Legend hidden in a single grain

This year, Indians living in the UAE have faced the unthinkable prospect of celebrating Onam without the traditional huge pile of non-basmati rice.

Artists perform a traditional dance during the start of the 10-day-long Onam festival in Cochin, in the southern Indian state of Kerala.

Shoba Padmanabhan knows the ingredients by heart. Three types of pickle, lemon, mango, ginger paste, plantain chips, at least half a dozen varieties of specially mainade curries, curd, poppadoms and payasam, a sweet pudding, all ceremoniously displayed on a large banana leaf. These are the crucial components for the traditional feast of the 10-day harvest festival of Onam, the biggest in the Indian state of Kerala. But there is one further ingredient without which the celebration would be incomplete. This year, however, Indians living in the UAE are facing the unthinkable prospect of an Onam without the traditional and culturally significant serving of non-basmati rice. At the end of March, faced with growing inflation and as part of an attempt to control the price of basic foodstuffs, the Indian government introduced a year-long ban on the export of the rice, a staple in Kerala and for the estimated two million expatriates from the region, most of whom live in the Middle East. The Rice Exporters Association of Kerala immediately appealed against the decision, telling the Indo-Asian News Service: "This is going to be a two-way loss for Kerala and Keralites. Firstly, Keralites abroad will not be able to eat their favourite variety of rice and secondly it is going to be a huge loss for the exporters." In India, rice feeds more people than any other single commodity. The plain non-basmati variety is found in almost every home and is considered a staple, yet tasty, food for the common man. The country is the second largest producer of rice in the world and usually exports more than four million tonnes a year. The UAE, on the other hand, imports more than 750,000 tonnes of rice, mostly from India, but also from Pakistan, Thailand and Egypt. Until this year's export ban, Indian rice flooded the UAE market and was available in every shop. A similar ban imposed in Oct 2007 was soon lifted following protests by rice exporters. However, this time India is sticking to its guns. At the beginning of July the Supreme Court, responding to petitions against the ban, upheld the government's decision, declaring that without it the country faced the very real prospect of famine. Last month, the government said the ban was likely to remain in force for at least three months, at which point the situation would be reassessed. Essentially, the delay was to see how the monsoon season played out; if the crop was blessed and rice performed well, the door to exports could be opened again. India's decision had widespread consequences, not least among its countrymen living abroad, and triggered panic-buying in many countries. It also saw the price of Thai rice shoot up by 135 per cent; countries in the Gulf, including the UAE, are currently importing most of their rice from Thailand. According to reports last month, between January and April UAE imports of Thai rice reached US$19.4 million, compared with only US$8.3m over the same period last year. In the whole of 2007, Thailand exported about 60,000 tonnes of rice to the UAE, generating revenue of more than $40m for the country. Thailand, which is believed to have a rice surplus of nine million tonnes, may be sitting pretty, but the current situation is a reminder for the UAE that it is far too heavily reliant on imports for all food products and lends urgency to the country's plans to invest aggressively in agriculture and livestock in countries with fertile farmlands, such as Sudan, Egypt, Pakistan - and even India. When news of the export ban broke, the thoughts of the expatriate Malayalees from the south Indian state of Kerala flew forward to Sept 12, the start of the 10-day festival of Onam, which culminates in the all-important meal, "Onasadhya". Many scoured supermarkets and every possible alternative outlet in an attempt to secure sufficient supplies of non-basmati rice. Mrs Padmanabhan's family in Dubai were among them. "We bought 20kg when we heard that the ban would be imposed," she says. "We are fine for now, but this Onam the guest list will be smaller than usual." A few months ago, a 20kg sack of non-basmati rice would have fetched about Dh50; now the going rate is closer to Dh150. But whatever the price, expatriate Malayalees are likely to pay it. "Rice prices are through the roof," says Mrs Padmanabhan. "We are paying more than twice the price for our favourite rice and it is still available only in very few places now." But why is non-basmati rice such a vital component part of life for expatriate Malayalees - and why will other types of rice not do? After all, basmati rice, a long-grained aromatic variety, is