Kunnathur Mana
My mother was born in a very illustrious family Kunnathur Padinjaredath.You can see the ancestral house near the Peruvanam temple south gopuram (gate)
I have vague memories of sitting upstairs; looking at the road. I must be four at that time.
The family came there in search of livelihood and became the tantry (main priest-they still are) of the temple. I can imagine mother (kali was her name-a goddess) walking towards the temple, holding the hands of the maid servant, almost naked, with only a plantain leaf strip to cover nakedness, not knowing what fate awaited her…tears swell in my eyes, even as I write these lines
She was married off at the tender age of thirteen or so to Subrahmanian Nambudiripad, aged forty plus, already having two wives, one living and the next one and her son still fresh in memory, and a daughter of mother’s age whom her brother married the same day, probably. Mother was dark, uncouth and short; my step sister was fair, lean and very handsome whom mother hated heartily!
I do not remember any one caring for her, except her younger sister and some cousins. Uncle (eldest) never talked to her or even to her children (in all six, two died early). She had a sharp tongue and was outspoken but had a heart of gold. She was very lazy and father was the laziest!
I digressed…
Around 150 years ago, mother’s ancestor was married to the sister of the king of erstwhile Cochin State who was known as Shaktan Thampuran. He bestowed on the Kunnathur family tax free land. The family became rich.
Maternal grandfather was very intelligent, so too was my uncle. At that time a rich local Nambudiri of Chittoor mana established a school, where we all studied, and uncle was the first student, duly initiated before a lighted lamp etc. Of course the student was without a shirt! I had a few classmates, topless, in primary school. Grandmother was wise, cultured and well versed in puranas (old legends of Hindu religion).When she got angry and shouted like a lioness, her husband shivered like a mouse! She did like my mother, always told me to look after her well but did nothing when she needed assistance. In fact no one accompanied her when she left the house built by father, and we were travelling in a country boat, through the swollen river. Being a fool, I enjoyed the trip!…
Earliest memories centre around a small village Thalore, near Trichur. I was about four. Mother had given birth to a dead baby and so she continued to feed me. I just came in from the spacious orchard where I was playing, lay down in my mother’s lap and started sucking her big breast. (In those days our women folk did not wear blouse.) “Ma, who put sugar in your milk?” -I asked. She just pushed me off and that was the end breast feeding !
I had a playmate Bhagi about eight years or so . She was attached to our maid servant Madhavi. I always thought she was her daughter.
One day the girl was mopping the kitchen floor. I said something .She didn’t listen and I gave a blow on her back with an iron ladle. The poor girl cried out aloud inviting the attention of mother and paternal grand mother I felt guilty and wretched. Perhaps that was the only time I used violence against any living creature…..
With just a piece of cloth tied like lady’s bikini, I used to accompany Madhavi to the grocery shop owned by a Tamil Brahmin .He would give a piece of jaggery. We never got chocolates in those days.
Father and mother slept in the upstairs bed room. I slept with them. Mother used to tell stories. Elder brother used to sleep with grandmother. He was her favourite. Paternal uncle Krishnaphan was an occasional visitor. We loved him, as he was a good storyteller. About Lilliputs we heard from him. He was dark and fat unlike another p. uncle Vasudevaphan who was slim and fair, the first person to go to school from K.K. family. He was teacher and a close friend of E.M.S. Namboodiripad.
One day an old lady came, covered up to the neck in pure white dhoti (in north India only a widow will dress in white) Do you know her? –they asked. When I blinked, they all laughed . I felt ashamed. It was mother’s ma. As a girl, she was born and brought up in the same house where we were staying temporarily-the great Veembur Kadalayil Mana (which was lying vacant at the time. Mahatma Gandhi visited the house in 1929). Father who was a good architect and astrologer was making our house near the river, about four miles away. One day brother and I accompanied him to see the construction work. My legs were paining like hell. I earned the reputation of having walked four miles when four years old.
