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Sample Chapters

TARAVAD -- AN ANCESTRAL STORY

ByVijay Poolakkal

Chapter 1

A Marriage for My Mother

I decided to kill my uncle. Nothing less would stop him from doing what he intended.

That was the first reaction I had when I heard that my uncle was planning another marriage for my mother. Mother was happily married to my father Vasu (at least to my young mind), but now, without any reason, my uncle wanted her to marry another man. This I could not allow to be happened. And it appeared that a simple murder would put an end to that heartless scheme. Surely no one would cry for him.

But I was only an eight year old boy then, and however hard I tried, no plausible action plan came to my mind.

My uncle Koman Nair was patriarch (or Karanavar as he was called) of Paliackal taravad1. He was a hefty six-foot tall man in his late forties, with broad shoulders, strong muscles and a raucous voice that subdued his opponent with just one word, and stopped any adversary in his track with just one look.

His words were final. Not even a leaf swayed without his consent.

He rode roughshod over all oppositions. As strong as a rock, his demeanour had always been firm and unequivocal. Nothing short of a calamity would faze his normal composure.

1 Ancestral home

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But that day I saw him pacing the veranda as if measuring its distance, looking rather pensive. It never crossed my mind that he was contemplating a marriage for my mother.

He did not even look up when the long shadow of Ravunni, who had returned from the routine inspection of the family’s vast land, fell on the veranda. Ravunni was the trusted servant, valet, personal secretary and caretaker, all combined together, known in the local parlance as Karyasthan. I was going to the family’s pond for bath when Ravunni beckoned me, and asked in a conspiratorial tone whether his master’s younger brother had revolted. I replied I had not heard of any difference of opinion between my uncles. I had even seen Uncle Kannan Nair speaking to his elder brother in a most respectful manner a few minutes ago.

“Has Madhavi Amma finally eloped with someone?” Ravunni asked eagerly in an undertone.

I smiled and shook my head. In fact, such happy ending could not be dismissed altogether. The patriarch was a tyrant, a difficult husband to share one’s life with.

Ravunni’s face fell, and he gestured me to move on. I was curious to know why Uncle Koman Nair appeared disturbed. I decided to spy on him.

Ravunni coughed twice to show his presence. “Ah, Ravunni,” Koman Nair uttered with a big sigh. “When did

you come?”“Just a moment ago, master. Is everything all right? You look

upset. If you could tell me, perhaps, I will ...” He did not complete the sentence.

Koman Nair looked thoughtfully at his complaisant assistant. “Yes, you’re right, I’m slightly worried,” he admitted slowly.

“I don’t know whether I should open up my inner turmoil to you.”“Have no worry, sir. Take me into your confidence. Anything

you say will be under lock and key. Perhaps I may have an answer to your predicament.”

“Hmm. Yes, I know in the past you’ve handled a number of difficult situations with great finesse. But I wonder whether you could solve this riddle too. Have you ever wondered that our days are numbered?”

“Days are numbered?” Ravunni repeated, apparently baffled.

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What does it mean? I asked myself.“Have you ever thought that Paliackal taravad could be on the

verge of extinction? That there’s no one to carry on the taravad’s name?” the patriarch questioned as though Ravunni was responsible for the dilemma.

Ravunni shivered as if a cold wind passed through him. End of lineage meant his job at the taravad would be at stake.

"The damn law has put us in great difficulty. What could we do now?” uncle asked.

I could understand the real meaning of his fear only years later - after uncle Koman Nair died.

The prevalent rule was that only female members of the family could hold the property. The King had perhaps introduced this novel arrangement to protect his women subjects. Nairs being a martial race, its boys were inducted into King’s army at a very young age. Many young men had perished in the battle while protecting their King’s territorial integrity, leaving their wives and children bereft of any help. Since the property belonged to women, widows could easily get husbands again.

But if the family had no legitimate heir, the property would be automatically passed on to the village chieftain.

Every family in the province had a unique name, and all the members from the oldest men down to great grandsons or granddaughters living in the ancestral home were known by this family name. The lineage had always been through female members. Naturally the girl children got more respect in Nair families who always wished their offspring to be females.

Unfortunately, Paliackal taravad had no girl child to pass on its name and its vast property.

Could any patriarch sleep peacefully when such a threat loomed over his head?