unaffected by the ban and is widely available. But although it is eaten extensively throughout the Middle East and is used to prepare biryani and is served with kebabs, it is not considered a suitable rice for the daily meal, especially among south Indians - let alone for the celebration of Onam, which begins on Friday. Non-basmati rice is important to Malayalees on several levels, but no understanding of just how vital it is can be complete without an understanding of the legend of Onam. Tellingly for the Malayalees scattered throughout the UAE - working to improve the lives of loved ones that economic realities have forced them to leave behind - it is a legend that has at its heart the pain of involuntary exile and the gnawing longing for a lost homeland. According to the legend, Kerala was once ruled by Mahabali, a demon king who, despite his demonic antecedents, was actually a wise and fair ruler, under whom the state enjoyed a golden era. According to the telling of the myth by the Society for the Confluence of Festivals in India, under King Mahabali "everybody was happy in the kingdom, there was no discrimination on the basis of caste or class. Rich and poor were equally treated. There was neither crime, nor corruption. People did not even lock their doors, as there were no thieves in that kingdom. There was no poverty, sorrow or disease in the reign of King Mahabali and everybody was happy and content ..." Everybody but the gods, that is. Mahabali's good nature was his undoing. The deities grew jealous of his popularity and sent Lord Vishnu to test him. Disguised as Vamana, a poor dwarf, Vishnu appeared before the king to seek a favour. He asked only for as much land as he could cover in three paces. As soon as Mahabali granted the apparently modest request, Vamana grew to gigantic proportions. His first step covered the sky; his second spanned the entire Earth. When he asked where he could place his third, King Mahabali, realising that the planet was poised for destruction, offered his head instead. He had passed the test, but at the price of being driven into the lowest of the seven Hindu netherworlds. There, stripped of all worldly possessions, he had only one request, which was granted: that once a year he be allowed to visit his beloved Kerala and its people - and this is the day marked each year at the conclusion of the festival of Onam. The point of the festival is to keep the king's spirit happy by persuading him that all his people are prosperous and, as part of this, it is important that on display in each house there should be plenty of vegetables, fruits - and the right kind of rice. "There is no Onam without our own Indian rice," says Mrs Padmanabhan, expressing a view held adamantly by all her countrymen. "Nothing else would taste good and nothing else will do." There is, says Sashi Variyath, secretary of the Sharjah Malayalee Association, who has celebrated the festival in the UAE for the past 21 years, a "saying in Kerala ... that even a poor, hungry man must celebrate Onam. I do not think the surging prices would stop any Malayalee from buying his favourite Indian rice for Onam." This year, the association is planning a grand Onam, featuring dance performances and an elaborate meal for hundreds of expatriate Indians, even though "The caterers have already warned us that this year each meal will cost much more because of the prices", says Mr Variyath. For exiled Malayalees, the love of non-basmati rice is about much more than a simple preference for a certain type of food. Many know - up to a point, at least - exactly how King Mahabali must have felt. For NP Ramachandran, the President of Dubai Priyadarshini, an Indian organisation that has been conducting Onam celebrations in Dubai for the past 20 years, the rice has tremendous cultural and psychological importance for those who find themselves so far from home at such a significant time of year. "In Kerala, Onam is celebrated immediately after the harvest season and the fresh rice from the fields is used for preparations," he says. "This, villagers say, has a special taste and smell to it. I think this is a significant aspect of Onam and the importance of the non-basmati Indian rice." The importance is, he says, also "psychological. The rice has a specific feel and taste. This taste adds to the Onasadhya and we have been maintaining that for generations." Manjula Nair, a college professor in Dubai and a regular Onam organiser, says she has always felt connected to the harvest festival. "Kerala is known for its blossoming rice fields during the harvest season," she says. "It helps Keralites living abroad to connect to the rice fields and even their family back home." Such a connection helps to make non-basmati rice a powerfully evocative symbol - and taste - of home. Small wonder that for Keralites everywhere the thought of using any other kind simply goes against the grain. @Email:[e-mail]