At that time , another paternal uncle, Parameswaran by name, took me with him to fort Tripunithura where royal family members lived. By custom, only a nambudiri may marry a princess. And, in a nambudiri family only the eldest can marry; others may have legitimate relationship with women of other upper castes, the latter not entitled for a share of nambudiri property. They are not allowed to share meals with us.(My grandfather’s younger brother’s daughter was my schoolmate .I never knew about the blood relationship, though I somehow liked her. Of course I was too shy to talk to her! )
That is how uncle married a real princess and lived in Palace no.11. I was too small to notice the clean bed, the sumptuous food (at home we had it only on birthdays or during Onam) The great festival was going on at the Poornathrayeesha (Krishna) temple and there were any number of elephants (I wanted to become a mahout-I am never tired of watching these majestic animals)
An elephant was being fed. Uncle asked me-do you want to mount it . I shook my head. The mahout lifted me and handed over to his colleague sitting on the elephant. He placed me on its neck. I felt uncomfortable, its hair pricking my naked bottom and I being lifted up and down by the motion of its head while eating; still I enjoyed it .
One day we were taken to Akavoormana near river Periyar. We enjoyed playing in the shallow swift flowing water. I lay down in the water and was carried away some distance. Flapping my arms I managed to remain floating. Thus I learnt the rudiments of swimming. I do not know how to swim really. Like cattle only my head remains above water.
There were two young elephants there. As a baby Ramankutty used to roam about in the house and snatch things from the kitchen. Even now I like to have a baby elephant ….
Vasudevan uncle (the youngest among five brothers, father being the eldest) was working as teacher in Namboori Vidyalaya at Trichur. I would look with admiration the fat books in his shelf. One day when I grow up I shall read them!
Savithri was born. I refused to see the baby. I wanted a brother. This dislike of girls remained for a long time to come.
When Vas uncle brought a wife I was too shy to meet her. Afterwards the words “cheriamme “automatically escaped from my mouth and all exclaimed “today it will rain”
Recently, during morning walk I reached the church and, turning right, easily located the arch, proclaiming entry towards the Shiv temple. I went through it and turned right. A little further, I had hardly turned left when I could easily spot the old gate as it was in 1937! It was something like a flashback in TV screen! The front yard was very small. (in my mind it was very big.)The main building was intact, though concretised. I saw mother’s bedroom upstairs where I slept. Through the left side I traced a few steps and saw the workplace where women husked rice .It was locked. I could easily see the rope swing and Bhagi and I playing there. The reddish brown cow must be somewhere nearby. Bhagi showed me how to pick silky smooth, egg shaped thing (she called it pattunni) from the cow’s skin. She would place it on a stone and crush it with another stone spilling blood. Ma must be in the kitchen. The great surprise was when I turned to the east courtyard and looked to the flight of steps leading to the orchard. I was expecting at least thirty steps. I could count hardly four! To the child everything appears on a mega screen. To the grown up, it is all on TV screen. The surroundings had been cut into plots and sold. There are flats now. But the main structure is unoccupied till now.
Originally, it belonged to Moothedath Kadalayil which was merged with Veembur Kadalayil. On shifting to Pazhai, the house was sold to Akavoor Mana, my paternal grand mother’s maiden house (illam). We were just living there. The Akavoor namboodiri even suggested,” sister, why don’t you live here, why build a new house?” But father wanted to be near our village.
OVINICHUNNI
Kottikal
Every spot in Keralam is a picnic spot. The locale selected by my father for building a house, after years of wandering from place to place, reveals his love of scenic beauty- or it may be just a combination of circumstances- for which generations of Vasudevan uncle should be grateful to him.
The plot is at the bend of the river, the bank is quite steep, the prospect from the summit can be described only by a poet. The house is in the foreground, on the right hand of the river you see in my blog. Vasu uncle constructed a bungalow there, with a terrace roof, something of a wonder at that time. From the terrace, we used to look at the mountains in the East, Western Ghats which acquire a bluish hue in rainy season. In summer, we all used to sleep there, looking at the diamonds scattered all over the sky. One Karkoli nambudiri taught us the names of a few of those wonderful stars, the milky way cutting across the starry sands.In the cities, our children are denied the joy which I experienced seventy years ago.
The carpenters working there made a small canoe and presented it to my elder brother. I am a born waterfriend, perhaps a fish in my last life. Watching the bamboo rafts slowly gliding along the full river, the workers cooking rice at a corner and fishing, I longed to be one among them, when I grew up. Sometimes it would be a huge wooden craft, fitted with thatched roof, something of a house boat. Only in novels I have read about people travelling in boats in the Ganga.
As soon as we shifted to our river side home, my thread ceremony was performed. I became a Brahman, Ovinichunni, as we are called. The front cover of my book depicts the appearance of ovinichunni.
