It was the beginning of the great migration of a group of people from this small village. Return to their place in history by a group of people who had got mislaid from its pages’? But they could not completely wipe away their footprints from this soil where compassion had flowed for centuries. At least some of them said to themselves: ‘We are not going forever. We are only going away to come back again. We are leaving the soil of our ancestors, leaving some roots that cannot be drawn out however hard you pull. So, we shall come back someday, at least as visitors, as spectators. Because, to whichever far corner of the world we go, this earth will keep calling us back. The soil that gave sanctuary to our ancestors at one time. The Jews of Chendamangalam are not ingrates.’
Swasthi srikogonmaikondan koshri parkara eravivarman thiruvadi pala noorayirathondum, sengol nadathiyalanintayandu irandamandaikku ethir muppatharamandu muyurikottu iruntharuliya nal prisadichum aruliya pirasadam avathu. Eosupa iruppanukku anchuvannam pidiyalum, vayanathalum, pakuthamum, anchuvarnaperum, pakalvilakkum, pavadayum, aintholakamum, kudayum vadukapparayum, makakalamum, idupidiyum thoranamum, thoranavidanamum, sarvammikkum ezhupathirandu veeduperum koode koduthom…
This is from the order given on a copper plate by Bhaskara Ravivarma Permual to Joseph Rabban, called Esupa Iruppan, the leader of the Anchuvannam group of merchants in the tenth century. There was a reason why a foreigner like Joseph Rabban was given the powers and pomp of a local chieftain.
The Cheras and Cholas were always at war. When the Chera king was defeated at Vizhinjam, the Cheras had to withdraw. On their way as the Cholas held a conclave of chieftains to consider their plans to move towards Muchiri, the first offer of help to the Chera king against them came from Joseph Rabban.
Rabban promised his ships, soldiers and money. The Chera king, pleased with this show of loyalty made Anchuvannam an independent principality and made him the ruler of that area.
The foreign travellers who came visiting the land in those days have called Joseph Rabban the King of Shingli. For the Jews who had lost their land and their roots and had been scattered all over the world, this was a great honour. He is called Chiryanandan, which seems to have signified ‘the Pride of Syria’. Perhaps, his ancestors had come from Syria.
Who would have been the first Jew to have stepped on to the coast of Kerala? There is a record about that. But the Bible mentions that even in the times of King Solomon, who ruled the land of the Jews a thousand years before Christ, ships came to Kerala, once in three years, and took away gold, silver, ivory, sandal, peacocks and monkeys.
It is said that the doors to the towers that guarded the city of Carthage had been built with sandalwood from Kerala. Taking all that into account, the first Jew to have stepped on the shores of Kerala was probably a sailor from King Solomon’s navy. The visitors must have been favourably impressed by the friendship and hospitality shown by the rulers of the day and this must have led to a continued relationship.
Later, when attacked by the Assyrians, Babylonians and Romans, the Jews scattered and sought shelter in various parts of the world. Kerala was one such sanctuary. When the second synagogue was destroyed in the first century, after Christ, it marked another stage in migration. They must have seen this coast as one where people from all lands who sought shelter could stay, without fear of persecution. Later, when the bonds of commerce with Muchiri became stronger, and there was a big flow of refugees, the early settlements of the Jews must have taken shape.
Ibn Batuta, who visited Kerala in the fourteenth century, says in his travelogue that the head of the Jews, who stayed on the hill at Kunchakari, paid tribute to the Sultan of Quilon. Historians associate this settlement with the Kottayil Kovilakam of Chendamangalam, which came to be known later as Paliyam Kunnu.
And so, those who came as refugees stayed on through generations, retaining their individuality, but joining the mainstream life of the land.
The death of Joseph Rabban created some cracks in the Jewish community. The caste system that came with the arrival of Brahmins entered the Jewish community and created barriers, based mainly on wealth. The difference between the wealthy and the poor developed into various sects like Pandika Bhagam, Kadavum Bhagam, Thekkum Bhagam, and so on. Quarrels between the different sects also became common.
