‘Sangam poetry presents us with some vivid pictures of Kerala with its greenery—pictures of buffaloes sleeping under jackfruit trees on which pepper vines climb; of a man who brings down jackfruit and wild jackfruit and plantains with a stone; a house owner who tries to pledge ivory tusks to find the money to drink.’
‘You must remember,’ Aravindan spoke to Ramabhadran, ‘when we were children, there were so many Jewish families living in the eastern side. There was a Jew Street next to the synagogue. I think I know now why the Jews who scattered all over the world came to this place—it must have been the glitter of Muziris.’
‘No doubt about it,’ Perumal nodded. ‘For the merchant community of Jews, Muziris must have felt familiar. Their ancestors would have come here for trade. Chendamangalam was ideal for trade as the waters practically surrounded it.’
‘That reminds me,’ Azad interrupted them, ‘I’ve heard older people say that small ships used to berth just below the Kottayil palace. Either the river was much deeper then, or the sea might have had an inlet around there. It is said that the soil and stones found there are different.’
‘There must have been large-scale cultivation of pepper on the sides of the hills. Jews must have chosen that place because it was convenient to land ships with goods. The then king of Villyarvattom gave them land and permission to build their house of worship there too,’ Aravindan added.
Perumal was nearing the end of his narrative. ‘By the fifth century, the Roman Empire, which had split into the Eastern and Western empires had begun to decay. When the economy suffered, they probably cut down on expensive imports. With the decline of Rome, Muziris too lost its glitter. Though Egyptians and Arabs came for a while after that, the period of its glory was over. And then, to put the final seal, there was that great flood. With that, the port town was wiped off from the map of the world.’
‘A number of civilisations have found their endings in some great natural calamity, haven’t they?’ Aravindan asked.
‘That is true,’ Perumal nodded. ‘Floods, earthquakes, tidal waves—so many reasons, so many lessons for mankind. Pompeii in Italy was wiped out when the Vesuvius erupted in AD 79; lava, ashes and stones covered the town. Some of the aretine wares, found at Pattanam the other day, were made of the special clay found only in Pompeii. A historian came all the way from there to verify the truth of that report. What is being seen here are clear markers of that period.’
‘I go to Alexandria, once in a while, in the course of work,’ Azad said. ‘Tourists who visit Egypt to see the pyramids, mummies, the sphinx, in that order, also want to see Cleopatra’s Alexandria. It was the biggest city in the world before the rise of Rome. Most of those who come there want to see the site of the biggest library in the world that had been burnt and gutted. It is a city where history sleeps.’
As though suddenly reminded of something, Azad added, ‘There is a great piece of evidence about the trade with Muziris in the Vienna Museum. A contract between two merchants; one in Alexandria and the other in Muziris. It is called the “Muziris Papyrus”. I was stunned when I read the English translation. They have gone into every detail so minutely: the merchandise to be sent, its weight, its price, the way in which it should be handled at each place. Do you know, sir, the customs duty was twenty-five per cent then?’
‘Oh my god!’ Ramabhadran could hardly believe it.
‘What was the merchandise?’ Suddenly the shipping agent in Aravindan awoke.
‘There were three and a half tonnes of merchandise, worth seventy lakhs of Roman drachma, sent by the ship Hermapollon. It consisted of ivory, silk dresses and Nard oil from the Ganges delta among other things. Seventy lakhs of Roman drachma would be the equivalent of thirty thousand dollars. You have to remember that the monthly wages of a labourer on the banks of the Nile was only twenty-five drachma.’
‘Since the voyage would be a difficult one, the ship must have been fairly large. There would have been other goods too in its hold,’ Aravindan calculated.
‘The ships that came could carry up to 250 tonnes of cargo. In a parody from the second century, called Carition, they talk of a pair of lovers who smuggled themselves into a ship, bound for India. There are even descriptions of some sights in India,’ Azad told them. ‘Another interesting story is about Cleopatra, the queen of Egypt. Due to the long history of trade between Alexandria and Muziris, she had close contact with the Chera kings of those days. Her ambition was to make her son, Caesarion, the future emperor of Rome and she feared for his life at the hand of Octavius. While searching for a safe place to hide him, one of those she had her sight on was our own Muziris!’
‘It’s interesting to hear these stories,’ Ramabhadran laughed.
‘And to narrate them also,’ Azad added.
‘Even if historians find it difficult to accept it, I’m willing to consider it as a possibility.’
‘Anyway, next time I go there, I shall look at Alexandria with fresh eyes, as an old neighbour, a partner to our Muziris!’
‘You can try it out on the tourists who come from India.’
‘You know, pepper was not just a commodity, it always had politics involved in its trade. From the old Greeks to the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British, all had their eyes on our pepper. Of course, some of them later developed colonial dreams,’ Perumal tried to explain. ‘But since race was not such a big issue then, people must have mingled. When the Greeks stayed for long periods, there would have been the mingling of blood too…’
‘It’s possible, sir,’ Azad agreed. ‘There are papyruses called Genizah documents, in the basements of some of the synagogues. They believe that the records will last forever since they have been written in the name of God. Perhaps, among them, there are some private Muziris stories too. Who knows! You know, the memoirs of Yavanas who came to Muziris, stayed for a while and then returned.’
