By now Josa had decided to join the kalari of Louis Asan. He had pestered Pailappan Master about this for a long time, but Master had tried to dissuade him, ‘That’s not a good idea Yosa, it’s all so difficult.’
When he heard that, Josa felt hurt. Pailappan Master was saying that he would be no good at it.
‘It’s not that you can’t do it,’ Pailappan Master started explaining. ‘It works only for people who won’t think of anything else but go after it whole-heartedly. What’s the point in just making a show of it?’
Josa wanted to ask if all the boys he had seen in the kalari that day had been like that, but the answer came before he could ask, ‘I’m fond of you, that’s why I say this. That you should spend time on it only if you are sure you can keep on with it.’
Though Josa didn’t like that comment much, he grunted in agreement.
‘It’s not as simple as you think,’ Pailappan Master continued. ‘It is hard work for six months before your body and the rhythm started obeying you. And you have to put up with listening to whatever the asan says.’
Though he was willing to do anything, Josa found out later that what Pailappan Master said made sense. Lots of boys came here full of enthusiasm but hardly one out of ten lasted. Pailappan Master probably didn’t want a boy recommended by him to be like that.
It was, perhaps, because of this that Louis Asan’s face was not bright when he went there.
‘Who’s this?’ When asan looked him over, Josa felt that he had a large number of eyes rather than the usual two.
‘Venkali Pappu’s…’
‘Oh…’
Josa wondered if asan was dissatisfied with him or with his father. He did not see Pailappan Master gesture to say not to be worried, he was so anxious.
They did everything according to the tradition. Coin on the betel leaves was given to the asan before the lighted lamp and the cross. When he touched his feet and kept his hands on his chest and the asan put his hands on his head to bless him, Josa felt that he looked deep into his eyes. The next ritual was to keep the coin and the betel leaves on the first page, and then touch the book to one’s head and chest for blessing. Josa felt that asan’s eyes looked brighter then.
‘The omens are good,’ Pailappan Master patted him on the back. ‘These asans are people with a touch of God in them. They know who will come to the path of Christ. They try to frighten you off to begin with, but that’s just their style.’
Pailappan Master had warned him of this and told him why they did that. After all the effort that the asans took in teaching the youngsters, most of them vanished without a word halfway through the training.
‘It’s a lot of work,’ Master was repeating himself. ‘First come the lessons on the stepping, then the speeding up, the endings, the songs—a whole lot of stuff like that. By the time they get the stepping right, most of the youngsters are fed up. At least, half of those who joined would have left by then.’
It was after you got the stepping right that you learnt to use the sword, the spear, and the sticks and so on.
‘Earlier they fought for real on the stage. They were given oil massages for two years and trained in fighting before they were allowed on the stage.’
It was only after the stepping was assured and the actors had gained some skill in fighting that they were allowed to read the parts.
‘Earlier, the more important parts were given only to the well-born actors,’ Pailappan Master said. ‘That is parts like that of Karalsman, Al Birande, Dioclesian, the ministers, the brave Rauldan…’
Well-born actors! Josa did not know what to say.
When he had completed his sentence, Pailappan Master also felt that he should not have said anything. He tried to correct his statement, ‘Of course, that was in the olden days. Now it is the art of the people. Anyone who can act can join in, go on stage… Earlier those who could buy their own cloth and get costumes stitched were considered for the more important roles.’
But Josa felt that those words had entered his heart like thorns. As he waited on the shore for the ferry to come, he was repeating to himself: Well-born actors!
You had to be well-born to come on stage as Karalsman and minister. You had to belong to the tradition of the people who had got those two hundred swords and two hundred hats from Vasco da Gama. What was Venkali Pappu’s family? Whom could he ask? If he asked Rahel such questions, he would never hear the end of it.
Whatever was to happen would happen, he finally decided. Pailappan Master had also said that if you had the skill and were lucky you would get the good parts. So, he would wait, for good luck. After all, luck was not something that was reserved for people who were well-born.
Selina was not aware of the great preparations that Josa was making.
Selina was very changeable. She would be laughing and talking, and suddenly she would be mad at him.
‘Don’t, don’t try to play around with the women of this thuruthu,’ she once pointed her finger at him and said. ‘This is the place where Thattunkal Sara lived and a lot of blood was spilt. The blood of Jews and our people’s too.’
Josa felt that Selina was trying to make him look small. He did not know who Thattunkal Sara was. He also did not know how the blood of Jews and their people had fallen on the soil.
Who was this ‘Sara’?
‘The elders say that she looked like me, all rosy with big eyes and a long nose.’
Josa did not like that comment. Whoever Thattunkal Sara was, who was this girl to say that she looked like her?
‘Right, right!’ He nodded as though ragging her.
‘Do you know where Thattunkal Sara’s house is?’ Selina was not willing to let the topic go.
When he expressed his ignorance, her brows rose. She spoke then as if she was sharing a big secret, ‘It’s not her own house; she came and stayed there. I’ll show you the house another day.’
Another day…That was her usual trick. When he got involved in the story, she would stop and say that she’d tell him the rest another day.
