Yellow Lights of Death

by Benyamin

  ‘What’s the subject?’

  ‘Malayalam. Oh, that reminds me of something. There was an alumni get-together recently. I met that guy there.’

  ‘Who . . .?’

  ‘Don’t you remember Andrapper . . .?’

  ‘Who . . .? Christy!’

  ‘Yeah. We all knew about his feelings for Melvin.’

  ‘Where did you say you met him?’

  ‘At a meeting of St. Joseph’s Malayalam alumni. When I said I’ll be going to Kerala, he had asked me to convey his regards to you. Do you guys talk often . . .?’

  ‘No. You have his number . . .?’

  ‘Ayyo, no. Met him only by chance.’

  ‘When are you returning, Sudhish sir . . .?’

  ‘I’ve one month’s leave.’

  ‘Please do me a favour. Once you are back, please find Christy for me. And ask him to call me urgently on this number. We’ve had no news of him for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  ‘Please convey our regards to Sudha-chechi and the others. And please do drop by if possible.

  ‘It’s too far for me. And I have a lot to do at home. Yet, I will try.’

  ‘Okay then. Thanks for the call.’

  ‘Bye.’

  As soon as the call ended, Sudhi Mashu dropped to his knees. We all got scared for a moment, and rushed to him.

  ‘Damn. You all made me commit this sin. Oh god . . . that was so cruel.’ Sudhi Mashu started hitting his head on the floor, crying.

  ‘What’s there to worry about, Mashu? After all, it’s for a good cause,’ Anil tried to pacify him.

  ‘Whatever it is for, I shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have made me do it. I shouldn’t have lied so much to a man who’s mourning the loss of his sister and father.’

  ‘You don’t have to feel so bad, Mashu. The last time we called, he said he didn’t even know Andrapper. How does he know him now? He is also a fraudster. You just have to think that we gave him a dose of his own medicine,’ Nattapranthan said. ‘I suspect that even his mourning is fake.’

  ‘Anyway, it was not you alone who did it. We all called him together. So we all share the sin. Didn’t Salim and Benyamin go to Alappuzha and fool one Salu? I myself led the way in tricking poor Rajanbabu sir. Then Salim went to Diego with his family and bluffed so many people. Even otherwise, there is no cheating or conning in this. We have to impersonate sometimes for a good cause. Then we might have to tell some lies. Mashu doesn’t have to feel guilty about it.’ Nibu was almost shouting at Mashu.

  ‘Mashu is feeling bad because he is from the old school. These days, on the Internet and places like that, a person has at least some twenty different identities. It’s not a sin at all in this new world,’ Biju said.

  ‘Mashu, that call would have given him relief, not sorrow. At least, we called; no one else has done so. Look at it as a good deed,’ Nattapranthan said. Everyone did his share of mollycoddling to somehow pacify Mashu. But we were all feeling low.

  ‘Let’s now meet after Salim returns,’ said Anil, as he stepped out.

  ‘We now know that Meljo has no idea about Andrapper. Now I’m wondering why Jijo said that,’ Nibu was voicing our confusion as he was leaving.

  ‘Actually, he is hiding some things . . .’ Anil said.

  ‘Who? I asked’

  ‘Jijo . . . I think he is the villain in the pack.’

  ‘Ey, I’ve met him. He is a nice chap,’ Nattapranthan interrupted. ‘Even if he is hiding something, it’ll be out of fear.’

  ‘Okay, whatever it is. After Salim returns, let’s call Meljo one more time. If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll go and meet him,’ Anil said.

  On that note, all of us dispersed.

  Salim returned after two days. ‘What updates from the trip?’ I called up to ask.

  ‘Went to Andrapper’s house. Let’s meet at my place in the evening. I will tell you everything in detail,’ Salim said. That was usual for us. Every time he returned after a trip, we would all gather at his house. To look at the photos. To watch the videos. To listen to the stories from the trip. And to savour a drink from a tinted bottle he would get us from the duty-free shop at the airport.