Paliackal taravad had enormous land conferred by King Zamorin. The entire village of Karaparamba and beyond belonged to Paliackal. No one knew how the family acquired such huge property. Perhaps they were long descendants of a great Nair to whom the King had bequeathed a large portion of land for some noble service rendered. According to the legend, the King had offered to give whatever land the man could show the next day from dawn to dusk. The next day, to

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mark the boundary, the man started running as fast as he could over the fields, over the mountains, through forests and rivers, followed by the Kings men on horses. By dusk, the man was utterly tired, but he could not let go his greed. Before he fell exhausted, he removed the towel that covered his head and threw it out as far as he could. “Mark it up to the place where my cloth lies,” he cried, and promptly died.

My mother Devaki was the only sister Koman Nair had. I had often heard my uncle saying that if his mother, like other Nair women of her time, had taken a few more lovers or husbands and given birth to a large number of daughters he would not have been in this quandary. If Devaki died by any chance, there would be no female heir to inherit the property.

Koman Nair was certain that the hawk eyes of the chieftain would sweep on him the moment Paliackal family found itself without a legal heir, depriving him of his wealth, power, and authority.

“All the past months, I had been fervently praying that Devaki would give the family at least one girl child. But the wretched woman had just delivered her third son. Son, son and son! Already we have enough male members to form a small unit for the King’s army,” uncle thundered. “No one cherishes a baby boy now.”

“It was not her fault, master,” Ravunni tried to pacify.“Yes, yes, I know. It’s that despicable Vasu to be blamed,”

Koman Nair replied. My father Vasu was a farmer by profession. He was robust,

hardworking, and docile, but my uncle found these qualifications worthless. “Vasu knew how to plough, irrigate the field, sow seeds, and reap the harvest, but he is incapable of producing a daughter the family badly needs. I’ve never come across such an odious and most contemptible man,” the patriarch exclaimed irritably.

I flinched. If I had a hammer or a piece of hard rock in my hand, I would have thrown it squarely towards his bald pate.

Koman Nair did not stop it with that sarcasm. He continued another tirade. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake in choosing this man as my brother-in-law. He smells of an odious mixture of cow dung and sweat, and toiling with other low caste labourers. Shameless fellow.”

“But, sir, he surely brings to this taravad grains and vegetables enough to feed the entire household. We should not forget that.”

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“Who needs them? We need a daughter, not grains. Can he give that?” barked Koman Nair. “In fact I had been deliberating whether I should return the marriage clothes Vasu presented to Devaki and get her married to someone worthier. Someone who could give the family a girl child.”

I was shocked.Ravunni wisely did not offer any comment. “I hate putting down my command, my authority, the respect I

get from my tenants, and surrender our large property at the foot of that covetous chieftain just because the family has no heir apparent. I’m sure no one would criticise the way I administer. I’ve acquired new lands, cultivated more rice, and stocked our granary with grains enough to last four drought seasons. Even this house is built by me with cheap labour. It is my close association with the British rulers that prompted the Revenue Collector to spare hundreds of convicted prisoners for the construction work. Do you know that?”

Ravunni murmured something inaudibly. “I would lose all these if we don’t have a girl child,” Koman

Nair continued. “Some drastic measures have to be taken soon. I’ve a strong feeling that this family is cursed not to have any girl child. Is there anything I or my ancestors did in the past that angered the Gods?” he asked aloud.

Ravunni remained silent. “Do you have any solution to offer?” Koman Nair asked almost

beseeching. Ravunni seemed to dwell on the subject for some time. This

was not certainly like evicting a tenant or extorting the family’s share of agricultural produce from the occupants of a flood-hit area. But I was sure Ravunni would find an answer.

It was a question of his survival. A question of saving a family from extinction too.

Then he brightened up, cleared his throat and mumbled almost apologetically. “If Karanavar permits ... a solution appears to Ravunni’s mind.”

“Then spill it. What’re you waiting for?” Koman Nair asked with the ardour of a drowning man embracing a providential bit of flotsam.

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“Sir, you know that I’ve the habit of storing in my mind minor, even insignificant incidents that I’ve witnessed, idle gossips that I’ve overheard, because I know that one day such information might come handy…”

“Make it short. Come to the point,” Koman Nair snapped.“Sorry, Sir. What I was trying to communicate is that in one

such observation, I’d noticed the lascivious glance of an old priest at young Devaki Amma. At that time, I was infuriated to see the old Brahmin’s starving gaze. It was like a butcher looking over a young lamb to assess how much pound of flesh it had.”

“Who’s that rascal? How dare he look at my sister like that?”“Please don’t get flared up. Let me complete. His name is

Vishnudathan Nambutiri.”“That libertine? I’ve heard that he has many Nair consorts at

various places.” Koman Nair exclaimed.“Yes, sir. Perhaps this old rogue could rescue the family at this

hour of crisis. He has an eye for Devaki Amma, and if we could rely on his fancy, he would be willing to have a little persiflage or what he says an innocuous game with her.”

