The Saga of Muziris

by A. Sethumadhavan

  All the performance arts, in those days, was based on Hindu Puranas. Some of them were performed for the church festivals as well for mere entertainment. But things changed with the coming of the Portuguese. Bishop Menezes, who rejected anything connected with Hinduism or its rituals, said there had to be an art form that belonged to the Christians. This was how Chavittu Natakam that spoke of Western emperors and heroes, instead of Hindu gods or kings, took form. It fell to the lot of Chinna Thampi Annavi to convert Charlemagne to Karalsman.

  Whatever the reason, his mother, Rahel, was relieved that her only son, who had so far refused to go to church even on Sundays, was now going to all the church festivals. The good Lord had shown him the right path. If he would only study properly as well, she would be content.

  But, Karalsman, who had taken possession of Josa at an early age, continued to occupy his mind, refusing to go away and growing larger and larger without his being aware of it. Though he did not know the actor who played the role, he had absorbed his way of walking and talking. His own way of walking and talking had changed. As he practised alone, the steps done on stage, in the water, and in the pond, he was sure there were soldiers behind him— pariis, the soldiers of Charlemagne—with accompanied music, provided by the singers on drums and the harmonium.

  The desire to act grew in him. He was not particular that he should do only the king’s role. He could do the next important one of the minister, or Rauldan, the chief of the soldiers; if nothing else, at least the soldier who stood to one side. These soldiers who gave their lives for the king during the play actually made the play lively. They too had wonderful costumes and vibrant dance steps on the stage during sword fights.

  Josa was jealous of the boys who came from Gothuruthu. Most of them had someone in the family who took part in the plays. They would boast about the actors from their family. As the feast days in the church came nearer, their boasts would also become more vigorous. Pranchi, in the last bench was unbearable since his father, Louis Asan, would write and direct plays. Josa wanted to tell someone about his desire to act. But he could not tell Pranchi. He was a sharp one. Even if Josa just asked the way to the rehearsal camp of Louis Asan he would smell a rat. He would create songs about this and sing them aloud. As it is, he behaved as though all this acting and stuff were not really meant for anyone outside the thuruthu.

  When he heard that the asan was about to introduce his new play before the church feast, Josa became impatient. So, the next Sunday, after the first service at the church, he set off for Gothuruthu. He was covered in sweat by the time he found out where Louis Asan’s kalari or rehearsal camp was, but he had managed it without Pranchi getting to know of it. He could hear the beat given for dance steps from a distance. As he got near the kalari the beat of his heart kept getting louder and louder. Would somebody come to know of this? If Rahel got to know of it, she would put the iron ladle in the fire and hold it up. Rahel’s tongue could get exceedingly sharp at times. You could never be sure when she would turn explosive.

  When Josa peered in through the bars of the window, he was sure that this was no new play. The asan was teaching Karalsman Charitam to a new group. Louis Asan must have been the man sitting on a stool in the corner of the room and fanning himself with a palm leaf fan. The rest of the people had seen Josa but pretended that they had not. But when Pailappan Master saw the boy standing with his face pressed to the bars he called out, ‘Who’s that, sneaking a look, come in!’

  Josa stood hesitating when he heard the loud voice of Pailappan Master. Once again, ‘Come here…’

  He went in with slow steps. With that, the youngsters who were practising their steps stopped their practice. Josa saw the long hairs that stood up on Pailappan Master’s ears and then the thick connected brows.

  ‘Who are you?’

  He could not reply. His throat was completely dry.

  ‘Why don’t you answer? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Josa…’

  ‘Which Josa?’

  ‘Venkali Pappu’s son!’

  ‘Couldn’t you say that right off, you monkey?’ Pailappan Master’s manner changed. Josa’s father must have done work in Pailappan Master’s house also.

  ‘Why did you come? To see the play?’

  Josa shook his head to say no.

  ‘Then?’

  He did not have the guts to say that he had come to learn Chavittu Natakam. The young men who stood there with their steps half-completed looked at him with mischief in their eyes.