It was also the end of my early childhood. Every day I had to perform various rituals under strict supervision of my father who, one day, was so annoyed that he caught hold of my two hands, lifted me up as one would a bunch of bananas, and smacked me till his rage abated or he became tired, I don’t know which, all because I broke the sacred thread, while playing in the river water. I didn’t cry. But the agony is still fresh in my sensitive mind!
My father commented: you are more difficult to manage than an elephant.
The people in neighbouring homes came to wash and bathe there, because father made a bathing ghat in the river, duly paved with granite steps, and we had always the company of the village boys, for our water sports. I was not aware of the fact that the thread somehow disappeared. It is excusable in a six year old boy. We beat kids, to vent our feelings. Are not children the creations of God? Who authorized us to punish them?
Normally my father is a very peaceful person. He is very slow and takes a lot of time to complete his morning rituals. He never uses the bath towel. Water will slowly evaporate. He was totally bald and had no teeth. In his betel chewing case made of bronze, there was a special crusher to pulverize the mixture of betal leaves, arecanut, lime, tobacco and some erattimadhuram(meaning double sweet-a root). I don’t know what it is. We used to eat it, erattimadhuram which is really very sweet.
At bed time, he would tell us to punch his feet with all our strength. My brother and I would handle each leg. It was fun.
He would discuss many things with brother, including poetry in Samskrutam, which I could not follow. My brother imbibed interest in learning and he is a veritable encyclopaedia. He went to school for some time and does not know English; but he has read all books in Malayalam. He knows our family history and has jotted down many things in a note book. Nobody has seen it. He passed away recently just before crossing eighty.
Kirangatu Mana
One day we went to attend a function in Kirangattu mana. I was in women’s wing. I looked out into the outside men’s wing, and was overjoyed to see KRS(Ramaphan’s son Unniaphan)
He took me around and showed me a wonderful new world .There was even a temple inside the campus. At about 3 pm, I suppose, an old man came into the temple. He seated himself in a tiger skin. KRS sat before him, and repeated whatever was recited by the old man.
After some time, he asked me: do you like to learn othu(Veda) ?
I promptly said yes. So he told me to sit by KRS’s side and I too repeated the lines from Veda. I remained at Kirangat mana with KRS for more than a year.
Kirangatu mana
Traditionally, young namboodirs of kk family went to Kirangatu mana. They were our gurus. For Rigvedis there was the math at Trichur and one at Thirunnavaya. None for us Yajurvedis.
So it was not a surprise for our guru. No doubt, my eager face must have attracted his attention. At that time Anujan and Kunjanujan nambudiries were unmarried. There were no children there. Naturally, we were pampered by all. There were many nambudiris, mostly with wives in the Royal palace at Tripunithura, who came there occasionally.
The tusks of Kesavan (elephant, owned by the mana) evoked awe and admiration. Some iron chains reminded the glory of the famous animal whose beauty was only excelled by his cruelty (killed 16 or so mahouts). Only Pozhichur namboodiri, who was just the store keeper and never failed to give something or other to Kesavan to eat, was allowed to hold his tusks. In the presence of this man, Kesavan became docile as a kid !I was never tired of hearing the stories of elephants.
There was a big country boat .The west side of the estate was a lake. I would longingly look at the Chenam island, but never had the good fortune of a boat ride.There were separate bathing facilities for gents and ladies (as in all namboodiri families) and an extra temple tank. Today all are dry. A huge manchadi tree provided dazzling red beads for us to play with. Occasionally,Vasudevan of neighbouring Kannath mana would join us. I can go on writing about those times…
,TO SCHOOL
Birth of KPC
I have to fill up some gap in the narrative.
About two centuries ago, a girl in my kk family fell in love with a boy in Kunnathur mana (Padinjaredath, after the split into Kizhakedath and Padinjaredath). As he was a younger brother, he should not have married from his own caste; but the lovers managed to marry.
In due course, a bonny boy was born to the couple who lived in-cognito. The boy was regularly brought to the Peruvanam temple for Darshan of Eratteppan (it was recently that I knew about it. Eratta = double; there is a big lingam and a small one, side by side). The smart boy invited the attention of Ittivasu-aphan (Brother-in-law of Shaktanthampuran) who was meditating in the mandapam.
On being asked: which is your family?
The boy said: Padinjaredath which surprised the aphan!
A boy in my family, unknown to me?
