The Saga of Muziris

by A. Sethumadhavan

  Though Thanka had originally been disgusted by the idea, when Kichan had insisted, she had softened her stand. She was particular that the bloodline of the family should not be polluted. If someone who suited the status of Vadakkoth came along, they would think about it. Thanka was sure that no such person would also come along. She had also insisted that it would be only one man, just one man.

  That was when Adrian from some distant place had reached the shore as that one man. No one had thought at the start that this would be the continuation of some tie from previous births.

  ‘It is true that Thanka’s mind wavered when Chukran betrayed her trust like that. When Orion too did not come in the first ship, she was upset. It was not that she was greedy for more gold and money. She had earned the respect of the people, she had been able to face the ruler and the other nobles with courage because of the Yavana strength behind her. She knew that those who she had insulted would hit back with twice the force, once the Yavanas stopped coming. When everything else failed, she did look around for support, some support…’

  Kichan continued after a while, ‘But she would never admit all that. Vadakkoth Thanka was always Vadakkoth Thanka. She could not lose face even before her own children.’

  ‘Just stubbornness, wasn’t it?’

  Kunkamma’s lips curled. Kunkamma understood the meaning of that sly smile on Kichan’s face—that her progeny was no less stubborn. Kunkamma too cast aside anyone’s suggestions, even Kichan’s, with a wave of her hand. She would listen to everyone, even the most junior employee. But the decisions were always hers, hers alone. That was the right of the person who put in the money.

  Kichan had no quarrel with that. The investor knew how to make her investment grow. The duty of others was only to point out ideas and problems; she would decide on them. He would sometimes tease her that Kunkamma had contrasting sides. She had Ponnu’s body and Thanka’s mind. The beauty of Ponnu and the strength of Thanka.

  Kunkamma recalled the incident that came after, very clearly. The revenge of those whom Thanka had insulted at one. She remembered that with a great sense of sadness.

  It had been much harder than Thanka had imagined. Someone had filed a false complaint. Thanka did not have the skill to face lies with lies in the hall of the ruler, in the open trial.

  Vadakkoth Thanka stood speechless before the pointed questions of the nobles of the court, who were waiting to repay old grudges. For the first time, Thanka bent her head and felt something collapse in her mind. The greatness of the Vadakkoth family that she had heard; the flattery about her beauty. When her ears, which were used to the sweet words and praises, had to hear barbed remarks, she shuddered. As she stood there, speechless, feeling as though she had been stripped naked, she did not hear the punishment that had been meted out to her. The sentence was immaterial. She had received worse punishment at the trial, in the open court.

  When she came back, Thanka did not utter a word, but sat in her room without stirring. Ponnu sat in another dark corner. She could not understand what had happened. She looked at the glass beads that lay listlessly in the glass jar. These glass beads had consoled her so many times as counters of days.

  Thanka sat gazing out into the hot darkness outside. She did not eat, she did not speak. Ponnu did not notice that the fixed position continued into the night. Thanka hand not moved even when the day dawned. The darkness melted and light broke, but the fixed gaze did not waver. Ponnu realised only when someone told her that those eyes were now open to another world, where light and dark did not matter. While others screamed aloud, Ponnu sat in her corner, her head covered with the white cloth.

  ‘Never mind, child,’ Kichan tried to console Kunkamma. ‘It’s better not to think of all that. Those were different days, don’t try to measure them with today’s measures…’

  Kunkamma nodded as though she understood what he was saying. They chatted for a while, and Kichan left after breakfast. Kunkamma returned to the easy chair with a book, trying to knit together her unravelled memories.

  Was Kichan right? Did she now do what she did because of the seeds planted by Thanka at one time? Thanka, who had died before her time, unable to fulfil her dreams, not sated with life?

  Kichan had been stunned when she had taken the old godown at Mattancherry, earlier owned by the white men, on lease. Why did she choose this field to invest in? The question that he asked himself a number of times found its own answer. It was the blessing of elders whether she agreed or not. She was following the path that her peramma, Thanka, had wanted to take and had been unable to. Vadakkoth Thanka must have dreamt so often of the brokers of the Yavanas crowding round her godown, filled with pepper sacks.

  He did not comment on that but paid close attention to the moves made by Kunkamma.

  Her next decision was to move out of Mattancherry, which was losing its crowds, and build godowns on the sides of the new roads. Godowns again…Kichan was watching in wonder. Not one, but three.

  Slowly, after that she moved into the inland transport of merchandise. Starting with small trucks, she moved to flat-beds that could carry huge containers, enjoying the correctness of her decisions. She was fulfilling Thanka’s dreams though she did not know this then. She had the strength given by the faith that she had support from somewhere. When she was stuck at a crossroads, unable to decide, there would be a sliver of light, an intuition, a pointing finger.

  Now, Kunkamma knew how all this had happened. The blessings of the family entered the name of the company. The mother and grandmother, who rested in the peace of times past, were probably feeling relief and pride in the growth of the new generation. A growth that moved between time past and time present.

  She had entered a field that many veterans had hesitated to enter, with the inner strength given by her blood. When she started conquering new horizons, people started asking who the woman was, with the redness of foreign blood showing in her complexion. Where had she found her business acumen?