  ‘Then?’ Pailappan Master’s voice seemed heavier. The face of Louis Asan, who sat next to him on the stool, showed irritation at the rehearsal being interrupted.

  Josa could not stand there any longer. He turned round and ran without looking back. His breath eased only when he reached the landing place. With this his eagerness to learn Karalsman Charitam dampened a little. All this was meant only for the people of Gothuruthu. There was no point in the people of Manakkodath hankering after such things. But he realised later that Pailappan Master had read his face that day itself. One day, suddenly, when Pailappan Master sent word for Pappu to come and see him, they thought it was to make him do some work. Venkali Pappu went only after a couple of days.

  When he reached there, he realised that Pailappan Master did not want to see him actually. Master asked, ‘You know that monkey of yours, what’s his name?’

  Pappu did not understand to begin with.

  ‘Tch, that pop-eye son of yours…’

  ‘Josa!’

  ‘That’s right, Josa. Tell him to come here and see me.’

  Rahel and Pappu got really worried. Did his mischief now stretch from the Paliyam school to Gothuruthu also?

  Josa was also scared. He was sure that he was being called to be yelled at for peering in that day. He had seen the anger at having the beat interrupted on the face of Louis Asan. And the asans were well known for their hair-trigger temper.

  But the Pailappan Master he saw when he went to his house was an entirely different man. He made him sit on the settee on the veranda and asked him polite questions, spoke of local affairs. After a while, Master’s wife, Rosa Chedathi, came with hot tea in a glass tumbler and crispies and plantains in ceramic plates. Behind her stood Selina with her big eyes and a long skirt of green.

  ‘Eat, you monkey, I had them brought because I thought monkeys would like them,’ the whole of Pailappan Master’s face was covered with laughter like the froth of milk. There was a whole bunch of plantains.

  And so, he became a helper to Pailappan Master. Master was insistent that Josa should visit him at least two or three times in a week. There would be some small errands to run, either for Pailappan Master or his wife Rosa Chedathi. Since there was no bridge connecting Gothuruthu to the mainland, every small thing required a journey by the ferry and Pailappan Master needed constant help.

  Rahel was not too pleased about this constant trips to Gothuruthu. Though they had said that Pailappan Master was teaching Josa mathematics, that explanation did not seem to have really clicked with her.

  ‘They keep saying that a bridge will come soon, but waiting for that is like waiting for the hens to grow teats,’ Pailappan Master complained. After a while, master himself explained the reason, ‘How else can it be when people here don’t want a bridge?’

  Josa could not understand why that should be so. It was a bore, waiting for the ferry each time you wanted to go across. If there was a bridge there would be buses. So, why should anyone be against the bridge coming?

  Pailappan Master explained, ‘Once the bridge comes, the Excise people will be able to come by van. And that will affect some people’s business. If the Excise people come by boat, they can see them from far.’

  Josa understood the whole thing only later when he heard other boys rag Pranchi about this. Pranchi’s father was supposed to be the first among the brewers of illicit liquor in the island. In fact Gothuruthu had already earned a lot of notoriety through these illicit breweries.r />
  In the meantime, Pailappan Master had given up called him ‘monkey’ and had started calling him ‘Yosa’. That was his practice. All the youngsters who came were monkeys to begin with. It was their responsibility to prove that they had a name of their own.

  Pailappan Master had two girls. He had tried insisting that the elder one should be called Plamena, or Brigithamma. Though both were saints, Rosa was equally insistent that she did not want those names for her daughter. Suppose her daughter had to face the fate of Plamena from Plamena Charitram? Though Brigithamma from Brishina Chatritram was a blessed soul, she felt that the little girl did not need a weighty name like that. Then Pailappan Master suggested Selina. Though Rosa grumbled that it was a name from the cinema, this time it was fixed.

  When Rosa attempted to call the second one Sara, Pailappan Master opposed it. ‘No, that will cause problems.’

  ‘Why should there be problems?’ she asked.

  Pailappan Master reminded her of the old Sara case. It was an incident that had left still-bleeding wounds in the hearts of the people of Gothuruthu. A lot of Jewish and Christian blood had flowed on account of the Jewish girl named Sara. There had been a big fight at Gothuruthu. Those wounds, though a century old, were still fresh in some people’s minds at least.

