The Saga of Muziris

by A. Sethumadhavan

  That was news to some of them. It was not an easy task to cross the seas. They needed lots of papers for that. So, the people who had some idea of things started chasing papers.

  The people of Chendamangalam were sure of one thing, though. It would be the people of Mattancherry who crossed over first. Only after that would the Chendamangalam people get a chance. But the relatives from Mattancherry sent word that that was not true. Don’t believe what Anthappan Shrank said. Everyone would be taken across. It might take some time. Since it was a newly born country, problems were enormous.

  Another piece of news Anthappan brought was not that pleasant. It was true that some people already crossed the seas. But the people who went later would be examined very strictly by the doctors before they were allowed into the land. The white men were afraid of filaria. Someone had spread news that people from Chendamangalam would have filaria. It did not always show outside. Some might have the infection hidden inside.

  ‘It’s not a joke. They take the blood and examine it. They might even put you on the table and open you up,’ Anthappan Shrank declared.

  ‘But, there’s no filaria in Chendamangalam. People in Fort Kochi or Chertala might have it.’ The people who sat in the setting sun at Karippayi Kadavu did not understand.

  They later found that there was some truth in what Anthappan Shrank said when one of the politicos, who stood smoking a bidi outside Mammed’s petty shop, added his mite. ‘I heard that too. Wherever there are mosquitoes, filaria will be present.’

  ‘The germs don’t die very easily,’ a man who sat around waiting his turn to be shaved at the barbershop next door joined in.

  This was a problem that had been created by a doctor from Tel Aviv who had come to Kochi for medical check-up. Someone had scared the doctor telling him that filaria was rampant in Kochi. So he insisted that people from this area should go only after a proper medical check-up. White men were ready to brand all the third-world countries as hot beds of communicable diseases.

  The comrades from Karimpadam and Vadakkumbhagam were theoretically against carving out the State of Israel from Palestine. They had heard that this was a conspiracy of the Western powers. They were certain that the small country could not hold together in the midst of powerful Arab nations. So, wasn’t it stupid for the Jews who lived comfortably here, to go to the unknown land?

  The next few months were full of various rumours and even varied doubts. But all of them were sure about one thing: whatever happened, they would cross over. They would wait as long as it was necessary. Though there were many holdups, all of them started preparing for the journey of no return.

  They had heard that the agencies responsible for the migration were laying down tougher conditions every day. Some young men would be taken there as a part of the youth programme. It would not be so easy for older people.

  The voices of the grumblers rose when they lost patience. The elders tried to make the younger people understand: ‘This is not something that can happen in a day. It’s not one or two people trying to go across; it is lakhs and lakhs of them.’

  The complaints stopped for a while, but as days passed the enthusiasm of the community waned.

  ‘I told you right from the start, tell people only after everything is sorted out.’ Seemon was really angry. ‘Some people started running round the place with the flag. And some were blatantly showing off—acres of land, shops for business, jobs in the army, and trousers like the white men…I feel more than naked. I feel as though my skin is peeling off when people laugh at those stories.’

  That was true to an extent. After saying that they would go today or tomorrow, they had nothing more to tell the people who asked. Quite a few people had stopped asking, but one could read the derision their faces tried to hide. Some of those who had hurried to get into planes were now catching the first boat to Kochi each day. News would reach Mattancherry first. At least, they could escape the pointed questions of the other young men in the place. Meanwhile, the children had started ignoring their studies. If they were going anyway they wouldn’t have to pass the examinations, so why study at all?

  ‘It’ll all work out. This isn’t a joke. People have to be brought from all over the world—in ships, in aeroplanes, in trains. There are rich men among them and poor men, there are old and weak people, there are children…’

  When someone tried to cool down things a little, Solomon, who worked in a textile mill in Parur, got angry, ‘I knew it would be like this. We are always the ones who don’t have anything. At any feast, the leaf is laid for the white-skinned first. If there’s anything left over, the dark ones get something.’

  That was when a lot of them realised that there were fair people and dark people among the Jews too. Even those who were of wheat colour were included among the dark ones—they were considered different. Some of them who had heard of the cruelties of the white people at the time of the independence struggle had a niggling fear inside. What guarantee did they have that the people who had tortured Gandhi and Nehru would not treat them badly? Would dark-skinned people never be free of white dominance?

  Solomon said that there was no freedom from the white people. His elder brother had friends among the Thiyya caste in Vadakkumpuram. Some of them were real communists. He had heard comrade Jaleel’s speech, sitting with them. One could have listened for hours on end; the speech was a really fiery one. It was from Jaleel’s speech that Solomon realised that there were only two types of people in the world—the haves and the have-nots. Capitalists and labourers, landlords and tenants. The haves exploited the have-nots all along. That was how such a large group became poor.

  The picture of the haves and the have-nots grew clearer in Solomon’s mind: white-skinned and dark-skinned. The whites would be served first, and if there were leftovers, the dark ones would get something. Whichever the land, the customs were the same.

  ‘That’s true,’ Solomon spoke to the angry youngsters. ‘They’ll first take care of the white men. Then…’

  ‘We might get the leftovers, right?’