She added something else to this story before she stopped. The big leaved plants in the compound had not been red originally. They got those red spots because the blood of Jews were spattered on them.
As usual the responsibility for completing the stories left unfinished by Selina fell to the lot of Pailappan Master. If he was in a good mood, Master would say the story in full detail with expression and commentary.
‘She’s again been teasing you, Yosa! She’s something, another Anna Chandy.’ Pailappan Master’s face was full of pride and affection. ‘Actually a lot of it is bluff. She’s not telling you because she does not know it fully herself.’ The Anna Chandy he mentioned was the first woman who became a High Court judge from Kerala.
And so, just as he had told Josa the story of Karalsman, Pailappan Master told him the story of Thattunkal Sara also. It was said that Sara Vijayam, the lyrical narration of the story of the brave Thattunkal Sara, written by Kattiparambil Varu Asan, had been very popular in the temple festivals and church feasts a hundred years back.
Thattunkal Sara had become the symbol of courage of the women of the place.
‘She was not from here. She came and stayed here in Pulikkathara Thomas’s house with her two girls because she had no other place to go.’
Jose grunted. Pailappan Master was very insistent that the listener had to nod and grunt at the right places when he told a story.
‘She was more beautiful than our film star, Sheela. Any hero would fall for her. As for wealth, hers and her husband’s property stretched right across our place and neighbouring places. But, what to do. Before they had their fill of a life together the good Lord called him back. She was left with two small girls to bring up.’ Pailappan Master was getting into the narration.
Sara who had been born in the aristocratic Jewish family, Thattunkal, had married into another powerful Jewish family from Chendamangalam. When she became a widow at a young age, the responsibility fo
r looking after the large properties and bringing up two small girls fell to her lot. Her brothers and her in-laws fixed their eyes on the property since there was no one else to look after them. How could a young woman look after the properties that were spread over many lands, all alone? The plan made by the relatives was that they would bring Sara’s daughters as brides to their families so that the property would stay with them. But Sara was not willing to make such a contract and so, the relatives became enemies.
Sara was a brave woman. She was not willing to be pushed into the inner rooms of the house at that age. Since she had to travel a lot, she got a young man to accompany her on her visits to the far-off places and started looking after her property herself. With that, scandals connecting the two of them spread all over. Sara defeated them by taking that young man as her husband.
This was impudence that the orthodox Jewish community could not bear. The community and both the families not only ostracised her, they harassed her as much as they could. Her husband was beaten almost to death and thrown into the river. He survived because some boatmen found him and took him to the hospital. Finally, Sara approached the Valiachan of Paliyam for protection. The achan instructed Pulikkathara Thomas of Gothuruthu to give her a house to stay in.
That was how Thattunkal Sara and her family settled down in Gothuruthu.
‘What was the use, Yosa, those wicked people did not let her alone, even then!’ Pailappan Master continued. ‘Do you know who came there with guns and spears and swords, to capture her and take her back? Eloni and Bawu, her own brothers. They brought Noor Mohammed and his rowdies from Kochi for support. They came on a Monday when all the men of the thuruthu had gone to Kottapuram market.’
‘What happened?’
‘What could happen, Yosa,’ Pailappan Master’s face grew red. ‘Pulikkathara Thomas’s younger brother, Devassy, saw the boats from far and realised that it was going to be dangerous. He pulled the plank bridge across the stream and shouted to collect people. Sara put the children in the attic and hid herself in a palm leaf mat in the pounding house.’
‘And?’ Josa was getting excited.
‘And then came the actual fight!’ Pailappan Master’s voice rose. ‘When Bawu climbed to the attic and brought down the two girls, Devassy blocked his way. They argued a little and then Devassy swung his sword. What the people saw next was Bawu’s arm on the ground. Eloni pulled his country gun but that did not fire.’
‘Then?’ Josa was seeing the scene in black and white across the screen stretched before him.
‘Then the actual fight started. The rest of the people heard the noise and gathered by then and the Thattunkal people could not hold out. They ran for life, but our people would not let them go that easily. When they tried to get into the boat the people here broke up the boat. Those who jumped into the river also got plenty from the oars of our boatmen.’
Josa did not have to ask what happened then. Pailappan Master was regretfully gathering up the strands of the story for the ending. ‘There were rumours that a number of people died. Actually, two or three people died. Some people went missing. They brought a big lawyer from Madras, a white man, and filed cases against the people of Gothuruthu. It went on for a long time, but the Thattunkal family lost the case and lost face as well.’
Sara lived for many more years. After a while she got back on terms with her community. She saw to it that the children from both her marriages, the boys and the girls, got a good education, sending her granddaughter to college when Jewish women did not even go out of the house. Her granddaughter Esther was the first girl from the black Jewish community to take a degree. As he narrated Sara’s heroic tale, Pailappan Master seemed to feel proud of the Pulikkathara family and the people of the thuruthu who had fought to protect a helpless woman who was no connection of theirs. That too, some Jewish woman who had come from elsewhere.