  The last must have been the trigger. Everyone reached his house before the stipulated time. Salim switched on his computer, plugged in the camera cable, and showed us the photos one by one. At the airport, inside the flight, aerial view of Diego, the St. Raphael airport, the reception counter of Hotel Casablanca, boat, peacocks beside the lake, two battling monkeys, Janu with a dancing peacock, the Diego Daily office, coffee shops at Port Louis, palm groves, driver Seyfu, City Hospital, the nightlife of Diego, Sherly and Janu hugging in the hotel room, the bars that open to the waters, Mariam Church, the Bodhi tree, George Edward Memorial Seabird Sanctuary, the Temple of Chagos, Albuquerque cliff, Janu in the company of hundreds of peacocks, Sherly feeding one of them, Rajakottaram Hostel, Sherly and Janu with the nurses (‘this is Jaya, this one Mercy’), a busy boat route at Pentasia, close-ups of fried fish and other food, Janu licking her finger, Sherly with an African-origin waiter, a board that read Uthukuzhi Padakukuzhi, a scene from Cherar Peruntheruvu, and a statue of Periyar.

  Then the location shifted to the beachfronts of Mauritius. We took our eyes off the monitor.

  ‘Sho, still Salim-ka, you didn’t click a photo of that pretty girl Anpu,’ Nattapranthan sulked.

  ‘Ya, go and try your luck. Then you’ll know,’ Sherly said, while keeping on the table the tinted bottle and glasses.

  ‘Though it burnt my pocket, it was a beautiful trip. Diego is awesome. Mauritius is double awesome,’ Salim started his travelogue. ‘Seven days in Mauritius went in a flash. On the return journey, the flight landed in Diego at 7.30 in the morning. We were back in the same hotel. We checked in, took a shower, had breakfast and called Seyfu. Left then itself to Pentasia. Saw a few places such as Cornish, Senate Centre and the Diego Monetary Agency. I will show those photos later. Then the memorial where Andrapper had come, what’s its name, Sherly? Ah, Arch of Diego. Their St. Antony’s Catholic Church. It’s only as big as our chapel, but for them, it’s pretty big. And it’s ancient. That must be the reason.

  ‘Then we went to the Seleucia North Public Security Office. I tried my best to meet Stephen Andrapper and Vijay Mullikratnam, but that didn’t work out. From there, we left for the much-anticipated Andrapper House. Janu, get me that video.’ We started watching the video.

  From the boat sailing through the lake is a long shot of a huge mansion on one bank. The closer it gets, the majesty and grandeur of the house becomes clearer. There are three jetties to the house on various sides. One waterway extends to the compound. Every entrance has an iron gate. Salim gets off his boat at the main gate and walks towards a locked gate. The camera zooms to the courtyard and the top floors of the house. Sherly and Janu stand beside the gate and pose as if for a photo. The camera shakes while changing hands. Salim also joins them to pose. Then, like a TV reporter, he walks towards the camera, saying, ‘We are now standing in front of the famous Andrapper House in Diego. Our hopes to meet Christy Andrapper, for whom we have been searching for a long time, or any of his relatives, have been blocked by these gates and latches. It’s time for us to return to Kerala. But we’ll still be on the chase. For Thursday Market, Salim and family reporting from Diego’s Andrapper House.’

  The video ends there. We all clapped.

  ‘After that we wrapped up and returned to the hotel. The flight was scheduled for 1 p.m. Luckily, we called the airport from the hotel and came to know that it’s been delayed by two hours. But we didn’t feel like going out again. So from the hotel, I started phoning people one by one. Mohandas Purameri, Rajanbabu sir, Johnny . . . just to say goodbye. We also called Sudha-chechi and Anita. It was like Anita was waiting for our call. “I want to meet you again. Can you please come to my house once?” she asked. I told her there was not much time left for the flight. “Just ten minutes,” she said. “Please.”
We packed our bags and left for her place. She was waiting for us at the dock. Took us inside and gave us lemonade. She asked us about the Mauritian trip in detail. Still we were in the dark as to why she wanted to meet us. Finally, I had to raise the topic.

  ‘“After you left, I called up Meljo. He said he knows you well and that you should be treated well.” I only remember her saying that much. To tell you the truth, Mashu, I was peeing in my trousers! Has anyone caught a cheat red-handed in such a manner? Sherly and Janu must have been squirming.

