What I thought was the last stroke of paint on the Kathakali dancer’s face took almost another hour to complete. The painstaking process of getting ready for the performance is, of course, one of the most intriguing and well-advertised cultural experiences in Kerala. Having seen this several times though, I decide to take a few perfunctory pictures before walking out into the evening in search of that elusive ‘something new’. That’s when I meet young Lijo and his bike. And in 20 minutes, we agree upon a daylong tryst, starting the next morning, with a non-Kochi ‘Kochi’. Beyond the heady mix of cultures, histories, boutique hotels and a lively art scene one has come to expect, even demand, at this seaside town.

The eight o’clock sun transforms what is a mundane ferry-crossing for most into a fantastical ride — the water softly gilded and calm like the morning, slowly erasing the silhouettes of the Chinese fishing nets from view. Soon, we hop off at Vypin Island and into the first village-town on our journey, Paravur, near Kodungallur. Part of long-forgotten Muziris — a seaport that served as a gateway to Arab and Jewish traders in 1st century AD — the region was better known as Cragnore. Even today, a handful of monuments in the area bear an imprint of the cultural diversity that the foreign influx between 100BC and 1341 AD brought with it. Yet the local synagogues, churches, mosques and temples draw few, if any, (non-pilgrim) tourists.

At Paravur, it takes a lot of imagination at first to transport myself from the traffic-clogged streets to what was a significant maritime junction during the Chera rule. Paravur’s best-kept secrets are its two ancient synagogues, possibly built in the mid-16th century, around the same time as the Paradesi Synagogue in Mattancherry. We arrive to find the Chendamangalam synagogue padlocked and peek at what we can. A padipura or a gateway leads to the prayer hall, even as the pillared woodwork holds on to the last vestiges of antiquity. One of the two oldest synagogues in India, it’s disheartening to see its ineffectual upkeep, unlike its better known sibling on the town’s Jew Street, which was recently restored as part of the Muziris Project.

St Thomas Church, at the edge of town, is in better shape too. Its manicured gardens and brightly painted building (restored in 2002) bely its age. This is where St Thomas set foot in 52AD; the first of seven churches he founded in the region, also the very first church in India. Once pillaged by Tipu Sultan, it still houses the relic of the apostle and draws a steady stream of pilgrims. Jacob Joseph, the in-house guide, is happy to show us around (7am–5pm).

Whizzing past a blur of narrow, busy markets, we soon hit an oasis of peace — the Cheraman mosque in Kodungallur, where Malik bin Dinar, the Islamic missionary who first propagated Islam in Kerala, weighed anchor. Built in 630AD, it’s an unassuming structure that allows women inside but not in the sanctum. Constructed in a traditional Hindu-style, it was later renovated in the 11th century. But what is perhaps, as interesting as the mosque, is its single-room museum, where a model of the original edifice is on display (mosque 5am–9pm; museum 7am–7pm).

For the third arm of this multi-faith triangle, we stop at the Bhagavathy temple in Kodungallur. It greets us with a loud blast and a puff of smoke. As I recover from the shock, I’m reassured that these crude gunpowder bombs or vazhipad is a common offering here. Emboldened, I pass on a crumpled ₹10 note and flee with hands cupped over my ears. Seconds later, I hear my offering go up in smoke! Dedicated to Bhadrakali, the temple is known for the inclusion of lower castes during festivals. Its 10-acre site is shaded by banyan and peepal trees, with the main shrine ensconced in the middle (6am–12.30pm, 4pm–8pm).

The idol is slathered in turmeric; possibly a medieval practice to ward off chickenpox, smallpox and mumps, signs of ‘divine wrath’. Tiered oil lamps, a thula bhava (scale to measure offerings) and musicians line the front porch. The yellow outer walls are bereft of wooden rafters atyptical of shrines in Kerala. Instead, lamp stands are embedded in the walls, now shadowed with soot. Red sloping roofs of different shrines, wooden walls and the granite flooring are all fine specimens of the local architecture. If you visit around March or April, you might witness the Bharani festival, when thousands of devotees in red saris (even men) dance in a trance. Called komarams, they perform the ritual of kavu theendal, hurling sticks and abuses at the goddess and the temple, while running around it with sabres held high. In recent years, this festive frenzy draws many a photographers-in-the-know.

Back again at Fort Kochi, my legs feel the satisfactory weariness of a day well spent. Collapsing in a heap at the nearest coffee shop, I think of the hallowed grounds I’ve tread, mapping the unmapped handmaidens of Kochi.

Supriya Sehgal is a Bangalore-based travel writer

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