“What do you mean?” Karanavar growled, leaping from his chair.

“I mean, if he marries Devaki Amma …”“But she’s already married,” he shouted. “Wait, sir. Vishnudathan is a man nearer to Gods, an

embodiment of Godliness, and a relation with him would purify the taravad’s blood,” Ravunni argued.

“What are you trying to say? Devaki is a diminutive four and a half feet slender woman while the Brahmin is a huge, hairy, unrestrained bull. What a preposterous idea.”

“Sir,” Ravunni interrupted. “I know Devaki Amma would be just another triumph of his manliness. But in Mahabharata, it is explained that for the sake of a family, an individual may be abandoned; for the sake of a village, a family may be abandoned; for the sake of a country, a village may be abandoned, and for the sake of the soul, this world itself may be abandoned. To save this family, anybody could be abandoned. Or sacrificed. Unfortunately, poor Devaki Amma would’ve to be sacrificed for the benefit of Paliackal taravad.”

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Karanavar did not speak for a long time. Then lowering his voice almost to a whisper, he asked, “What do you intend to do with her present husband?”

“A woman in love always has the effect of making a man look like an ass. Vasu will not be an exception. He can easily be side-lined. He’ll cooperate in the larger interest of the taravad,” Ravunni assured him.

My blood boiled. It ignited my murderous instinct. Treacherous Bastard.

“How old is this Nambutiri?” “Only some forty-five years or so.”“Oh!” Karanavar’s enthusiasm waned. “He’s too old for her.

He may not be an ideal man for Devaki. How do you know that he’d be able to give us a female heir?” He asked doubtfully.

“I’m sure.” Ravunni was emphatic. “He has many daughters, and he’s capable of producing more. He’s strong. All Brahmins are. Let’s try him.”

Koman Nair appeared to deliberate on his assistant’s suggestion. “No, Ravunni. I don’t think that it a wise idea. How would other noble Nairs react when they learn about this arrangement? Wouldn’t they laugh at me? They would say that Brahmins have free access to every room at our taravad? Such scandalous rumour will give the family a bad name.”

I felt somewhat relieved.But Ravunni was not going to accept defeat. “But sir, there is

no option. Either sink in the whirlpool or swim to safety. Swim we should. To my little mind, this option is sure to succeed.”

“Very well. Then do one thing. Let it come as a proposal from him. Don’t forget to consult an astrologer to fix the auspicious hour. Then invite this Nambutiri. If he too cannot give us a girl child, we’ll throw him out and get her married to another virtuous man.”

“Right sir. I’ll meet him tomorrow itself,” Ravunni agreed, and retreated. A sly smile appeared on his face. It baffled me.

Later in the afternoon I overheard him speaking to young Kaali, the daughter of our servant maid Kathu, who giggled as though she heard a good joke. “Finally I got an opportunity to settle an old score. You know, many years ago when I playfully pinched Devaki’s bottom

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at the gatehouse, she threatened to tell her brothers if I ever came near her. Now she’d no longer be a chaste woman. Ha, ha, ha,” he laughed.

I decided to kill this rat first.

Chapter 2Marriage of Convenience

As Ravunni was going out, I pleaded to allow me to accompany

him. We had often gone places together. He did not object it believing perhaps that I was too young or dimwit to understand things.

“My uncle was telling you to be like Hanuman. What’s it?” I was curious.

He let out a small laugh. “You heard it? Well, you would have read in Ramayana about Hanuman, and his mission to Lanka. He was imprisoned, his tail was set on fire, had to fight a huge army before he could meet Sita. A normal person who would have indulged in needless information and talkative, blowing his own trumpet in a self-boasting exercise before touching the most important part of the task undertaken by him. When Hanuman returned, he just said ‘seen’. Seen whom? Of course Sita. Hanuman was apt in conveying only what Rama was keen to know. Your uncle referred to Hanuman to drive a point that I should be precise when conveying a message.”

I thanked him for the information. I was practically running to keep pace with him. On the way we met Uncle Kannan Nair returning from the paddy field, drenched in his own sweat.

“Where’re you going like a wounded pig?” he addressed Ravunni.

Ravunni gulped down his displeasure. “Karanavar is planning another marriage for Devaki Amma. I’m going to meet the astrologer.”

