, I adored him! Appachen had great admiration for the European Managers. Very honest and straight forward they were, he used to tell us. Very much concerned about the well-being of the employees. Appachen loved working with them. Whenever our people criticize the British, I feel sad because the contrary was the first-hand impression of them we got from our father.
Once, I remember, as soon as we woke up on a cold morning, we were bewildered to see a small European girl, Pheona her name was, outside our kitchen door. She must have been four years or so. She said, “ I felt so bored there, so I came here.” Immediately Appachen informed the bungalow people and she was taken back. She had known us as the Ayah used to bring her to our home during their evening walk. When she was too small, she was in the pram when the Ayah pushed it along the road and in between stopped for a casual talk with us. I remember the evenings when she came and asked us to play the nursery song “Ring Around the Rosie ” with her. We joined hands, moved in circles singing the song: “Ring—a ring—a rosie/A pocket full of posies/A tissue, a tissue/ We all fall down….”
There are times when I long to see the little girl. She must be in some parts of England, I suppose. In the wildest of my imaginations often do I think of meeting her sometime…somewhere.. The bungalow was a sight to see, each room branching out from a corridor with carpeted floors, plush curtains, much stylish furniture and all. Such things were not seen in Kerala at that time. Every year we were given a party there. I still miss a special kind of neck chain of lovely beads, each one of which could be delinked, and a funny-looking toy monkey who did gymnastics over a trapeze which I got as gifts. I don’t know when and where I lost them. (Also, I miss a book of folk tales my sisters gifted me with and the one I read during my holidays in Silent Valley.)
There were strawberries on the farm in the bungalow; the watchman used to give us those wonderful fruits when the Manager went to his native country, England. It was a secret deal!
The dusty path, littered with dry leaves all over the road, was run behind and we finally reached the corner where our father’s quarters were located. The van took a curve and the engine stopped. We jumped out and leaped to our gate. Appachen was standing there with his characteristic timid smile. But another ‘person’ jumped forward as if he wanted to be the first to greet us. He was our JACKEY who ran to us and ‘with a cheerful smile’ (really!) wagged his tail. He recognized us even after a few months of separation. He was very, very happy on seeing us and we also returned his love in ample measures. He was our precious JACKEY! Day one of our holidays started in our ‘paradise.’
I ran to the mulberry trees. They were there. Whenever we were there, my brother Babu and I used to sit on the branches of the tree. It was a hefty, but, short tree. I read sitting on the mulberry and eating the lush,big, dark and red berries. The pussy cat came with a big stomach. Ammachy said the cat had kittens inside her tummy. Wow! That was going to be a real EVENT. I loved kittens dearly. Years rolled on….
(Cont’d)
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