Muchiri vanished in the floods of 1341, and Kochazhi was formed. The Jewish merchants turned their gaze towards Kochi. The king of Kochi not only welcomed the Jewish merchants who approached him, he allotted land right next to the palace for a market, which soon became a busy place. Since the market place was smaller than the one at Kodungallur, it became Kochangadi or the ‘small market’. A synagogue was raised without much delay.
And thus began the story of a settlement that was different from the rest in the history of India.
‘It’s true, I come now and then. Whenever health and time permit,’ Eliahu Bezalel said.
Bezalel had come for ayurvedic treatment at a Nursing Home near Nalvazhi. He sat in the midst of the smell of medicinal oils and unguents, left leg stretched on a stool in front of him.
‘It’s rheumatism. Well, the leg has walked a long way, I thought it was time to give it a rest. I can do these things only when I come to Kerala.’
The labours he had put in, for half a century, in the inhospitable desert heat, did not seem to have taken its toll on him. He looked as though he could accept a challenge of the same sort now, as well.
‘They said you were from Chendamangalam. Are you from some newspaper? Since I get awards from some governments now and then, people like that, do come to meet me.’ Bezalel asked in good Malayalam. His fifty years of life in Israel had not spoilt the clarity of the language.
‘Actually, I’m from Mumbai. I used to work in a shipping company.’
‘What have shipping companies to do with me?’
When Aravindan explained that he was interested in writing down some notes about his village, Bezalel became interested. He took down the leg with the medicinal oil from the stool and sat up straighter. It was as though some memories of the past flashed over his face.
‘That’s good. It is something that needs to be done. I tried for a while sometime back—to jot down some of the stories about our people, stories that the next generation need to know,’ Bezalel said. ‘Are you a writer?’
Aravindan hesitated for a moment. ‘I used to read a lot, once upon a time. Read anything that I could lay my hands on. When I reached Mumbai, and joined the shipping company, that was no longer possible. Still I tried to keep in touch with books and writing.’
‘Good. I like writers and people who want to write. But, why have you started on this now?’
‘I’ve been wanting to do this for some time now. It got a start just now. I’m no longer working, so that gives me a little time too.’
Bezalel laughed.
‘It’s not a story or a novel or anything like that. You can’t call it history either. Some memories of the place, since my roots are here. That’s all,’ Aravindan explained.
‘It’s a good idea,’ Bezalel acknowledged. ‘It is interesting to sit in a far place and think about the place you were born in. Not, to write about it, but just to bring back old memories. Actually, I know nothing much about writing. But, I’ll tell you something. Don’t try to stay here and write. It’s good to have some distance for both remembering and writing. The farther you are the better, you’ll fell closer.’
Aravindan nodded.
‘Do you know, Aravindan, the third generation in my family is scattered all over the world. I sometimes write small notes to them just to remind them that there are some roots like these too.’ Bezalel continued, ‘Recently, my family members got together to celebrate my eightieth birthday. Do you know what they gave me as a birthday gift? They gave me a book that was about two hundred pages long. They had collected the small notes and letters I had sent to all of them, narrating memories, in Hebrew and English. As I flipped through the pages, my five-year-old grandson came and said, �
��Saba, I’m also going to Chendamangalam this year.’ This has become a fairy-tale place to them through the stories of the elders. That’s when I realised that the ties of the place are so strong.’
This was what Aravindan wanted to hear from Bezalel.
Bezalel spoke of his life. He did not have to think long to bring up old memories. Aravindan looked at him. Bezalel’s body was strong with a lifetime of labour in the fields. His mind seemed even stronger. One leg troubled him with a mild attack of rheumatism, but he could still work in the fields or climb a tree to cut it down or drive a truck.
Bezalel was speaking of half a century of stories. This is not just a story, it is life, life that burns you, he said right at the beginning. It contains sweat, tears, untrammelled desires, undimmed excitement, all mixed together. It was all carved in his mind. It was unlikely that it would be wiped away even when he entered the earth.