What a lie.“Another marriage? What happened to Vasu?” uncle

demanded.“Nothing has happened to him so far, but some frightful change

will take place soon. Your brother says Vasu could produce only sons, sons and sons, and no daughter.” He laughed derisively. “That’s why this new idea of getting your sister married to a Brahmin.”

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“My Lord Krishna,” uncle exclaimed. “What’s happening at the taravad? Nobody tells me anything these days. Who’s this intruder?”

Ravunni was silent for a moment. “You might’ve heard of him. A very respectable gentleman. His name is Vishnudathan Nambutiri.”

“That inveterate philanderer?” Uncle Kannan Nair exploded. “I’ve not probed his character to know his likes and dislikes.

But I know he’s rich, and his profound knowledge of Hindu mythology has made him the most sought after personality in these parts for giving discourse on Ramayana during the religious festivals. He is also very sought after man by some Nair women. He is virile. That’s what matters now. When Master tells me to invite him, who am I to disobey? I’m only a Karyasthan -- someone to carry out orders.” Ravunni pretended innocence. Then, as if remembered in time, he cried, “Oh, I must rush; I’ve so much to arrange.”

At that time, the sun was at the top of our head. Kannan Nair’s ego must have been poked. I was frightened to see his transformation. He looked like a raging rhinoceros. Turning to me, he barked, “Why are you trailing him like a tail? Don’t you have any other job? Come with me.”

I had been planning to finish Ravunni off at the first opportunity. It seemed luck was with him.

Kannan Nair confronted his brother immediately on reaching the house.

“What’s happening here? Is it true that you’re arranging another marriage for Devaki? I’ll not permit it.”

Koman Nair must have girded himself for such an outburst and had well stocked his armoury.

“Who needs your permission? I’ve absolute authority to do anything for the welfare of the taravad. And what’s wrong in it? Among Nair families it is not unheard of. When a respectable Brahmin wished to have Sammantham2, we’ve to submit to his wishes. You know that.”

“But brother, we’ve to consider our sister’s wish also,” Kannan Nair pleaded, placated.

“Don’t talk like a blithering idiot. Did you ever think what’d be our position if the family has no girl child? You’d not have. If so,

2 Sammantham means “having some relationship.”

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you’ll not come here barging in like this. All our property will go to the chieftain. We’ll have nothing. You and I’ll be his tenants, and we’ll have to toil in the open field under scorching sun for our daily rice. Do you want that?” he queried raising his voice.

“But she’s young. A daughter may be born to her in due course. There’s no need to hurry.” Kannan Nair tried to reason.

“I don’t think so. I’m sure she’ll have only sons. She’s like Devaki in the story of Shri Krishna. Have you noticed that incidentally her husband’s name is also Vasu? He’d give us only sons, sons and sons. Like Shri Krishna, their eighth son may perhaps be destined to kill his uncle. That’s I, or you. Are you prepared to wait to see how it turns out to be?”

Kannan Nair had no answer. “Well, I’m not prepared to wait. That’s why I consider that

another alliance for Devaki is essential to save this taravad.” Is that the last option? I wondered. “Don’t you think that in the broader perspective of the

taravad’s existence, there is something cogent in what I say?” Koman Nair continued.

Kannan Nair withdrew without further parley. I was disappointed to see what I had expected to be ferocious

argument resulting in withdrawal of the marriage proposal, ending like a stormy wave retracting silently.

In the evening, I heard Kannan Nair speaking to Ravunni. “I’m not fully convinced, but this is not the opportune time to oppose my brother. The sanctity of marriage has no place when faced with imminent loss of property and power. My own power. I’m destined to become a patriarch when my brother dies. A female child ought to be born in the family so that the taravad will be here for me to rule as patriarch.” He looked pleased. Perhaps the mere notion of sitting on the patriarch’s chair might be invigorating.

Sadly, none of them considered asking my father’s consent. Is he an insignificant pawn in their game of life?

Mother was stunned when I informed her the decision of the patriarch.

“Sammantham? My Lord Krishna,” she cried. “How could my brothers be so unkind to me?”

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Till the middle of twentieth century, a woman could choose as many husbands as she pleased so that progeny could be ensured. Her husband would never be allowed to cohabit with her. That was against the custom. He could come in the evening, and before entering the house, place whatever weapons he carried at the doorstep as proof of his presence there. At sunrise, he must leave the house collecting the arms. If no arms were found at the doorstep, any of the woman’s other lovers could visit her.

A poor practice followed since Mahabharata epoch. To enter the house when there were arms at the door, or remove

them was equal to inviting certain death. This was strictly followed in Sammantham. Under Sammantham, my father could come only when no arms

were found at the doorstep. If found, it would mean that the Nambutiri would be spending the night there. I was sure that the old Brahmin would come every day, and we would scarcely see our father.