  No one spoke for a while. All of them had doubts. The ones who reached first would always get the best. They would take all the fertile land and those who went from here would get only the infertile desert areas. How would they grow crops in the desert?

  Rumours spread that those who had land would have to sell it and find the money for their journey. With that there was a rush to sell off the land. After all, they did not know when they would have to go. Money for the journey had to be found by selling whatever they had. So, though some of the richer Jews from Kochi managed, the ordinary people of Chendamangalam had to struggle.

  When the youngsters’ doubts grew in number, the elders asked Moses Master, who taught Hebrew, to speak to them. Everyone sat in a circle in the ground where children usually played football. Moses Master sat in the middle of the circle. He always wore a khadi dhoti and a blue full-sleeved shirt that flared like wings.

  ‘Don’t be so impatient, children!’ Moses Master said. ‘You are about to witness the greatest migration that world history has seen. Don’t behave like the koopamanduka, the proverbial frog in the well. Your journey is going to be from the small well on the hillside to a huge ocean. To join in such a great endeavour, you have to put up with some small inconveniences. After all, we too took birth in the land of the Mahatma and Subhash Chandra Bose and Bhagat Singh, all great people who gave up their lives for the sake of their motherland.’

  Moses Master was very particular that, as a teacher at the Paliyam school, he should speak good Malayalam. So, once in a while, he would imitate Moosad Master, who could speak in Malayalam and Sanskrit with equal facility.

  The listeners did not know what to make of his speech. What was all this about frogs in wells and great endeavours? They looked at each other. Whatever the words, it was the good Moses Master who was saying them. So the words were bound to be true.

  They wanted to know just one thing: Would they go or would th
ey not? Would they be enticed with sweet words and then left in the lurch at the last moment?

  ‘You will go, have no doubt about that,’ Moses Master repeated in a firm voice, in language that all of them could understand. ‘But don’t forget one thing. We have lived here happily in peace for generations. Do you know why the messenger from the Holy Land came here even before St. Thomas? He came in search of a carpenter who could build a synagogue greater than that of Solomon. We have never had any problems with the other communities that lived here. The rulers and people did not just give shelter to the strangers who came as supplicants, they adopted them as their own. Even now, no one has asked us to leave. It is our own desire to leave. People who become involved in great endeavours may have to face difficulties at various junctures. Our ancestors came here long ago, planning to return. Any return involves loss and sorrow.’

  The audience seemed frozen in place. Was this the same Moses Master who walked by, big umbrella under his arm, without raising his face or looking at anyone?

  There was a vestige of doubt on the faces around him. Wondering how he could convince them, Moses Master threw a question at them, ‘What did that great editor, Ezriel Carlebach, see in his dream? What did Theodor Herzl who came in his dream tell him?’

  The people had their eyes fixed on Moses Master. Who was this Ezriel? Who was Theodor Herzl?

  This was a habit of Moses Master. As he spoke, his surroundings would transform into a classroom and the people would become his students. He would throw question to which they did not know the answers and then waited for the answers.

  What Moses Master had to say this time was the story of a big dream: When Ezriel Carlebach, the founder of the Maariv newspaper in Israel, had come to India, he had visited Chendamangalam. He was stunned to find all the Jews, waiting to welcome him in traditional style, all the streets and the whole area decorated with flowers and flags. It was a new experience for him. He had seen only the life of Jews in the cities in India so far. He wrote in his next book that he had had a strange dream in his sleep that afternoon. He had seen Theodor Herzl himself, the father of Zionism, the man who had first dreamt of a fatherland. He had seen Herzl with his long beard and big hat, walk through the scrub, hands extended, towards the village.

  Herzl cried out, ‘For the past quarter of a century, I have been wandering among the Jews living in cities all over the world with the message that they should return to their fatherland. I saw two World Wars in these years, I saw Hitler and Stalin, I saw Jews being persecuted. But, no one heard my call, no one was willing to come to their own earth. But, in the huts of this small village, ordinary people await the call to come home to the Holy Land. Isn’t this the real Zionism? Aren’t these the real Jews?’

  When Moses Master stopped speaking, the people who sat before him became silent. All of them remembered the reception they had given to the white man from Israel. It had been like a festival. Not only had the Jews in the area gathered to see the spectacle, people of other communities had come too.

  Moses Master paused and spoke again in a firm voice, ‘Do you know why Ezriel wrote that then?’

  No one replied.

  ‘We did not live here like the Jews of Europe. One of us had even been a king here, once upon a time. We are prepared to give up all that and go from here.’

  Some of the audience nodded as though they had understood.

  ‘So, don’t have any doubts, friends. It’s not the rich white men who are the real Jews, it’s us poor men from here. Even if it takes a little time, it will happen. It has to happen. It is the will of God. Even now, don’t you hear the call of the Holy Land, though it is so far off ? If Jews all over the world who recite the Torah can hear that call, how can your ears remain closed?’

  And then he tried a trick. He said loudly, ‘If there is any unbeliever among you who does not hear the call, put up your hands.’