  Kunkamma knew that questions were being asked. But since she had contact with very few people, she did not have to bother to provide the answers. The lack of answers made the enquirers more eager to find the truth. Who was this new incarnation? She spoke Malayalam but it was clear that she was not a Malayali. Where did she find the wherewithal to grab everything in sight? It was likely that she was a benami, a front for some huge foreign investor, perhaps from Mauritius, perhaps from the Cayman Island, perhaps the Channel Islands, Dubai, or Hong Kong. It was impossible that she had so much money of her own at this age. Why didn’t she admit it, if she was the heir to some business family abroad?

  She stayed away from the corporate spotlight and society gatherings. It could not be because she was shy or humble. It had to be a tactic because she had lots to hide.

  Most people did not merely want to know who the beautiful young woman was, but who was behind her. She came to the office only once in a while, so no one there knew her exact schedule or where she was at any given time. She was seen at the airport, every now and then.

  What about the man she called her uncle, who interfered in everything. This was the question her staff had. He too had a face that spoke of foreign blood. If he was her uncle, how did he come by that title? Were these two full-blooded foreigners or were they of mixed blood? Perhaps, he was an appointee of the real investor, someone guessed. He must have been sent to keep an eye on things.

  Some of the speculation reached Kunkamma’s ears also. Kathi and Thevi, whose eyes and ears were always open, filtered the news and saw to it that what she should hear reached her ears.

  Kichan and she fought over her donations to charity. She would not give anything to political parties or places of worship, but it was easy to get her to part with money in the name of charity, especially those that concerned women and children. She was even the patron of a charity that sought to bring back women who had been prostitutes to the mainstream.

  She would pacify Kichan with, ‘Forget it, Mama. Though there m
ight be some corruption and misappropriation in these organisations, they are doing something. At least, some families are escaping from a life like that.

  As they spoke of various things, one day, Kichan could not help asking, ‘You speak a lot of generations to come, and so on, but have you thought about it for yourself. Don’t you want successors to continue all this?’

  Kunkamma had not expected such a question from him and gazed wide-eyed at him. After a while, she asked, ‘What for, Mama?’

  ‘What we build with such care and effort should not be destroyed. This is one link in a continuum that takes us backwards and forwards.’

  She had not really thought about it, but she did not want to admit that. ‘All that’ll work out, somehow. As it has so far.’

  ‘No, child,’ Kichan insisted. ‘Times are changing. We have to change with them. Salaried employees are always employees. For them, this is one-stop in their career. But we do not have other places to go to. So, the eyes and tongues should always be ours. Those people need have only ears and hands.’

  Kunkamma started thinking about it. Forget the next generation. Had she even thought of a partner in life? Not in this birth. But, perhaps in her past birth?

  When memories mixed and grew muddy, she shook her head. Yes, there had been someone. She had desired him and had wanted him for herself—Orion.

  It was the first male form she had been told was hers. A name that Adrian and the two mothers had spoken from her childhood, to give it a place in her mind.

  ‘This is Orion, my son!’ Kunkamma could hear Adrian’s voice echo in her ears.

  ‘Our son,’ Thanka had intervened.

  When he walked in slowly into that first sight, a wonderful being, she was surprised that his form in her dreams was so close to reality. A miniature Adrian. The glint of stars in those eyes in which you could see the blue of the sky.

  When she became better acquainted with him, she had desired to see in him a man who could possess her with strength. Kunkamma could not remember when the intensity of her desire lessened. Slowly, everything he did cooled down her passion. Why was he like that? Why did he not show a male desire even when such a beautiful woman sat next to him? Even as they sat within touching distance, his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Kunkamma started worrying when ignorance changed to doubts.

  The mothers did not know anything about all this. Kunkamma realised that the idea of man in her mind had also changed without her being aware of it.

  Was it the disappointment of that experience that had prevented from thinking about a partner later? Kunkamma did not know. Perhaps, that had also contributed.

  A word that dropped from Orion’s tongue had redrawn the boundaries of their relationship, made her whole body freeze. A strange Yavana word. Though she had asked many people the meaning of the word, it was Kichan who had reluctantly given it to her.

  Sister!

  She had frozen in the shock of the moment.

  She later added other memories to it. Her mother’s lack of interest the doubts she had seen in Orion’s face.

  ‘Sister!’ she murmured.

  Then, why had they encouraged such a relationship? Adrian might have seen this as a continuation of his relationship with the two mothers. A loosely knit relationship for a few months in a year. An entertainment for the rainy season. Had he been trying to arrange such a monsoon entertainment for his son?

  She remembered that she had cried for a long while that day, cried like that for the first time in her life. The mothers had not understood why she was crying.

  With that, Kunkamma learnt where to draw boundaries where men were concerned. Now, after so long a time, she did not feel that she needed to alter those boundaries. So, when Kichan told her that some young men had asked about her and that they did not approach her only because they were scared to, she felt like laughing.

  She was one of the most eligible young women in the city. Endless wealth, unearthly beauty. Perhaps that was what kept them away. Who was she really? What were the secrets that surrounded her?