When matters were clarified, he persuaded the elder brother to bring the young family and both lived happily ……till fate ordered almost a violent implosion. My uncle (eldest) and father of the present kpc generaion hated each other, like Duryodhana and Bhima. My brother may know all about it. A separate kitchen was set up. Maternal grandmother who knew Mahabharat so well failed to intervene. Her opposite number was a simple village girl. After protracted cold war, it was decided to partition the property. Neither party had enough money to pay compensation. So they approached Raja of Travancore who purchased the house. Now some social activities are going on there.
Uncle moved to Kuttapuzha which is very fresh in my memory, as construction of the new house at Naruvakulangara was going on under the supervision of my father. There were a number of wooden vessels used to store sambar etc during feast and we used to play in them as boats !From Kuttapuzha house we would climb the broken corner wall of the temple and collect marod- a long flat piece of baked earth used as tile-rendered waste after the temple was renovated, with manglore tiles. We would make multi storey structures with marod. Krishnammaman, of my age, was my playmate. Ma’s father married a second time to dispose of my ma’s elder sister(here was a tragedy before which ma’s fate pales into insignificance; at least, ma enjoyed brief spells of affluence and happiness) Krishnammaman was son to the second wife.
One day there was a commotion. My stepsister was running towards the fence. Maheswaran’n elder brother, who was later to be closely associated to me, was trying to come down from a bamboo tree. A thorn had pierced his eye. They took him to Nambisan’s clinic at Trichur, but could not save the eye.
School
My guru died, followed by several of his brothers, on account of some epidemic, I think. Vedic education came to an end. I wanted to go to school inspired by the fact, perhaps, that all my cousins in ma’s house went to school.
Somehow, I had a half shirt and half trouser. I changed into this new dress and approached uncle Vasudevaphn, who was working at high school at Cherpu. He was reading something at his bungalow at kottical. When he heard me, he quietly gave me a four anna coin (25 paise) and dismissed me.
I went straight to ma’s house at Naruvakulangara and requested the one-eyed Aniettan (Neelakanthan)to help me. Next day at 9 am we started for the high school, where he was studying. In front of the Karayogam School, he asked me to wait and proceeded further. At 10 the bell rang. I panicked and followed the children who went into the first standard. I sat with them on a bench. There were no desks. Ramankutty master (there male teachers were called so) must have been surprised. He did not say anything. I immensely liked the new atmosphere .The masterji drew a fine pumpkin on the blackboard which looked like a real one.
At lunch break, he gave me a form and told me to get it filled by elders. I do not remember who signed it. Perhaps my second uncle. I dutifully handed over the form to masterji.
That was the happiest day in my life! Goddess Saraswatiy must have been very pleased. My parents or anybody in my family, probably, did not know about it, until I returned on Friday evening.
Pidikaparambu
After partition of property between Vasudevaphan and our family, when we came away, we became refugees in our own village. Who would take responsibility of a young widow and her four children without any wherewithal? We were housed in an old uninhabited cottage. A faithful maidservant remained with mother even in her woes. Across the fields my brother and I would run to join our cousins who are children of Ramaphan, who happened to be patrnal great grandfather’s youngest son. Recently I happened to see the latter’s cousin, something like a character from history. I did not know that such a person ever lived. This is a peculiar nature. I never cared to know anything about anyone. Now I want to have a record of each member of our clan. Living ones are more than sixty in number.
Ramaphan’s son Unni (KRS) is only slightly elder to me. At that time, we were about thirteen. Next comes Vasudevan and Raman. Their orchard is very large and has a big pond and two or three wells. In the night we all used to sleep together.
At the Shiva temple Othootu was going on. Yajurveda would be recited every day for forty one days continuously, from morning till midnight with lunch break of an hour or so.
Morning breakfast at 8, lunch at 1p.m., evening light food at 6, and dinner at midnight .There were oil and vaka (powdered bark of a tree) and crushed leaves of hedge for shampoo (what a healthy life style !) at the temple tank for our use (only for Namboodiris) Our bath may take a long time, massaging, talking and swimming…..
Practically we children enjoyed the time.