Josa remembered that Selina’s voice held the same pride when she spoke of Sara. Though she had not been named Sara, she was sure that some of her qualities would have found place in her too. She’d say every now and then, ‘That’s how we women are!’ Josa had never asked how that was. He knew there was no point in arguing with stubborn people like Selina.
In the meantime, Selina had come to know of his joining Louis Asan’s kalari. Now she had found one more topic on which she could rag him. ‘So, when are you going to get on the stage as Karalsman?’
‘I will…one of these days I’ll have a part to play. You wait and see!’
Selina’s face held the same unbelieving smile as if to say, ’Yes, yes, I’ve heard all this before’. Lord, could this female never say a good word, Josa wondered. What was the point in her going to the Bible class and praying twice a day?
‘I’ll be doing small parts in six months or so,’ Josa repeated what Pailappan Master had said. ‘Then, if asan likes what I did, I’ll get to do soldiers’ roles…and then…and then…’
He hesitated to continue. It was as though Gama’s hat and sword were tangling somewhere among his words.
‘Sure, sure…’ Selina said in an unbelieving voice.
Josa continued, lost in his own world, barely hearing what she said, ‘Wait and see. I’ll be Rauldan one day.’
‘Sure, let’s wait and see.’
‘Yes, we’ll see.’
It was now a matter of pride for Josa. Whatever happened he would play Rauldan before her. Karalsman and Al Birande were emperors. Perabras was a prince. Even if those roles were reserved for the well-born, he should be able to play at least Rauldan, the chief among the soldiers.
Pailappan Master had told him how to go forward. If he was ready to work hard, if he pleased the asan, the first stage-performance would come after six months. First, would come the children’s roles. The young boys would come stepping on to the stage according to the beat, from either side, bow before the asan and perform their steps and show off their other skills. Then they would narrate in brief the story that was to be performed there that day. The responsibility of leading the audience into the story was allotted to these youngsters.
Rahel did not know anything of these preparations that took place in Gothuruthu. She did not know that he never took out the books that he kept with such care on the carrier of his cycle, or that Pailappan Master did not teach mathematics in the Gothuruthu school.
Pailappan Master was not a regular visitor to the kalari classes of Louis Asan, but he used to enquire about his protégé every now and then. He said one day, ‘Not bad! It looks as though asan thinks you’re quite good.’
Josa felt relieved when he heard that. But the asan had never shown any signs of approval.
‘That’s just his nature. You find him sitting with a face like an ant-eater sometimes. There’s one thing though. He’ll pay no attention to recommendations or flattery or anything. If you are good at the art, he’ll support you.’
That was what Josa wanted too. Even if he wanted to do so, he did not know how to flatter anyone.
And so, the day of the first performance came. It was the feast day at Koottukar Church.
‘Yosa, have you told your people to come to watch it?’ Pailappan Master wanted to know.
The tradition was that one’s family and other elders should be present to see one’s first performance. Their blessings were needed for one’s further progress. But Josa did not know whom he could call to witness his first performance.
‘My father will be in the toddy shop at that time. It’s difficult to tell my mother,’ he explained to Pailappan Master.
‘That’s not proper, Yosa,’ Master insisted. ‘It’s bad if no one of your own comes to see your first performance.’
‘Never mind, Master. Lots of boys from my class will come. That’ll do.’
‘This Chavittu Natakam is also the way of the Christ,’ Master said again. ‘Your mother must be thinking that this play is something to do with the communists.’
‘It’s not that. My mother will understand if I say that it is a
play acted in the church.’
‘Do you know what Bishop Menezes said at Udayamperoor? What Christians see should be something that shows the right path to those purified by the water of baptism. And not those performances in Hindu temples…’
Josa grunted as though in agreement. He had uncles and aunts as well as his father and mother. Though they liked the plays put up in the church, Josa knew that they had more or less disowned him. A useless fellow, one without the ability to go to the ITI and improve his lot as Johnson had done.
Pailappan Master did not say anything further. But, Josa’s debut was much better than Master had anticipated.
The first person to hug him and congratulate him when he came down was Pranchi. He said loudly, ‘You were terrific!’ There was not a trace of jealousy on his face when he said this. Josa knew that he would describe the play to everyone in their class.
Pailappan Master also pulled him close with his hand on his shoulder. ‘You were very good. Though it was your first stage, you didn’t show any stage fright. That’s enough for now. You can stick to this.’
After the whole play was over, he went to Louis Asan with a lot of trepidation. The asan did not even smile but just gave a heavy grunt. But, Josa felt that asan’s eyes were shining more than usual.
Josa was more eager to know someone else’s opinion. He had seen those two big eyes in the midst of the crowd in the churchyard. When he went charging up the next day to find out what she had thought of it, she acted contrary as usual. She spent time chatting about what had happened at school and this and that, and he had to finally bring up the topic himself.
‘Well, you were all right, I saw you!’ He got mad when she said this teasingly.
‘That’s all?’
‘You were all right, but I thought the other boy was better…’
The Saga of Muziris Page 33