  ‘But Anita handled the situation well; she showed a maturity beyond her years. She didn’t get worked up. Didn’t do any cross-questioning. Didn’t hurl any accusations. “Now please tell me, who are you? What do you want?” She asked only these two questions, very politely.

  ‘I didn’t have any option other than to succumb. I confessed to her, narrating all the incidents that had happened till then. She didn’t seem to believe me completely. But I got a little lucky. The USB that I had got from Anpu was lying in my bag’s side pocket. I took the laptop from Janu, and showed Anita what was in the USB. Her face turned pale. Are all these things true, I asked her. She nodded in acceptance. Then where is Andrapper now, I asked. She had no clue.’

  We didn’t have much time to spend there. She accompanied us till the dock. When we got into the boat, she said, ‘Just a minute, I’m coming,’ and ran to the house, returning with a packet.

  ‘“After the last time mentioned in that book, Andrapper had come to my house one more time,” she said. “He gave me this on that day. I was not sure if I should be giving you this or not . . . But I’m unable to hold it back. If this can help you find Andrapper, then let it be that way.”

  ‘She gave the packet to me. Janu, bring that packet.’ When Janu came with it, Salim unwrapped it and showed us: papers.

  It was the seventh part of The Book of Forefathers!

  Chaldeans

  AT AROUND 2 P.M. on Saturday, I got down at Vaikom Road railway station. I was in a private bus to Udayamperoor, when a board with ‘Poothotta’ written on it whisked past me. I yearned to go to the church and see Melvin before heading home. So I got down at the stop. Bought a packet of candles and a lighter from a wayside shop, took an autorickshaw and got down at Martha Mariam Church. The gate wasn’t latched. I got in and walked to Melvin’s cemetery. The flowers had started withering off the wreath. Saplings were peeping out of the loosened soil. It seemed like Melvin was reaching out of her burial place eager to see the world. Dear little weeds, are you her eyes . . .? Are you the ones who tell her the tales of the earth? I asked them. They nodded yes. Will you tell her that I’ve come . . .? We will, we will, the leaves unfurled. I spent some time with her quietly, looking at her eyes. Then lit the candles . . . the light of love. When I was returning, the weeds wept asking me to come again. I, too, wept.

  The church was open. I walked inside. There was an old priest lost in prayers, who turned to me hearing the sound of my footsteps. He looked nervous seeing me. Hiding it, he quickly waved his hands at me. When I went close, he held my hands and made me sit beside him. And then continued his silent prayers. I felt a strange power of tranquillity flowing towards me.

  When he finished his prayers, I introduced myself. I told him that I had come to Valyedathu Veedu. When he heard I’m from Diego, he was curious. He asked a lot of things about the islands. Especially about Mariam Church. I told him all I knew.

  ‘I’ve also heard about the church. As far as I know, it belonged to the first-generation African slaves. It was then abandoned. Whoever etched Mariam’s history to it so craftily deserves a pat,’ the Father said.

  We walked till the church courtyard, stopping at a board that read: ‘Martha Mariam Chaldean Little Church. Poothotta. Belongs to Valyedathu Family.’

  I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt that this was the right person and occasion to ask a question that I’d been carrying for a while.

  ‘I don’t follow the church or its beliefs. I have no clue about its traditions and customs. Please don’t take this in any other way, but what’s the difference between a Catholic and a Chaldean . . .? Doesn’t everyone believe in the same Christ?’ The question was also triggered by the curiosity of seeing a Catholic priest in a Chaldean church. He stood silently for a few minutes. Then he placed his hands on my shoulder and said, ‘In the past ten years, this is the first time a youngster has asked me this question. I keep wondering at this generation. I don’t even understand their thoughts. Everyone is a great believer. They go to church, to mass, pray, do everything. If someone criticizes their church or belief, they are forever ready to fight too. But what are the basics of these beliefs? What’s Christian theology? What are the contradictions in it? That nobody wants to know.’ He took me back to the church, and we sat on a bench.