Poor ma once woke up in the night and saw something hanging from the roof .The only light was from a small bottle lamp (filled with kerosene and fitted with a perforated lid through which a wick is inserted) She woke up the maid. It was a SNAKE, probably poisonless (Rat snake) chera, but remember that father died of snakebite !All through the night, they kept vigil lest it may harm the sleeping girls…
Thiruvallakavu temple, now famous for initiating kids into the world of letters, is only two miles from our house. People offer appam (rice powder and jaggery mixed and made into balls which are then fried in pure cows’ ghee) We walk the distance , circumventing the hill, with hardly any dwelling in that are (now there is bus service, tarred road, plenty of terrace buildings and Santa Maria School) and stray dogs with menacing looks, reach the main Trichur-Kodungallor road. At 3pm is the pooja. The appetizing fragrance of ghee diverts our attention while praying for sadbudhi (wisdom). We may eat the appam then and there.
One day a stranger appeared, wearing khaki trousers and half-sleeved shirt. He smiled at us and started talking, as if he knew us. He was hefty and well built and had leadership qualities. He organized local farmers to form a Kisan Sabha.We were easily entangled into a Balasangham.He became a hero-comrade M.N., later; a warrier also became an activist.
Our Cochin state was an independent entity, ruled by a king, area comprising of the land south of Bharatapuzha and Travancore state in the South, beyond Ernakulum district. There was demand for peoples’ representation in the administration and people were becoming politically conscious. A private road leading to a temple was closed to lower castes. They were agitating for the right to use the road. Police mercilessly beat them up. M.N. was among them. We saw him coming with several injuries. Our tender hearts melted, we gave the appams we were carrying, to comrade.
At that time I took Savithri, my sister to Vallachira School and enrolled her there. I do not remember any of our relatives visiting us. Not even maternal grandmother!
Avanavil mana had three elephants. The youngest Ramachandran became out of control and refused to come out of the temple tank. We all went to see the fun. It was spectacle worth watching. The animal was swimming and diving, sometimes only the four feet visible above water, moving from corner to corner within seconds, muddying the water, putting the mahouts to an ordeal. They taught him a lesson, after he was ultimately enticed with a bunch of plantains, beating him right and left. The poor creature was simply enjoying a dip in water. He was a waterfriend. I almost wept. Why do we not allow these forest animals their freedom?
Pazhai
Ultimately Veembur kadalayil mana adopted us and we moved to a cottage adjoining their’s, purchased from a nair family, marking the beginning of a lifelong relationship with V.B.S, my guide and mentor until I left Keralam for good.
The lady in white, my maternal grandma ,belonged to this house which was earlier located at Thalore.
Pazhai(gone waste)
The very name is a thrill. In the village library, I found my first novel(Translation of “The Wreck by Tagore “), I devoured every word, like a thirsty man drinking dew drops. I was disappointed, when Kamala returned to her lawful husband, whom she had never seen! The love between her and Romesh, the hero, was pure and devoid of selfishness. Alas, such love wilts under the heat of married life!
There was an ashram of Vivekananda Mission, near the river (now under RSS).The plot was donated by maternal grandma’s uncle. The library had children’s English books which I greedily read, though half the words were unknown to me.
VBS’s cousins and their children, my maternal uncles and occasionally, politicians used to frequent the VK house and, in short, a certain intellectual air prevailed there, very stimulating and invigorating. There, I learned the basics of Marxism. Gorky’s books were a favourite. Ralph Fox, Steinbeck, Howard Fast etc. were too familiar, even though, Trotsky’s autobiography was read only recently in Dyal Singh Library (he was unjustly maligned by Stalinists. He was a genius of the rank of Lenin, M.N.Roy, Mao etc).
VEEMBUR MANA
Veembur Mana
To return to our narrative.
Maternal grandmother (lady in white) had three brothers. Marriage of the eldest brother was fixed; he was to marry the sister of my maternal grandfather. Before marriage he died.
Undeterred by this tragedy, the elders decided that the next in line marry her. God’s ways are strange. The would-be bridegroom too died. The elders were unmoved. The third son, Bhavadasan married my mother’s aunt. VBS is her grandson, Bhavadasan (junior) being elder and Krishnan, only one year elder to me, being the third. Like the brothers Karamazovs, the threesome are dissimilar to each other. They had two living sisters, Sreedevi and Savitry (both no more).
Being closely related, they took care of our monetary needs like school fees; from a loan interest we got our monthly budget of Rs.10. The compound surrounding the mud hut was full of areca nut trees. The fallen leaves were collected by ma and used as fuel. She would carry water from the faraway well (normally the well is attached to the kitchen and we draw water from the well, standing inside the kitchen).I have nonchalantly watched it, but never offered help. Now I see my wife working in the kitchen and her daughter watching TV. Is this a rule of nature?