‘Sounds very likely. It would be great if someone could search among them,’ Aravindan said.
Azad nodded as though he was thinking of something. ‘Not just anyone, Aravindettan; perhaps, that destiny is mine.’ His eyes were sparkling.
‘I shall never forget this trip of mine,’ Perumal shook himself as though he had got lost somewhere. ‘A few days to cherish for ever, thanks to Muziris who created the occasion; to Muziris and Pattanam.’
It was nearly time for his train. Perumal got up.
When they said that they would meet again like this, they knew that it would not be easy. Each of them was in his own place, in his own world.
Azad’s face alone showed a certainty. ‘We can’t let this go, Aravindettan,’ he said. ‘We must meet, sit like this for hours, talking of nothing in particular. If you come here and call Perumal sir, he will also come.’
When Perumal laughed at that, Aravindan murmured uncertainly, ‘Yes, we must…Let’s see, let’s try at least.
Perumal rang from Madurai one night, ‘How is the writing getting on, Aravindan?’
‘It’s getting on, but I don’t know if we can call it writing. I’m just jotting things down.’
‘That’s enough. After a while, it will take shape. History has the capacity to make people write when there is something to say. As we said that day, it will be difficult to minimise the historical part when there’s so much to say. Actually, accounts and history are boring with their insistence on exactitude. In literature, there is more freedom even space for a few lies, a few lies that are not dangerous.’ Perumal was laughing aloud as he said this.
‘Literature?’ Aravindan was really scared. How could his jottings be literature? Would he, after completing sixty years on this earth, suddenly become a writer?
Perumal laughed again as though he understood Aravindan’s confusion. ‘What’s in a name after all? It is good to have something to say, and to try and say that. Let those who read, read it as they want to. That’s their business.’
‘But, no one’s going to read this.’
‘Don’t decide on that now.
As you write you may feel that people close to you should read it. You know, first the people at home, then friends, then neighbours, the people of the house beyond the next one, people of the village…and then society at large. That’s the way these things work. Anyway, it is not possible for a writer to see a well-defined community of readers before he sets out to write.’
Aravindan’s dread was increasing: ‘These jottings of mine are going to be read by people I haven’t seen, people I don’t know, people who don’t know me, sitting in various places. How will they come to this, with what prejudices? They may not like some of it, they may question some of it.’ Perumal had said right at the beginning, though as a joke, that one had to be careful when one touched history. History has a thousand readings, a ten thousand spikes. Each reader prefers to read it according to his or her predisposition. Individuals, society, rulers, and centres of power that are evident and not so evident…There would be unnecessary interpretations and questions. A historian would need great courage to stand by his convictions.
‘Never mind, I’m not a historian or even a writer,’ Aravindan tried to reassure himself. As for his family reading it, Vasanthi did not know Malayalam. His son in Kuwait did know the language but claimed that he did not have the time to read. His daughter at Delhi knew Malayalam and had time, but had no interest in reading at all. Insisting on their learning Malayalam seemed to have been a waste of time.
‘Aravindan, are you dreaming there? As it is, there is a complaint that my STD bill is very heavy.’
That was when he realised that Perumal was at the other end of the one. He spoke quickly, ‘Last night, I made an attempt to recapture that old Muziris period. I mean, the life of the Sangam period that you spoke about, and I had read about. A few characters who lived in and around Muziris. I got up at 3:30 in the morning, without any alarm clock and sat and wrote at a stretch. Achumman’s black tea contributed to the zest, I felt. I think that I can go forward in that direction for a while more.’
‘Great!’ Perumal’s voice grew louder. ‘It is so true, what our elders say, that everything has its time and place. Now, all this has landed on your lap as a sort of mission. Believe me, finally, you are about to become a writer.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t worry. Writing is not a criminal offence in our land.’ Perumal was laughing still. ‘The only thing is, it took a lifetime for the city of Muziris to reach you; from the manuscript magazine at school to this.’
When Perumal put down the telephone after a while, Aravindan returned to Muziris. The same magnetic force must have attracted so many people over the centuries—Greeks, Romans, Arabs… Some of the shadows coalesced into human forms and became Manikkan and Kichan and Valli. Where had they been all this while? How did they enter him so quietly, without Achumman knowing about it, without Ramabhadran knowing about it? He had been talking to them every day. Could this be the mystery of creation that Perumal spoke about?
Vasanthi’s usual call interrupted his thoughts. She always rang up just before going to bed. Her voice seemed unusually heavy that day. ‘So, do you plan to stay there forever?’
‘No, no. I’m coming back. Most probably, next week.’
‘What is this “most probably”? As if you’re not sure. Have you grown so fond of your place?’
