Cheppad Church Kurishumoodu (Cross Tower) Demolished in cover of darkness
Whenever there is a sudden buzz of activity — development projects, welfare drives, demolitions, road construction, raids, and more — it usually signals that elections are around the corner. So, two days ago, when I came across videos on social media showing the demolition of a cross tower, I dismissed it as just another political stunt to gain votes. After all, one party’s gain is always another’s loss.
Later, I learned that the demolished structure was the cross tower (kurishumoodu) of the 1,500-year-old Orthodox Church in my own panchayat, Cheppad. The realization struck me deeply. The church is barely an eleven-minute drive from my home, and an equally short walk through the backroads. My house faces east, while the Cheppad Church lies to the west — almost behind it. Most of my close relatives live toward the east, in Mavelikara and Pathanamthitta districts. I had visited this church only once, nearly twenty-five years ago, for a wedding.
The uncertainties of living of the border of NH
When a National Highway passes through a village, it doesn’t always bring convenience for the villagers. Instead, it often divides the community. The connection between the people living on either side of the road becomes weaker than the ties between neighbors separated by the borders of two rival nations. At least on the border, there are designated times for conflict. Here, there is no such certainty — just the constant risk of being hit by a speeding vehicle while trying to cross the road to visit relatives on the other side.
Those living along the seashore may seem vulnerable to erosion and relocation, but they at least have a rough sense of when the next move might come. Those living beside the National Highway, however, live in a perpetual state of uncertainty — never knowing when another round of expansion will uproot them. My husband’s family home lies along the KP Road, where each expansion has eaten away a little more of the inherited property, leaving barely anything for the next generation.
It is often said that the National Highways Authority (under the Central Government) compensates landowners better — promptly and with lump-sum payments. But for many, no amount of compensation can make up for the loss of history and belonging.
The demolition when evening fell
Returning to the church — I decided to write about this demolition after learning today that the demolition had taken place at night. The thought immediately brought to mind the image of Operation Neptune Spear, the midnight raid that killed Osama Bin Laden. Why such secrecy — why demolish a religious structure under the cover of darkness?
Just four years ago, there had been reports that the church would be preserved as a monument. Why, then, this sudden reversal — and that too in the absence of the vicar? The action is not only shocking but deeply saddening.
Kerala has long prided itself on its culture of preservation. It has protected Kalaripayattu and Kathakali, ancient art forms that once thrived across India but now survive mainly here. When people in Kerala build new homes, they often integrate architectural elements or antiques from their ancestral houses — sometimes centuries old — as a mark of respect to tradition and craftsmanship.
The demolished cross tower carved from a single massive stone represents a feat of skill and devotion. To destroy something like that takes only minutes; to create it takes generations of artistry, faith, and collaboration. Inside the church, on NH66, are intricate works of Orthodox iconography dating back centuries — treasures of both religious and cultural significance. It is only fair to hope that the authorities will act more sensitively in the future and protect what remains of this historic site.
Development replaces history
We often boast that we are more traditional than the West. Yet, if one travels through Europe, one finds heritage structures centuries old — carefully restored, lovingly preserved, and thoughtfully integrated into modern landscapes. There, development coexists with respect for history. Here, development often replaces history.
For the past thirty years, I have traveled many times along this same National Highway. It has always been under construction — perpetually expanding, consuming more of the land on either side. One can only hope that someday this endless widening will stop, allowing those who live along its borders to finally breathe easy, without the constant fear of eviction in the name of progress.
35 comments