Alleppey Panoply

I was enjoying a leisurely canoe ride with a local guide, Santosh, in the rice bowl of Kerala. Along Meenappally Lake rice shoots were going into muddy fields. East of the Pamba River, along a small waterway, we watched harvesters at work. On the edges, women wielding sharp sickles were cutting rice the machines couldn’t reach. Egrets swarmed behind, gobbling up bugs. We meandered down a narrow creek, canopied by coconut palms. Along the banks were portraits of Father Kuriakose Chavara, a Syrian Catholic saint and social reformer. It was an auspicious day! The day that two Kerala-born clergy, Father Kuriakose and Sister Euphrasia “the praying mother” were to be canonized by the Pope. We heard drumming and music, then saw scores of people marching along the bank toward a large blue and white church. Barges decorated with glittery umbrellas, streamers and larger-than-life posters of the saints were crammed with hundreds of passengers. After the hullabaloo, we headed to Santosh’s house for lunch. His wife had prepared a delicious thali, served in traditional style on a banana leaf: rice and dal and sides of beet and papaya pickle, papadum, fried fish, and fish curry. After my meal the rain came, so we sat for a while. Santosh said, “Let me write your picture,” and began sketching while his daughter stood behind giggling. Later, as we sipped tea, he said, “In your country when someone’s dead, do they put him in the ground or fire?” I said some do one, some do the other. Somehow the moment felt right, so I pulled out the film canister of Howie’s ashes and said, “My husband chose fire. I carry his ashes in here. Today I put some in the river by the church.” An incredulous look came over his face: “In there, he’s in there?” “Yes, when he was dying, he said cremate me and spread me all over the world.” He stared at me in wonder. I said, “Don’t you put people in the river?” Yes. Then he called to his wife and daughters and explained it to them. They looked at me like I had just parted the lake with a wave of my hand. A look of enchanted awe. I can’t tell you what it was that blew them away. That a westerner was spreading ashes in India? That I wasn't putting them all in one holy river? That I was carrying them in my pack? But I’ll never forget the look on their faces. Before we left, we snapped group photos, taking turns with the camera. I pulled out my binoculars and everyone peered into the distance, laughing. Then the rain stopped and we said goodbye.