His granddaughter, Sarah, was equally crazy about Israel, where she had been born, and Canada where she had grown up. If Israel was motherland to her, Canada was her fatherland. And somewhere between the two, Chendamangalam, where her ancestors had migrated from, became a dream. So, she became the daughter of three mothers with roots in three places. The village of which her mother and her grandfather and other elders told stories about, grew large in her mind. Even when she joined a University in Canada, she used to insist that she spend at least two months of her holidays in this village. Her mother had told her stories about the school she used to attend here. Her mother had insisted that this was the most beautiful place in the world. Bezalel’s niece, his sister’s daughter who had a Scottish father, had visited Chendamangalam on her first leave from the army. She had badly wanted to see the place that had taken shape in her mind through stories heard in her childhood.
‘As we had sat here and dreamed of the earth of Palestine, the new generation sits and dreams of the land of their ancestors. So which is the motherland and which is the fatherland, Aravindan?’
Aravindan had no reply to Bezalel’s question.
Bezalel continued. He did not know exactly when his ancestors had reached Chendamangalam. According to the stories of his great uncle, those who escaped when the synagogue at Babylon was destroyed, had lived for about three hundred years in Yemen. The commercial links that Yemen had with the western shore of Kerala might have brought them here. Some of those who came to these shores in ships in search of pepper might have liked the land. When the ruler of those days showed a willingness to offer hospitality to these wanderers who did not have a homeland, some at least might have decided to settle here. And so, blood mingled with other blood and generations were born here—generations, with different skin colour, different features.
The synagogue that is seen at present in the Kottayil Kovilakam was the third one. The first synagogue was destroyed by the Portuguese and it is said that the second one caught fire. Once upon a time, some Tamilians used to come and sieve through the sand in the yard of the synagogue. It was said that there would be grains of gold from the sanctum that was made of gold. There is a stone before the synagogue, lifted from some old cemetery on which it is carved, ‘Sarah, a daughter of Israel’. The year marked is 1269.
The Kottayil Kovilakam of those days was a shining example of people of different religions living in peace in a small area. There were a number of Hindu households on the slopes of the hill on which the temple to Vishnu stood. Below, in the lanes of the Jew Street, on the two sides of the synagogue, were about thirty Jewish families. Where the lane of Jews ended, the Muslim households started. The mosque of the Muslims was built on the opposite side of the road from the synagogue. About a 100 m from there lay their burial ground. Another 500 m, and you reached the Jewish burial ground. And then came the houses of the Christians, their church, the police station and the primary school.
The conch from the temple, the muezzin from the mosque and the bells from the church mingled with each other. The Jews had shofar, a horn-shaped musical instrument that they blew to announce joyous events like the arrival of the New Year. Once in eight or nine years, the festivals of all the communities would come at the same time and the four instruments would be heard together. This unity of the different types of musical instruments signified the communal amity of those times. It should be remembered that this village showed the example of peaceful co-existence at a time when rivers of blood were flowing in the Western countries in the name of religion and sects.
Bezalel was thinking of old times. The rule was that all the children should study the Torah and recite the prayers in Hebrew either at home or at the synagogue. The Rabbis, who came from abroad, would sometimes spend some time teaching the older people some of the lessons of the Torah. Custom demanded that when the first child in a family was born, a ceremony of blessing called the pidyon should be performed within thirty days. But the Jewish community in Kochi did not possess a kohen or a priest who was authorised to conduct such ceremonies. So, once in a few years a priest would be brought from somewhere outside India, and all the ceremonies that should have been performed in the intervening years would be performed at one go. The kohens were said to be the descendants of Aaron, brother of Moses.
Pidyon was a ceremony that was reminiscent of a Hindu tradition, adimakidathal, of offering a child to the god. Here, the kohen put his hand on the child’s head and put a price on the silver waist chain that the mother had given the child. The mother had to give that price and take the child back.