“No, I don’t want another marriage. I’ll not accept the old Brahmin as my husband,” mother protested violently when she met aunt Madhavi, wife of our uncle Koman Nair.

“But think of our taravad. You’re doing a great service for our sake,” aunt Madhavi sheepishly adduced a reason.

“Why do you think that he could give me a daughter?” Mother expressed a doubt.

It was a wrong question, I knew.“Let’s try.”“I’m not a cow or a sheep to try different partners. If the family

is cursed not to have girl children, then we’ll never have. Besides, I’m not going to share my life with an old laggard. I’ll not submit to him. I already have one lovable husband, and I don’t need another.”

“Who cares about your husband? Incompetent man.” Aunt Madhavi uttered with acidulous contempt. “You forgot young lady. When a Nambutiri desires a woman, her husband has to stand aside. Vedas are quite clear about it.”

With what ease could my aunt say such obnoxious things. Mother looked horror-struck. “That’s in Vedas. This is life. If you’re so anxious, why don’t you go and lay before him? For him, any woman would …”

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There was a sudden explosion. The sharpness of aunt’s retort was transformed itself into a physical test of violence. She looked evil and dreadful.

She waggled her finger in warning. “What did you say? I’m your elder sister-in-law, wife of Karanavar. If I kill you, nobody is going to question me. Let me show you what I can do.” She stormed out indomitably.

That night when father came, mother narrated the latest development. I expected him to find a way out of this impasse. Instead, he appeared dismayed and dumbfounded. Then he shook his head slowly and commented, “This’s most unfortunate.”

Only unfortunate? Was he not shaken? Was he not concerned? His own position would be in jeopardy. Yet he did not consider this marriage a threat.

Mother said she was not interested in his observation; she wanted swift action. “Let’s leave tonight and go to your taravad,” she suggested. “Your people will surely understand.”

“Leave your house surreptitiously at night? What’re you talking about? That’s quite improper.” Father looked alarmed.

“Listen. Let’s not argue about impropriety. I don’t want another man. Let’s take our children and go somewhere, away from this place. Here, they’ll kill me if I refused. We don’t have time, let us go before the sun rise,” mother pleaded with tears rolling from her eyes.

“Are you crazy? Your brothers will kill me if I take you to my house. Besides, my folks would be greatly annoyed if I behaved against the prevailing custom. We’ll be thrown out. You’ve no option, dear, but to surrender to this Sammantham.”

Tears did not budge him. Father did not find anything wrong in sharing mother with an old Brahmin. He was not ashamed to be called a cuckold.

I felt agitated. How he could be so egocentric? Nairs were martial nobility and supposed to be brave and daring. Only when I grew up, I understood that where there was no love there could rarely be courage. My mother had mistaken his lust for love.

I realized that Aunt Madhavi was after all right in finding him an incompetent person. I began to hate my father.

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I knew mother was doomed. Her last spark of hope was extinguished.

The legend was that when Sage Parasurama recovered the land now known as Kerala from the Arabian Sea, he had given it to a few Brahmin families to share and administer. But because of their peculiar marriage customs, only the eldest Brahmin married from his own caste; others could indulge in ‘relationship’ with other low caste women. So, Sage Parasurama commanded that women must fulfil the desires of Brahmins, enjoining on them to put off chastity and the cloth that covered their breasts, and declared that promiscuousness with three or four men was void of the least taint of sin.

Thus, when a Brahmin desired to spend a few hours with any low caste woman, the latter was bound to gratify his wish.

All it needed was a humble function. The Brahmin should give and the woman should receive a cloth in the presence of her relations or friends. If the couple were dissatisfied with each other, the woman could return the cloth, and their connection thereupon would end.

It was as simple as that. No long drawn out divorce proceedings or the King’s orders were required.

It was some relationship indeed. Though I have not read such scriptures, I knew that all Vedas

were written by Brahmins to their advantage, and all the rules were framed by them. When the morning came, I found the sun hideous, like a great, inflamed wound in the sky. I wished that rain would come and wash away my tears, and my fears.

There were only a few members of our relations present to witness the so-called marriage.

Sammantham, it was called. Translated in simple language, it was ‘a marriage of convenience’.

Whose convenience? I reflected ironically. Vishnudathan’s? My uncles’? Or my mother’s?I was not sure. But one thing I knew: Mother was a sacrificial lamb. Someone to save the family from extinction.