  ‘If you keep thinking of old stories, the girl won’t have a nice name,’ Rosa tried arguing, but that didn’t change Master’s mind.

  He wanted to call his second daughter Elsie, but she liked Lucy. Finally, Pailappan Master surrendered. ‘Call her Lucy or Lucifer or whatever you want…’ By this time the hair on his ears was standing on end.

  Josa would evade any question that Master asked about his studies. He knew that his method of spending a couple of years in each class was not really the proper way.

  ‘What do you plan to do, really?’

  Josa had also not really thought about it so far. His mother was of the opinion that he should do what his aunt’s son had done—pass the tenth standard, do a diploma in the Industrial Training Department (ITI) in some trade. But how would he pass the tenth?

  Pailappan Master too knew the difficulties of passing the tenth. Like Josa, he too had been crazy about Chavittu Natakam and volleyball in his youth. But he had managed to pass his degree from the Thevara College and obtained a B.T. from Thrissur.

  ‘If you can’t reach the ITI, why don’t you join your father?’ Pailappan Master suggested one day. ‘It’s not like before, you get good money for lime-washing. You can’t get people. Even those who haven’t touched a brush are in the Gulf nowadays.’

  ‘My father won’t take me with him.’

  ‘Can’t you learn the trade with someone else?’

  There are some people like Pazhampilli Thuruthu, Kunhappan Chettan and Kumaran Chettan.’

  ‘But, they’re all Ezhavas.’

  ‘So what?’

  Pailappan Master had no answer to that. After a while, he continued with some embarrassment, ‘I was just thinking of what you’ll do once your father’s no more.’

  Josa could not understand why Pailappan Master was so insistent about this. What was this, a hereditary occupation of some sort? Which sacred book had it laid down that Lime Pappu’s son should also lime-wash walls? It was true that his grandfather, Lassar, had done the same job too. At a time when there was always work at the Paliyam, his grandfather had been the only man who knew how to do the job. Buy now anyone could become a mason or a carpenter or a weaver. Anyway, he did not stay to discuss the topic. He knew that Rahel had a whole lot of plans. She was waiting for him to start earning to marry off the two girls in the family.

  In the meantime, Josa was growing up fast. It was Selina who found tiny hair growing over his lip and that three or four strands hung from his chin, making him look like a goat. She had been two classes lower than him, but had now reached the eighth standard with him. She had started showing off on account of that. If she ever reached the tenth before him, she would start addressing him familiarly as she used to before Pailappan Master strictly forbade her to.

  Selina was always ragging him. She was always eager to impress upon him that she was a creature from a higher stratum. After all, she was from the blood line of Pallithara Lona.

  When he did not seem to understand who Pallithara Lona was, she explained, ‘That’s my grandfather’s grandfather. We had Vasco da Gama’s hat and sword in our house.’

  Josa was sure that was a lie. In the history of Vasco da Gama that he had studied there was no mention of such an incident. Anyway, if the hat and sword had been in her house, where were they now?

  ‘Well,’ Selina stammered out. ‘The hat tore of course, it was made of cloth.’

  ‘But the sword?’

  ‘We gave it to the church.’

  That shut Josa up for the moment. Pailappan Master later told him the full story, a story among the many old stories he told Josa.

  ‘So, she showed off with that story with you too. Firebrand!’ Pailappan Master’s face showed the affection he had for this daughter of his.

  When the Villyarvattom Swaroopam, who ruled Chendamangalam, came to an end without heirs, a number of Nazarenes from the area had gone to see Vasco da Gama. Pallithara Lona had been one of them. They surrendered the sceptre and the order of kingship that had been the possession of King Thoma and accepted the suzerainty of the Portuguese. Gama was pleased with this and, accepting the fruits and meat that had been brought by them. He gave them a thousand golden coins, two hundred swords, and two hundred red hats. He sent them away after sprinkling them with perfume. He also entered into a treaty with the king of Kochi ensuring their protection.