We got a meagre quantity of rice from tenants. I would go to the farmers, enjoying the scenery en route, collect rice and bring it home in a country canoe. My elder brother being unconcerned, I became the father figure at the age of thirteen.
One day uncle (VBS’s father) told me we were entitled for ration card being below poverty line;as instructed, I went to the Tehsildar office some ten miles way, handed over the application, waited patiently till 4.50 pm, when, pitying my innocence and helplessness, the peon told the clerk to do the needful and I returned with the ration card !
Naraphan-short for Narayanaphan.
I don’t remember him. He was VBS’s grandfathr’s son by his second wife who was half mad. The whole property of Veembur Kadalayil became a matter of litigation with a Tamil Brahmin from whom heavy sums were borrowed for construction of the tile factory, the first in our area,which still stands near level crossing at Ollur railway station, and, for maintaining luxurious living (every time maternal grand mother came home, she was given a gold sovereign-a coin prevalent then). At one stage, the vakil of the opponent secretly visited our ancestor and advised him to deny in the court that he borrowed money; a Nambudiri’s word was taken as true even by a court in those days. A Nambudiri may never lie. True to tradition, the honest ancestor refused to lie and the whole property came into Tamil Brahmin’s hands.
Litigation continued. As he was educated, Naraphan shouldered the responsibility. By 6am train, he would leave for Ernakulam where the High Court is located. We can only guess the number of times the poor fellow travelled to Ernakulam, sometimes without pocket money, in the hope of ultimate success!
At long last, the gods smiled-he won the case but lost his life. To celebrate the victory, he ate sumptuously at a restaurant. It was cholera epidemic time. As soon as he returned home, he started vomiting. He died, his mad mother died and even VBS’s sister Gauri, still a girl, died……Triumph of Death over Life…
I have vague memories of attending pindam ceremony. (Why don’t we leave the dead alone?)
VBS’s father worked hard to keep the family going. He even worked as poojari at Pisharikal temple where tradition forbade us Kadalayil family members to do pooja.
And yet he was always cheerful and full of humour and wit. VBS was studying in college. His elder brother was in army (he was discharged for being sympathetic to the left-Britain ruled by proxy) and Krishnettan was in Ooty (as cashier in some restaurant-he became fair as a white man when he returned) Uncle and I were together. One day he was so upset that he told me “your mother is mad”.
I had learned to stoically suffer almost anything in this life. I must have looked like an idiot which I actually am.
PRIMARY SCHOOL DAYS
But for the death of my father, my school days, up to standard 6 were smooth and happy.
There were plenty of cousins as friends at ammath at Naruvakulangara. Climbing the mango tree was a favourite pastime. After reaching the top, I felt nervous, but refused to show it. Slowly, when I came down, I felt a relief which I still recall !
Once I climbed up a small areca nut tree near a pond in front of the open portico, where grandfather used to sit in his easy chair, which is seldom seen these days, with a fan in hand.
When I reached the half way mark, the tree started swinging widely and wildly. I clutched it firmly and in a few seconds it became steady. Grandfather, who was watching me, became angry and began scolding me. Somehow, I came down and was still shaking with fear.
There were half a dozen children for meals. We will be coming from the ground where we were playing. Grandmother would place a pan full of water and ask us to wash our hands one by one. By the time we all wash hands, the water would turn muddy.
“See”, she would say. We would all sit on the cement floor, in front of plantain leaves and eat with our hands.
The Karayogam School has two sections, one Malayalam and the other Samskrutham. The head master of the latter, one Elayath, quite elderly with bald head and slight body, would remove his shirt and spread it over a plant to dry the sweat. He was a great scholar and very gentle in nature. His assistant was exactly the opposite. He used to beat his pupils till blood came out. There were only a few students, all in their teens, in Samskrutham division, because of this man named Damodaran Nambiar.
The Head Master of our school was Ramayyar, who was always busy making pay bills for the whole school staff. His daughter, a bright eyed, curly haired beauty was always looking at me which made me uncomfortable. I hated her for this simple reason.
Once she came in my dream, recently. We went on talking and felt a joy I never knew before.
The feeling of loss, on waking up was great.
PREPARATORY CLASS
As we had no English as a subject in primary school, we had to study one year in a Preparatory class, when I joined the CNN High School, Cherpu.
With the Transfer Certificate, I approached my uncle Vasudevaphan who was working there.
What I am I to do? He quipped.
