Why Kodagu Must Grow Its Native Paddy
The district of Kodagu, through which the headwaters of the
Cauvery and its numerous tributaries flow, is paddy country. While in my
twenties, I travelled frequently through Kodagu and have arresting memories of
the beautiful paddies in the valleys, the newly transplanted saplings swaying
in the monsoon breeze. Far more than the
coffee slopes, it was this and the dense arboreal canopy surrounding these
paddies that I loved. I learnt then that
the Kodavas have a rich history of rice cultivation, with traditional varieties
that are central to their unique cuisine and, like every besotted idealist, I
hoped this would never change.
It did. In fact, the change was going on right then.
Traditional rice varieties steadily gave way to Government hybrids on the strength of their productivity. And then, as labour costs increased and supply of labour in the monsoons actually reduced, the paddies were abandoned in significant part or converted to other crops that required draining the land or, worse still, to residential layouts.
In parallel, the forests of Kodagu came under sustained assault from ill-conceived Government projects, while a number of landholders – at times outsiders with little knowledge of the deep connection that the Kodavas have with their forests – felled their timber for short-term gain. It is a process that continues.
And then, early in this decade and, most critically in 2015, Kodagu suffered something it had never thought likely: drought. Search on Google for ‘Kodagu drought’ and you will see a news report on this for every year in the last five. For instance, after the deluge of August 2018, the waters emptied out rapidly in a couple of months and, as this is written, parts of Kodagu face a depleting water table.
It did. In fact, the change was going on right then.
Traditional rice varieties steadily gave way to Government hybrids on the strength of their productivity. And then, as labour costs increased and supply of labour in the monsoons actually reduced, the paddies were abandoned in significant part or converted to other crops that required draining the land or, worse still, to residential layouts.
In parallel, the forests of Kodagu came under sustained assault from ill-conceived Government projects, while a number of landholders – at times outsiders with little knowledge of the deep connection that the Kodavas have with their forests – felled their timber for short-term gain. It is a process that continues.
And then, early in this decade and, most critically in 2015, Kodagu suffered something it had never thought likely: drought. Search on Google for ‘Kodagu drought’ and you will see a news report on this for every year in the last five. For instance, after the deluge of August 2018, the waters emptied out rapidly in a couple of months and, as this is written, parts of Kodagu face a depleting water table.
Can Kodagu reverse this trend? Perhaps its paddies provide an answer.
The paddies of the Western Ghats, in general, are extraordinary
ecosystems and an estimated 500-700 local varieties of rice were grown here,
many of them with known medicinal properties.
These paddy fields are very different from the ones you see, for
example, in the flat Cauvery basin in Tamil Nadu, where hybrid rice varieties
grown in two or three cycles consume humungous quantities of water from the
river. The paddies of the Western Ghats are
largely wetlands in valleys, distinct ecosystems that are inundated by water,
either permanently or seasonally, ( unless they are drained out by humans).
Wetlands are not just another ecosystem type; they are amongst the most important types of ecosystems on the planet - essential regulators of water and nutrient flow – be they headwater wetlands (such as in Kodagu) that help to move water downstream and recharge groundwater, or wetlands lower down in river basins that store water, providing many ecosystem services such as for farming and habitat for biodiversity.
Kodagu had, by one estimate, ten thousand hectares of paddies (about twenty-five thousand acres, prior to the conversion of some land to housing and other crops, including coffee and oil palm) and these captured the rainfall, allowed percolation into open wells and the shallow aquifers and protected some precious animal life including crabs, the now-rare koile meen and the small-clawed otter (neer nayi). A couple of years ago, a friend of mine who lives near Ponnampet spoke with nostalgia of his childhood years, when he would stand in the middle of a little stream next to a paddy field and collect koile meen in a net-and-cane basket for the evening pot; he doesn’t remember seeing this fish in the last decade. If indeed the koile meen is losing the survival battle, it would be a sad loss not just of cuisine, but of culture and biodiversity.
Wetlands are not just another ecosystem type; they are amongst the most important types of ecosystems on the planet - essential regulators of water and nutrient flow – be they headwater wetlands (such as in Kodagu) that help to move water downstream and recharge groundwater, or wetlands lower down in river basins that store water, providing many ecosystem services such as for farming and habitat for biodiversity.
Kodagu had, by one estimate, ten thousand hectares of paddies (about twenty-five thousand acres, prior to the conversion of some land to housing and other crops, including coffee and oil palm) and these captured the rainfall, allowed percolation into open wells and the shallow aquifers and protected some precious animal life including crabs, the now-rare koile meen and the small-clawed otter (neer nayi). A couple of years ago, a friend of mine who lives near Ponnampet spoke with nostalgia of his childhood years, when he would stand in the middle of a little stream next to a paddy field and collect koile meen in a net-and-cane basket for the evening pot; he doesn’t remember seeing this fish in the last decade. If indeed the koile meen is losing the survival battle, it would be a sad loss not just of cuisine, but of culture and biodiversity.
To return to the paddies and get an idea of just how
much water is stored in them, here is the calculation: assuming that a hectare
of paddy is soaked to a depth of about 100 cm (that’s just over three feet),
the water held there would be a million litres.
With just ten percent of the paddies in Kodagu growing monsoon rice – a
thousand hectares – a single soak would mean a billion litres of water stored at a time in these wetlands. In a normal monsoon, this water collects,
percolates and runs off the paddies almost every day and the paddies remain
stocked for upto 5 months, resulting in significant water harvesting and
aquifer recharge. This is, of course, a
simplistic calculation and the actual quantities harvested would be larger, yet
the numbers are indicative.
But why go back to native paddy varieties which have lower yields and are, in general, unremunerative, and not the hybrid varieties? Traditional varieties are monsoon-dependant and do not suck up water from the river, are relatively chemical-free and allow the biota – crab, meen and otter - in the wetland to thrive. Equally, these varieties have a unique place in the Kodagu culture and it is this heritage that is central to the process of conservation.
The owners of paddies in Kodagu therefore need to see them differently, not as financial assets, that need to provide an annual return or a one-time capital gain, but as strategic assets for their water security and a favourable micro-climate. In the long-term, this could make all the difference.
But why go back to native paddy varieties which have lower yields and are, in general, unremunerative, and not the hybrid varieties? Traditional varieties are monsoon-dependant and do not suck up water from the river, are relatively chemical-free and allow the biota – crab, meen and otter - in the wetland to thrive. Equally, these varieties have a unique place in the Kodagu culture and it is this heritage that is central to the process of conservation.
The owners of paddies in Kodagu therefore need to see them differently, not as financial assets, that need to provide an annual return or a one-time capital gain, but as strategic assets for their water security and a favourable micro-climate. In the long-term, this could make all the difference.