  Though some of those present looked at each other, no one was willing to put up their hands. No one wanted to be called an infidel. Though Solomon did start lifting his hand, he looked at the expression on his friends’ faces and brought it down reluctantly. Comrade Jaleel and the comrades at Vadakkumpuram had taught him that one should not believe anything said by the retrograde forces. They had also said that one should question everything.

  Comrade Jaleel had not made it clear whether the good Moses Master should be counted among retrograde forces. But it looked as though everyone was willing to listen to him for the time being.

  Moses Master’s relatives from Mattancherry were saying that they would all certainly go, even if there was some delay. They may not go in one lot, but would have to go in batches. Perhaps, it would be the Jews from Bombay who went first. They had money and influence. They would be able to go even without government help. That was not the state of affairs for the Jews from Kochi.

  Solomon had liked one of the things that Moses Master had said in between. That is those who did not have money for the journey would be taken first, and then the rest would follow. Moses Master was sure of one thing—after a while, there would not be even one family of Jews here.

  Solomon felt better about the whole thing. People who did not ignore the poor were good people. The people of Israel were not white men who only wanted to exploit the poor. Israel too had its share of world communism.

  Moses Master ended his speech with a request, hands folded in supplication. The children should not neglect their studies. Those who had reached the tenth standard should try to get through. Others too should study with a will and write the quarterly and half-yearly examinations well. They should remember that they were going to a different land. Wherever they went, an educated person would be valued more. All of them should attend the Hebrew classes during the interval. It was the language of the gods. They would realise its value when they reached there.

  As he spoke, the bells from the temple on the hill top sounded. After a while they heard the muezzin from the mosque.

  ‘See, it’s the truth!’ Moses Master’s eyes filled. ‘We’ll wait for the bells from the church as well. Today is a good day.’

  Everyone nodded in agreement. Even the young men felt better about the whole thing. Though he did not want to be branded a non-believer, Solomon still had doubts. Why such a migration?

  The wait continued. Fresh news kept coming. The first groups from Bombay had already left. Some more groups were getting ready. The turn of the Kochi Jews would also come without much delay.

  ‘There was no point in being impatient. This was not just a pilgrimage. We are not pilgrims who go to touch the earth of Jerusalem.’ Someone sat on the culvert before the Paliyam and said this. It was not a small task to settle people from all over the world in specific places. Means of livelihood had to be found for each settler. It was not easy for the government of a small country to do all this.

  People felt less anxious when they heard this. Their wait was taking a definite shape.

  ‘One day, we’ll go. We are the real Jews,’ the elders who sat in the setting sun at the ferry at Madavana said to each other.

  ‘We’ll go too,’ the old woman, who was called Makkachi or ‘toad’ by the boys, and who sold eatables in the Jew Street, said.

  The first call came. Some young men were taken in the first batch as a part of a youth programme. Seemon, Aaron, Elias and Menahem were included in the list. Though Solomon’s brother’s name came in the list, Solomon’s was not there. But he did not feel bad about that. Things were moving finally. One day, his turn would also come.

  Anyway, what did it matter if he could not go? He could continue here doing some job or the other. He had so many ties with this land.

  There were rumours that some of the families in Kochi did not want to go. They were people with deep roots in the land, who had commercial interests here. For the Jews who lived here in comfort, the transplanting was likely to be more difficult. They did not know what awaited them in the new land. Lots of people had doubts in their minds. Th
e fear of being isolated was stronger than the call of the Holy Land.

  Solomon’s thoughts had also turned that way, but then someone in his mind corrected him. What Moses Master had said that day was true—after a while, there would not be a single Jewish family left here! They were not migrating, they were abandoning this land for ever. They came here once, long ago, with a hope to return some day. But with any departure there was bound to be the pain of separation and the difficulties of relocation…

  For the first time, Solomon thought about the society of people that surrounded him, who were dear to him. Beyond the boundaries of faith and blood relations and close friendships, there was a circle of people who belonged together. He recognised that it was a great security, this circle.

  So, he too said, ‘There’s no hurry. We’ll wait. My turn will also come.’

  Seemon and Aaron came to the school to say goodbye a couple of days before they were supposed to leave. Aaron’s face was flushed and looked swollen.

  ‘It doesn’t feel right,’ he put his hand on Aravindan’s shoulder and said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Now that it’s time to go, I wish we didn’t have to go.’

  ‘But how can you do that? Everyone’s going.’

  ‘It was nice here, the people were good. We never felt that we were different.’

  ‘You’ll feel bad about going to a different place for a couple of days. Once you reach there, you’ll go to a new school, you’ll make new friends. It is a big place. Then you’ll forget all of us. And this land.’

  ‘That won’t happen. Never.’ Aaron put his head on Aravindan’s shoulders and started crying. Others too cried.

  ‘I’ve really bullied you so many times; beaten you up…’ Thuruthimmal Ouso could not control his tears.

  ‘Get lost,’ Seemon hugged him. ‘All that was fun. This is all that we shall have left to remember when we reach there.’ Seemon’s voice was not quite steady.

  They waved goodbye. Aravindan wanted to walk a short distance with them, but he did not move. He had somehow managed to stop himself from crying all this while. He couldn’t hold out much longer.