Since his father did not believe in such ceremonies, Bezalel had not been given to a kohen and taken back. All the Jewish boys of those days would shave their heads bald, keeping a peyoth or sideburns. When they put that circular cap on their heads only this hair would show. Bezalel’s father did not like this and so would get the young boy’s hair cut at the barber shop.
During the summer vacation, Bezalel would go and stay with his uncle at Ernakulam. The uncle, a scholar in Hebrew and the Torah, was a stickler for observances and would insist on observing traditional customs. When he came back, his father would be waiting to take him to the barber shop again. Bezalel laughed when he thought of those vacations and their aftermath.
The dress code was also prescribed. Older people wore violet trousers with white shirts and a cap. The colour of the caps varied according to the occasion. There was a white cap for the day of deliverance, a green one for the Sakkoth ceremony, Torah meant a red cap…
Bezalel was rooting through his memories. ‘Actually we had no problems here, ever. Neither the government nor the people saw us as outsiders. They had shown the greatness of their hospitality when they had welcomed wanderers, who had no home of their own, centuries back, and allowed them to settle down here. When I hear some of the speeches on secularism and communal harmony now, I feel like laughing. The rulers of Kochi had reserved seats for Jewish representatives in their legislative assembly. Two seats each were reserved in the college and civil service also.’
Bezalel paused for a while, heaved a huge sigh and then said, ‘Still, we had to leave one day. It wasn’t even in search of streets paved with gold, it was to face a life of struggle. You know Aravindan, the Jews from here were people who were engaged in small trades like bookbinding or trading in eggs, cloth, vegetables, leather and so on. This transplantation was not easy for them. But, every Jew, among those scattered all over the world, held this one thought to himself: that the all-powerful God would one day take us back to the sacred soil of Jerusalem. Because of that, every year, as we read the sacred Hagada, we pray with all our heart the lines, ‘L’shana habaa b’Yerushalayim. It is the prayer and hope for those in exile. It means that the next year this ceremony would be in Jerusalem. It began with Moses, who could see the Promised Land, but was not allowed to enter. It was carried in the hearts of those Jews who were exiled after the destruction of the temples…’
The exiled Jews continued to repeat those lines from the sacred Hagada that spoke of the great escape from Egypt. It was an attempt to ma
ke themselves believe. It was a reminder to the younger generation that they had a Promised Land, that they might be the ones who reached there in their lifetime. Aravindan read that promise from Bezalel’s face.
An unknown shore, a land of their own, beyond the seas. A Promised Land that lay beyond the boundaries of latitudes and longitudes, a land where their dreams rested. When they heard of the cruelties that the Jews of Europe had had to suffer, they accepted their pain as their own, swearing to purify themselves in that fire. A land like that, a land that had been their own land some time.’
A mother who had not given birth to them, but had borne them for years and generations. For people who had suffered untold miseries, Jerusalem, which meant the city of peace, became both a prayer and a dream, a reminder of a promise to be fulfilled. This fatherland called Jerusalem was taking shape in their minds as an eternal truth. The promise took more concrete shape when Eliahu Meir, who worked in the Royal Air Force and was posted in Bangalore, came to the village. People crowded around him to get more information when he came on leave.
They knew clearly of the challenges that faced them as they prepared for the great migration, different from anything hitherto seen by history. They knew that life in the sacred land would be a struggle. The untamed desert, extremes of weather and unknown language. One million Jews in the midst of antagonistic neighbours who numbered at least twenty times. Only a strong faith united people who came from all over the place and were obviously different. Would their faith alone be enough? While all of them were excited over the idea of the creation of a new nation, there were doubts aplenty.
When Israel was born on the 14 May 1948, it was a real celebration for the Jews in Kochi. Since they had known about it a couple of days before, they prepared well for the celebration. All the Jews in Chendamangalam and Parur had worn their traditional dress that evening and paraded through the main streets carrying the Israeli flag. The other people of the place had watched curiously as their neighbours paraded with the flag of another nation. A lot of them did not know whose flag that was. But they could recognise the excitement and jubilation of those who held it aloft.
The Saga of Muziris Page 28