‘Of course, one is fond of one’s place, Vasanthi. They say the land of your birth is your mother. Whether it’s Ottapalam or Kuntapur or Mumbai…’
‘Enough! I’m fed up of listening to this.’ She was silent for a while. ‘You can afford to loaf like this because Vasu Aunty and Madhavan Uncle are here.’
Oh, the people on duty had changed. Last week it had been Unni Uncle and Devi Aunty. If he stayed another week, it would be Valsettan’s and Sarojini Edathi’s turn. It was when Devi Aunty, who had a lioness in her, came and went that Vasanthi changed the most. The advices and admonitions that she gave him would change in tone and content. The visitors too enjoyed these occasional displacements.
‘What about your medicines?’ Vasanthi’s voice came.
‘I have plenty. If I run out, I can get them at Parur or Aluva.’
‘Why don’t you come now that Perumal has gone? Or, are you waiting to see Azad off too?’
‘I haven’t taken a vow to do so. He’s gone to see some old friends at Kozhikode and Karunagappally. You get these chances so rarely. So, I thought I’d wait for him to get back. It’s unlikely that we’ll get together like this again.’
‘Hmm,’ Vasanthi grunted. ‘Oh yes, I couldn’t find the bottle that was here.’
‘You mean the bottle you had hidden. It is safely here in my suitcase. It’s been opened, of course. There’s no way you are going to find the bottle I’ve hidden.’
‘Hmm,’ a growl this time. ‘Medicines on one hand and this on the other. They go well with each other.’
‘Like us. Anyway, the doctor says that 75 ml daily is good for the heart.’
‘It must be Dr Kulkarni who said that, after a couple of drinks with you.’
Aravindan knew that the conversation would develop on familiar lines from there and reach an unpleasant conclusion. When all else failed, Ottapalam and Kuntapur and Malayali Samajam would enter the fray, and things could become serious. It was better not to let things reach that far.
When he started talking about his writing and Muziris, the growl at the other end changed its pitch. Aravindan realised that he had found another escape route. Muziris could also serve as an escape. Vasanthi was yawning.
‘Go to sleep, it’s late!’ Aravindan told her.
‘Aren’t you going to bed?’
‘No, I’m in a mood to write. Achumman has gone to sleep already and it is all silent and peaceful.’
If he told her that he had postponed his trip by another week to enjoy this peace and quiet, she would get mad. Someone, who had only moved from towns to cities and then to other cities, would never understand. He too had been in the midst of all that noise and colour for so many years.’
Here, it was so quiet that one could hear the raindrops, leftover from an old rain, drip on to the dry fronds amidst the cries of the cicada. Where else could you get the damp dark that gathered in the bushes and the breeze that entered so hesitantly?
The table lamp that Achumman had brought from the town proved useful. Its mild radiance fell on the paper. His eyes did not burn even in the early hours of morning.
So, to Muziris again. Manikkan and Kichan and Valli. That morning when he had gone for a walk to Arankavu, Kunkamma entered his mind like a shadow. He did not know who she was or what she looked like. And a Vadakkoth Thanka somewhere…
Aravindan sat for a while with his eyes shut. A thin breeze entered the room. When he got up to open the shutter that had fallen half shut, he was humming an old tune—an old Pankaj Mullick song.
He got back to the lamp’s small circle of light.
Though he had heard a lot about it earlier, it was only on this visit that Perumal had been able to make some sense of the history of the Paliyam. The Paliyath achan, the eldest male member of the Paliyam family, is a figure that looms over the history of Kochi. That one member of the family remained the chief minister of the kingdom, as though it was a hereditary right, is in itself an unusual situation. That the minister became more powerful than the king is still more unusual. Perumal was surprised that the name of Paliyath achans did not figure prominently among those who fought against the British. He reiterated to himself that history should not have ignored that last fight against the British.
Aravindan was going through the notes that Perumal had left on the laptop. He knew some of the facts, but a lot of it was completely new. Through these notes, the history of a small principality was opening out.
Kochiyil pathi Paliyam—half of Kochi is the Paliyam, said the old folks. After the royal palace, the Paliyam was the most powerful household in the land. There were people who respected the Paliyath achan. There was an equal number who hated him. But one cann
ot look at the history of Kochi, perhaps even Kerala, leaving out the powerful presence of the Paliyath achans over the centuries.
In the light of present knowledge, it is interesting to see how accurately the Paliyath achans had weighed the interests of the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Arabs and the British in turn, when their power was being felt for the first time on the coast. They had understood the politics of pepper that marked India and more specially our western coast on the map of the world. It was not easy at a time when each small principality fought against the other, to weigh up the interests of the foreign powers.
It was only later that the colonial ambitions of the foreigners, who came in the guise of traders, became clear. The Paliyath achans realised that the Portuguese and the British had ambitions beyond just trade and tried to make alliances with the Dutch and other smaller principalities. They must have felt that the Dutch were interested only in profits and had no long-term colonial ambitions. They well knew the religious zealot in the Portuguese too. The British had been angered by the fact that Kochi had made treaties with other countries though they had been willing to buy pepper at a good rate.
The Saga of Muziris Page 11