MS (Mamunnil Subrahmanian Namboodiripad) master, who was standing by his side, answered, on my behalf: you do the arrangement for his admission.
So I found myself learning the English alphabet. I felt elated.
The next year, both KKN and myself studied in the same 6th standard, under Chulliparambil Sankunni Nair.
That vacation, my ammath shifted to Amballoor and so I shifted to Secondary School at Vendore at a walkable distance from ammath.
Mary teacher was our teacher. One Bahuleyan, Vasudevan and a face I knew but cannot recollect the name, were bench mates.
In the front row were girls, one with a small “bag” behind her ear was painful to look at. I have an inborn antipathy towards all types of abnormalities.
Devaky my class mate, started living at ammath. She was a namboodiri and helped in kitchen work . I did not like it, because Parameswaran the “manager” said she is a good match for me.
It was during this period that P—– took me to see the festival at Thrikur temple.
Once I failed to give fees and was thrown out of the class. I could have asked my people at ammath for money; some false sense of pride (can beggars be proud?) prevented me from approaching them. I went home to Pazhayil. I think Bhavadasettan gave me the money.
One day, football match was going on. Devassy the HM who was the referee calle me and gave me the whistle. I could not tell a football from a volley ball. All were crowdig round the ball and shouting. Some one told me to blow the whistle which I did, with all my power. Mercyfully everything became calm. The HM returned.
For anniversary, I was asked to do some speaking. “ELOCUTION” it was called. My cousin, Neil gave me a passage from Nehru’s speech. When I stood before the audience, words were stuck up in my mouth. Any way, it was all noisy; even if I spoke, they could not have heard anything. I got a pen as present. It did not work.
After the examinations, I obtained a transfer certificate and went to St. Antony’s High School, Pudukad. I failed to get admission. Had they known that I stood first in the scholarship exam. they would not have refused me; who would tell the HM?
Had I got admission there, it woud have saved me from all the sufferings, during the subsequent year.
SCHOLARSHIP
Three years earlier, he ( Head Master) had personally come to the same class room, from where I was taken away by the police, to congratulate me for securing the first rank in the scholarship examination, conducted by the erstwhile Cochin state. He gave me three Malayalam books as a gift: Karuna by Mahakavi Kumaran Asan, Thotti (scavenger), a novel by Nagavalli R.S.Kurup and Lalita by Prem Chand (Malayalam version). That was indeed a memorable moment in my life! I was politically innocent then. We always regret loss of innocence. The monthly amount I received was enough for fees and books etc. My mother would say proudly :“ He gets skoraleppam”. She can never say scholarship.
After getting T.C., I went back to my school at Vendore. It is a small three room middle school where I studied in the sixth standard. Now I joined the seventh one to complete the year.
Everything seemed different, though nothing was changed. The change was within me. Earlier, I was a boy. Now, I felt like a grown up man. The eight months I spent at the high school at cherpu was like a life time of political activity. In those days politics was a patriotic urge, not a selfish vocation. A whole generation of politicians of my age now ruefully remember those days when communist ministers in Keralam went to have tea at the roadside stall, like ordinary people in simple unironed cloths, their whole salary donated to the party, to strengthen which they devoted their humble life.
At the end of the term, I joined the government school at Ollur. Jayanthan too was there. We would trudge all the way from Pudukad to Ollur, along the railway track, talking about anything under the sun, whether it be the Kerala socialist party of Mathai Manjooran, who wanted a free Keralam, or the D.M.K , fighting for Dravidasthan, United Keralam movement of Kelappan etc. etc. Days became months and, before we realised it, the exams. were near at hand!
Two things stand out in my memory. Once, in the absence of the regular teacher, a beautiful young lady teacher taught us about the various parts of a plant. I devoured every word she said. This is how it should be. A good introduction to any subject goes a long way in enabling the pupil to grasp the subject.
Another time, when the class teacher whom we called the duck, didn’t turn up. Our monitor went to inform the H.M: to the question ‘who is your teacher?’, he promptly replied :’duck!’
At that time I got some prize for being the first in English essay competition.
When I went to obtain my T.C., the H.M. insisted that my guardian must sign my application. I approached him again, after putting my brother’s signature. He abused me roundly for this duplicity; however, when I told him the truth that my brother was far away, he relented and gave me the document.
I went straight to St. Antony’s High School, Pudukad. This time I got the admission in the 9 th standard. Great relief for me as it was only a mile away from home in Pazhai.