  ‘The difference lies in the theology itself. But it’s too vast to be explained in a day or two. For now, I’ll only answer what you’d asked, son. About the Chaldean faith. The evolution of Christian theology runs parallel to history. It actually has only a distant relation to the Bible and the belief in Christ. Instead, the heart of theology lies in the interpretations. During the course of history, people interpreted Christ and his divinity in various ways. Every account was received by some and denied by some others. That naturally led to a conflict, and to the various cults that exist today. Nobody can claim that their faith is the right one; because nobody knows who was the real Christ. That’s the first and last mystery of Christianity. Fortunately or unfortunately, the views of the majority were regarded as correct down the ages. It’s not always necessary that the majority is right. Also, the masses have always been submissive towards people in authority. That means the words of the powerful were always written as history. However, history also always had people who rose to fight for the defeated side, to guard its secrecy, to face the wrath of the authorities and to die as martyr. The sacrifices are astonishing. They remind us of certain things which humans value more than their lives. That’s why we now have various cults in Christianity. There is another interesting thing. Sometimes the majority became the minority, and vice versa. Those that were thought to be extinct came back to life. Those thought to be timeless faded away. That’s the thrill of knowing and learning history. At first sight, every cult seems to follow Christ, but the insights are extremely different. A common man won’t be able to grasp them. It’s difficult even for a believer. The only way to know is with a deep understanding of theology.

  ‘Christian theology evolved and progressed during the third and fourth centuries. And two schools of thought played a crucial role: the Alexandrian and the Antiochian. It can be said that the story of the disputes and struggle for dominance between these two factions constitute the history of the Eastern Church.

  ‘In fact, it was from the second century that Jesus’s mother, Mariam, came to be referred to as the Mother of God. But in the first half of the fifth century, Nestorius, the Archbishop of Constantinople, rejected the long-used title. He also emphasized that there were two separate hypostases in the Incarnate Christ, one divine and the other human. But this Nestorian theology faced strong opposition from Patriarch Cyril of Alexandria.

  ‘To decide on the issue, a general church council was summoned at Ephesus in 431 AD. Cyril was at the helm of the council, which apparently deposed Nestorius and declared him a heretic. In retaliation, the eastern bishops, who were supporting Nestorius, convened their own synod and deposed Cyril. Both sides then appealed to Emperor Theodosius II. The emperor was with Cyril, so he issued an edict that exiled Nestorius first to Antioch, and then to the Great Oasis of Hibis, near Libya. Nestorius spent sixteen years in the island and breathed his last there.

  ‘Now let’s walk and talk.’ He closed the church door from outside and strolled out with his shoulder bag. I followed him.

  ‘It can be said that after the Council of Ephesus, the Christian theology split into two,’ he said, while walking through the corridor. ‘Nestorius’s
supporters were chased down by the Roman Empire. The bishops of Antioch who rallied around his doctrine were removed from their sees. By the end of the emperor’s regime, every one of the Nestorian churches was shut down. However, the doctrine that was believed to have been crushed by the iron hands of power bloomed and blossomed in Persia. Nestorian Christians relocated from Rome to Persia, and the thought became ingrained in the native community. The school of Edessa shifted to the Persian city of Nisibis, which later became a centre of Nestorianism. Also, in 486 AD, a Persian council congregated and accepted their total allegiance to the Nestorian faith. See, a doctrine that was believed to have become history surprisingly regained its full glory! Those Nestorian followers are now known as the Chaldean Church.’

  ‘How did the Church come from Persia to Kerala?’ I asked.

  ‘The Christian theology again had differences in opinion, and further divided into many sects, but in all the historical records I’ve seen, the Malankara Church in Kerala had totally followed the Chaldean beliefs from the fourth to the fifteenth century. It came due to the ancient connections with Persia. The other sects spread here only after that. The Portuguese, Antiochians, the British, all spread their own beliefs. And all of them tried to suppress and sabotage the Chaldean Church. But none could do it. It has survived the storms of history. It has had to go underground at times. But it never lost its continuity. Somewhere or the other, it was protected. That’s the wonder of the wonders of history!’

  We had reached the main road. A bus was coming from afar. He waved his hand.

  ‘Okay then. Someday, I’ll come to Diego to visit Mariam Church. We should definitely meet.’ He bid farewell to me.

  ‘Father, you didn’t tell your name,’ I reminded him.

  ‘I didn’t ask your name too, son, because we have neither met here nor talked about anything. Isn’t it like that?’ he said and laughed.

  The bus came to a halt. He got into it and left. I felt rather strange. Why did he not introduce himself . . .?