  ‘There’s something that she did not know,’ Pailappan Master said with a laugh. ‘There was a kommandante from the Pallithara family in the Portuguese Army. That is, a commandant. Don’t tell her this, she’ll go around boasting of that too.’

  No wonder the female was so proud. So, when she claimed that the school at Gothuruthu was much better than the Paliyam school, Josa did not protest. But, Pailappan Master, who came by in time to hear it, intervened. ‘Don’t argue about it. Two achans started the school. One was started by the Paliyath achan and the other by the priest or achan at the church. But one can claim seniority.’

  When Josa nodded to claim that seniority, Selina could not resist, ‘Whatever it is, that is a Hindu school. That’s not where a real Christian should study.’

  ‘That’s a good one.’ Master was surprised. ‘Listen to this child talk. Who taught you all this?’

  Selina did not reply, but ran towards the shed where the sheep were, behind the house.

  When she was in the seventh standard, Selina used to wait for Josa at the riverside. By the time they reached the eighth standard, the place shifted to the curve in the lane to her house. By the time she reached the ninth, it became more secretive and shifted to the space between the sheep-shed and the pounding house.

  Josa was slow to recognise these changes. In his eyes, she was still the little girl in the green skirt who had come with her mother, bearing the crispies and the plantains.

  ‘That’s like that. My mother says girls should study,’ she explained.

  ‘Don’t boys need to study?’ Josa wondered.

  ‘No, they were created by the Lord to wander like this,’ she was vehemently certain.

  ‘Did your mother tell you that as well?’

  ‘Ah…’

  She was always like that. She always spoke with a bit of weight. As though there was no need to talk about that subject any more.

  Though she would fight with him and go away with a dark face, she was upset if she did not see him for a few days together. ‘Can’t you say if you are going away somewhere?’

  You can’t catch a fever after telling people, could you? His mother did not send him to Kottapuram market notifying him earlier.

  She had very decided likes and dislikes. Men should be tall, they should not be too fat, need not be too fair. Straight hair that fe
ll on the forehead was better than curly hair. She did not like smooth round faces like her father’s, the face had to have a few marks and pits, and there should be hair on the chest. And a thick black moustache. Teeth should be clean and white, a couple of gaps between them was all right. She did not like the smell of perfumes and hair oils. Men should smell of sweat.

  This was all new knowledge to Josa. She claimed that girls had clear ideas on what the men should look like.

  Josa counted the qualities that he had so far heard. He seemed to have most of the qualities. Only one or two were missing. The pits and marks on the face, and the hair on the chest might come when he grew older.

  What about that smell of pressed oil that he got when she came close?

  ‘That is the smell of women. If we didn’t have it, will the men look at us? Even hens and ewes have the woman-smell.’ Selina laughed at him as though wondering why he did not know even this.

  So, there was a woman-smell. Men and women had different smells. A woman had to have the woman-smell if she wanted any man to look at her. And men should smell of sweat. When he heard all this, he was sure of one thing—Rosa Chedathi had taught the girl a little too much at this young age.

  Josa’s mind was filled with her voice as he sat on the plank of the ferry. Men had to have pits and marks on their face; they had to have thick moustaches; there should be hair on their bodies. As soon as he reached home, he went and stood before the old mirror that hung in the veranda and looked at himself from various angles. The mirror with mercury on its back was not very clear. However much he looked through the marks in the mirror, he could see only a smooth face. For the first time in his life he regretted that he had not had pimples. The discussions in the class had always been about how to get rid of them. He had heard Sujathan say that the marks would go if you applied a mixture of gold dust and red sandal paste.

  He did not think further, but picked up a pin and poked himself here and there on the face. He broke the skin in three places and it was burning, so he stopped. He was careful when he sat to eat so that his mother would not see his face properly. But now he could not go to Gothuruthu till this healed. It took three days to heal. When he peeled the scabs that had formed there weren’t any pits or marks but small red dots. Josa felt like crying. Selina would not notice them even if he went close. And it wouldn’t take long for the skin to darken with the sun.