KOCHI: Kerala boasts a rich architectural legacy that stands out for its distinctive use of local materials, adaptation to the tropical climate, and harmonious integration with surroundings. One of its most exemplary aspects is the traditional nalukettu houses with their central courtyard, steeply pitched and tiled roof, and extensive woodwork featuring intricately carved beams and rafters.
While it is true that the decades prior saw this form wane from social consciousness, the now-growing prominence of Kerala architects and their embracing of traditional methods have led to a renewed spike in interest in the old ways.
Leading this march is Ezha, a three-woman team of conservation architects — Swathy Subramanian, Savita Rajan and Ritu Sara Thomas. Their journey, which began in 2017 at the School of Planning and Architecture (SPA) in New Delhi, has since evolved into a mission to bridge the gap between heritage and the community.
Here, TNIE engages with the team to learn more about their recent work at the Bhagawati temple in Kunnamangalam, nestled in the quaint village of Kuravannur in Kerala’s Kozhikode district. It bagged the Unesco award for cultural heritage conservation in 2023.
Perched on a hillock and enveloped by lush greenery, the Bhagawati temple is an embodiment of the region’s profound history, faith and cultural essence. Of the centuries-old structure, only the Karnikara Mandapam remains as it was originally built, and it is an architectural marvel. With 16-pillars instead of the usual four, this semi-open pavilion resembles the centre of a sixteen-petaled lotus blossom. However, the march of time, termites and the tyranny of the indifferent reduced the once-magnificent structure to a near-wreck, now propped up by scaffolding and steel tie-rods.
When Ezha arrived at the temple in January 2023 following an invite from a conservation-leaning few, they found the mandapam in a dilapidated state. “The pillars, the beams, the rafters and even the ceiling were decayed. We found the original finial discarded in the temple’s backyard. The entire structure was in disrepair and could not have withstood another monsoon,” recalls Swathy.
Much to their chagrin, there were many in the temple committee who wanted to demolish it and build something new, modern. “If people spend money, the expectation is to have something new. However, our approach was different. Ezha’s philosophy is to conserve traditional architecture,” says Ritu. Indeed, what brought the three SPA graduates together was their deep respect for heritage and a commitment to sustainable practices.
“During our time in New Delhi, we saw first-hand the extent of work happening in North India. Compared to that, Kerala had little to show. We wanted to do our bit to promote conservation in Kerala and were actively looking for opportunities. The Karnikara Mandapam work came at this juncture,” adds Ritu. After having convinced the temple committee against demolishing the mandapam, the three set to work on their first structural architecture conservation project since forming Ezha.
“To be honest, we were scared. There were a lot of teams involved. The temple committee, the villagers, etc. We also had to find skilled workers,” recalls Savita. If the dilapidated structure posed its set of challenges, what further compounded the situation was the time constraint of three months. “We had to finish work before the temple festival,” Savita says.
What helped Ezha during this time was an openness to having a continuous dialogue with the temple committee, the community and, of course, the workers. “The mandapam was made of teak wood. However, using teak again was not feasible. So, we listened to our carpenters, who suggested ‘venga’, which has similar properties as teak,” says Swathy.
After learning the team’s desire to use only organic materials to coat the wood, the carpenters also directed them to an ayurveda practitioner who made oils that are termite-resistant. “It is this oil that we used to coat the woodwork. Even today, the aroma of this oil blankets the mandapam, promoting a sense of tranquillity,” adds Swathy.
The work coming precisely when it did was indeed quite fortuitous. That year had seen Covid stifle the construction industry leaving many without work for months. So when the mandapam conservation work was announced, the workers rejoiced and came to help in all earnestness. Some of them, the Ezha team later learned, had even worked with the Archaeological Survey of India on various conservation projects.
Now, this is not to discount the workers’ love for the community. The temple is an integral part of life, and the roots of faith and tradition are deeply entrenched in Kunnamangalam. Two-thirds of the funds to restore the mandapam were raised by the villagers.
“The community was very involved with the work — they voluntarily took up cleaning activities, and were coordinating with the workers during our absence. We were able to finish the project in three months because of their help,” Swathy admits.
When March finally arrived, the renovated mandapam was the stage for many rituals, including Kolamvettu, a reenactment of the slaying of the demon Darika by Bhadrakali; and Kalamezhuthu, a performance which creates the image of the goddess by disturbing natural powders on the mud floor.
“Seeing the performers bring the space to life was deeply satisfying. It didn’t feel like a building; it felt like a living entity,” Savita says. “What’s even special is the whole team behind the project — including the architects and the temple committee members — were women. Not to mention the deity itself” says Ritu.
Needless to say, Ezha’s first conservation project was a resounding success. The emphasis they gave to conserving the tangible and intangible aspects of heritage, advocating minimal design interventions that respect the original architecture and even the memory of the place, and the rigorous documentation process helped them bag the Unesco award.
Ezha’s journey was not without challenges. Convincing stakeholders of the value of conservation, dealing with the lack of awareness and funding, and sourcing the right materials and skilled craftsmen were constant struggles. This success is a torchbearer for similar projects. Not just in preserving buildings, but in connecting communities and sustaining cultural identities.