How Sreekumari Ramachandran Brings Legends of Kerala to Life In Forever Green

Kerala often appears in tourist brochures as “God’s Own Country,” a shorthand for its palm-fringed backwaters and houseboats. But in Forever Green: Lore & Legends of Kerala, writer and translator Sreekumari Ramachandran argues that the state’s true identity lies elsewhere: in its temples, rituals, and oral traditions.

“It was my grandmother’s stories that first drew me in,” she tells us. “I was enchanted, but also frustrated. These tales were bound within Malayalam, invisible to the wider world. I felt a responsibility to carry them across languages.”

The result is a book that tries to map Kerala’s cultural landscape, from the shrines of Wayanad and Kannur to the folk dances of Thiruvathirakali and the temple murals of Thrissur. It is part history lesson, part retelling, part cultural guidebook.

Legends that Refuse to Fade

Ramachandran doesn’t just retell myths; she situates them in the lived memory of the region. The account of the Kottiyoor Mahadeva temple, for instance, unfolds like a saga—complete with bleeding stones, coconut-water rituals, and the privileges still extended to descendants of the tribal youth who first discovered the site.

She is candid about the hazy lines between history and legend. “Onam has a history of over 1,400 years,” she says, “but what most people remember is the story of Mahabali. The Puranas tell us he was a benevolent king sent to the netherworld by Lord Vishnu. Even today, people in Kerala celebrate Onam as his annual visit home.”

That insistence on continuity is what keeps the book engaging. Readers aren’t asked to suspend disbelief; they are invited to see how a community keeps myths alive even when evidence is patchy. “Although historical records don’t fully corroborate Mahabali’s tale,” she adds, “the story remains a cherished part of Onam. It’s how heritage works—through repetition and affection.”

An Author Rooted in Storytelling

The book has a personal undercurrent, even when it catalogues temple architecture or ritual arts. Ramachandran admits that certain chapters carry more emotional weight. “Much like a mother loves all her children, I cherish every story,” she says. “But the story of Palliyarakkavu temple is particularly close to me. Its grounds shaped my ideas and my passion for exploring Kerala’s history.”

She is also keenly aware of the responsibility that comes with documenting traditions. “Without the wisdom of traditions, we cannot connect with our true essence. Younger generations, if given the chance, will embrace their heritage. It is not about nostalgia—it is about pride.”

That belief animates her sections on Kerala’s performing arts. The chapter on Thiruvathirakali stands out. Here, she doesn’t just describe the concentric circles of women dancing in gold-bordered saris and jasmine garlands. She notes how the form has travelled. “The charm of Thiruvathirakali has transcended Kerala,” she says. “Women in America, Europe and the Middle East are now eager to learn its hand gestures and rhythmic footwork. For me, it embodies the joyous spirit of Onam.”

Why These Traditions Still Matter

At times, Forever Green reads like a cultural encyclopaedia—there are chapters on forts, saintly figures, mural paintings, and even Kerala’s distinctive temple music. But it avoids becoming dry by letting anecdotes do the heavy lifting.

Take the story of the harmless crocodile Babiya, a resident of the Ananthapura Lake temple, said to survive only on vegetarian offerings. Or the way the book links village puppet plays like Tholppavakkoothu to the broader landscape of ritual theatre in southern India. These aren’t just curiosities; they are reminders that living traditions often blur the boundaries between religion, performance, and community life.

Ramachandran sees documentation as an act of cultural survival. “It enables individuals to identify their unique place in the world,” she says. Yet, she also concedes that myths don’t need rescuing; they have their own endurance. The challenge is to make them readable without stripping away their complexity.

That balance—between reverence and accessibility—is what makes Forever Green worth picking up. It isn’t flawless: some chapters read more like reference notes than stories, and the sheer density may overwhelm readers looking for light narrative. But the book’s strength lies in reminding us that Kerala’s culture isn’t static. It shifts, adapts, and yet, as Ramachandran insists, remains “forever green.”