  Kunkamma enjoyed that aura. A young woman to remember as a riddle, to create stories about, to guess about. A young woman from another planet. Let that remain so, Kunkamma told herself. Even if aeons passed and generations changed, a man was a man. There would always be the shadow of a monsoon selfishness in his relationships.

  Couldn’t she live without a man’s companionship?

  She knew that it was not easy to find an answer to that. Because there was no one capable of giving an answer.

  And so Kunkamma let Kichan’s worries about the future generations go where they would and bent her head to the broad expanses that were her own.

  Aravindan stopped writing for a moment, found relief in a long sigh and sat up straight. The night outside the seventh floor window was quiet. The sounds and lights of the road were far below.

  His son, Raghu, and his family slept in the next room. They had gone to bed late, after an argument about their stay at Adayar. After everything quieted down, Aravindan had entered the writing room and run his eyes over what he had written earlier.

  When he created an ancient Muchiri town from what Perumal said and what he himself had heard and read, a number of questions had followed Aravindan. Was this how people lived in Muchiri? Did they talk like this, behave like this? Was there too much of the colour of imagination in what he had written?

  A small sliver of light from the Sangam literature fell on the darkness that covered those days. This had been only the efforts of a beginner to fill the spaces they had left, in his own way. The artefacts that had been dug up at Pattanam did show that a fairly well-developed civilisation existed there. Anyway, close human relationships always had to be coloured by imagination.

  How could he take the characters forward? Where would he find a place for Kunkamma, who was isolated when the period of the Yavanas ended?

  For Aravindan, the magic of Muchiri sights had started with Kunkamma. As he tried to portray the young woman with the beauty and grace of her mother and the determination and strength of her foster mother, he felt that he had to start with the elders. And so he had started with Thanka and reached Kunkamma through Ponnu.

  But should he place Kunkamma, with her extraordinary beauty and extraordinary ability, in the Muchiri so covered with the moss of ages? However much she tried, would she be able to recapture the prosperity of the old Muchiri of the songs? And, what was left in the soil of Muchiri for the young woman who cared nothing for the past?

  As time stretched behind her, the fact that she was following in the footsteps of her peramma must have disturbed her. Kunkamma was also getting to be conscious of the weight of taking over from someone.

  Thanka had chosen to ignore the dirt in the paths in the bright light of her greed. Her eyes had been blinded by her belief that wealth could clean up anything.

  Aravindan did not know where he could lead Kunkamma from there. He did not know how she would react when all the frustrations she had controlled for so long came out in a burst. Since he was an amateur at writing, he did not know how to keep his characters under control. Perumal too had advised him in those days, when the idea of writing itself had made him scared, that he should not try to control the characters too much in the arrogance of the creator. They should grow naturally. If such an organic growth was not possible, he should console himself with the thought that their lifespan was only so long.

  How could he leave Vadakkoth Kunkamma to find her own way? He did not know what paths that stubborn would chose to wander into, and where she would reach in the end.

  He had lost sleep on many nights over that question. He had to find a place and a time that suited her, he had decided.

  And so, he had reached the shore of Kochi that was opening its eyes to a new world, very naturally. The new Kochi had travelled a long way from the Kochazhi that had been created by the flood that had risen centuries back. Kunkamma’s eyes, which had been accustomed to the grandeur of the old Mu
chiri, would be able to take in the glories that were to come to this new city. Muchiri which waited for a rebirth should open its eyes to Kochi, too. She had to grow with the energy she absorbed from the roots that ran deep into centuries. As Bezalel had once reminded him, one should not forget one’s roots. Roots had their own logic.

  Once he decided on the time and place, Aravindan started worrying about the path that Kunkamma should take. It was his responsibility to see that this stubborn girl did not fall into any of the traps that awaited her in the modern world. She too was inexperienced like her peramma. There had to be someone to keep an eye on her in these bad days.

  The weight of the characters!

  Aravindan was startled and entranced by the realisation that the tie of the umbilical cord that he had with his characters would not break easily. He realised that it was a mission to take them in the right direction and he had to acknowledge that writing was not as easy a job as he had imagined. His anxiety increased.

  One early morning, in a half-awake state, Kichan came into his mind like a bolt of lightning. The farm labourer Kichan had been trusted by Manikkan, and had also become a trusted lieutenant to Adrian and the women of Vadakkoth.

  Yes, Kichan, Kichan would do, Aravindan decided.

  He would bring the ploughman of the maruthu lands to the glittering modern city. He would be the elder Kunkamma needed, keeping an eye on her and exercising a mild control when needed. Just the feeling that a pair of eyes kept watch on her was probably enough to make Kunkamma pause.

  Kichan could get along with anyone. Though he had grown up with the bullocks, he had once appeared as though in answer to the prayers of Manikkan’s father and his antecedents were mysterious. That fairness of skin and the skill he had in dealing with people had once surprised the people of Muchiri. Besides, he had lived in close contact with Adrian and gone on that long trip to Greece. All this had added a veneer of sophistication to his behaviour. Since Manikkan had left the story, Aravindan did not feel there would be any difficulty in placing Kichan, who no longer smelled of the cowshed, in a new incarnation.