Alligator Tails/Tales/Tiles.

The tiles on the front veranda of Thekkanattu Parayil (picture on left), are vitrified, which means that the design runs right through the thickness of the flooring. Even with wear, the pattern will remain the same.

While the tiles were being laid, the then Palace Doctor at Trivandrum, who was a friend of grandfather (PM Avira Tharakan), visited Thekkanatt. He was fascinated with the tiles and wanted to procure some for a room in the house that he was building. They were not available in the market. Graciously, grandfather sent him some from the stock meant for Thekkanatt. This resulted in a shortage. That is why there are no tiles towards the southern end of the front inner corridor.

How grandfather got the tiles in the first place is interesting. Those days the waters in and around Olavipe were infested with alligators. There were big saltwater crocodiles and smaller muggers. Even now we can see on our lands solidified droppings of these reptiles, which are descendants of dinosaurs.

Sahibs from Cochin used to come down in big rowboats to hunt the creatures. I am told that, apart from the sport and the value of crocodile skin, the tails of the beasts with its stored up fat was a delicacy. The white men of course took no permission from the landowners. Grandfather didn’t like people, sahibs or otherwise, trespassing on his properties. Discreet warnings were given a couple of times, but the hunters paid no heed.

The next time a batch came for the shoot and was out on the embankments of the paddy fields looking for crocodiles, their boat and crew were taken away under grandfather’s orders. The hunters had no transport to get back to Cochin. Finally, they went to Thekkanatt.

What awaited them was a fabulous dinner with the choicest of wines and liquor. The house that was full of invaluable antiques and curios, and grandfather’s collection of guns impressed them.

At that time the construction of the front hall had started. It was added on after the main building was completed. The reason for this was that the house appeared too tall. The lean to was decided upon to tone down the front elevation.

The sahibs went back to Cochin after what certainly would have been an enjoyable evening with the famous Parayil hospitality. Couple of months later they sent a consignment of tiles for the front veranda as a gift.

Taliat Ammai (the elder among Appan’s two sisters) told me this story. But I heard later, though not directly, that Narayana Kaimal who had joined our service during grandfather’s time and was our chief manager for several decades, thought that the tiles were bought from P. Orr & Sons, Madras (now Chennai).

Well, alligator connection or not, the century-old tiles look beautiful!
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Fiction (Flash): The Wait.

I’m sure that I fell in love with her only after my death.

As the end was nearing I was afraid – the dread of the unknown. She was also in the room along with a few others, standing apart in a corner. Her eyes, which often met mine, gave a silent assurance that she would be there to see me off to the place I was going. That helped.

She was crying quietly as I left.

There was no wall, no door, and no veil to go through. I was in one world and a moment later in another. It was a surprise that I could still see humans and kept watching what was happening on earth. She was at the funeral as well, dignified, even beautiful, but I knew that her inside was lacerated. I wanted to reach out and sooth her.

Was it then that I fell in love?

We had been schoolmates in our small town. Later I became a travel journalist and a globetrotter. She stayed back, became a teacher, and went through a marriage that ended in divorce within two years. We met occasionally on my rare visits home. That was always enjoyable.

What struck me about my new home was the emptiness that stretched out to infinity. I was alone. From time to time translucent images moved in the distance, some in a hurry, others slowly – spirits like me. But we had no communication between us.

Sometimes I wondered how she would like my present abode that would be hers too some day. I watched her on earth regularly. She looked different – sadder, older, so lonely.

I had no physical wants. Days and nights did not exist where I was. All that could be seen was the woolly nothingness. But time was aplenty. Not in units. Interminable.

My entire earthly life was on show frequently. At each viewing new revelations emerged – the wrongs and rights I did, matters that I could have handled better, my failures, weaknesses, and so on. I was capable of much more good. And questions came up. Why did I hurt people? Why didn’t I help others as much as I could have? Why did I carry grudges?

There was no feeling of guilt but only realisation, disappointment that I had not performed as well as I could have, and a sense of sadness. The greatest regret was that I failed to recognise her love for me. We could have been married happily, had a home, children.

Then I started visiting her at night. I would sit silently on her bed watching the woman I loved. Some times I communicated without words. I knew she understood because of changes in her expression and the rare smiles. In the morning she perhaps forgot what had happened in her sleep or dismissed it as a pleasant dream.

During one of my nocturnal visits she fell sick, suddenly going into a fit of coughing. She was perspiring profusely and clutched her chest, gasping. My inability to help was frustrating. I returned, praying that her death would be painless, and waited.

I was unaware how long it took, but finally she died.

Shortly, an image flashed past me. Was it her, looking for me? She didn’t know where I was in that vastness of space. Then it sank in – a soul had no visual identity without physique.

What next? Rebirth? Resurrection of the body?

The wait for my beloved continues.

Flash Fiction

Three predictions.

It was about 10 in the morning of October 31, 1984. A close friend of mine, TM Thomas Thekkekara, who stayed close by to my house in Panampally Nagar, Cochin, phoned to say that Indira Gandhi, the Prime Minister of India, was assassinated by one of her guards. Within minutes he was at my place and we went over to the Lotus Club.

The Western Court of the club was full of people when we reached. On seeing me, a member named Krishnan shouted out, “Tharakan, all of us were waiting for you.”

“Krishnan tells us,” another member said, “that last year you predicted Indira Gandhi’s assassination.”

That of course was not correct. But I recalled meeting the famous astrologer, Mitran Nampoothiri at the Poonjar Palace, Kerala, a year earlier. I had gone there with a friend, KV. Thomas Kochukudy. As we were sitting on the palace grounds in the evening and chatting, Mitran Thirumeni had said, “Indira Gandhi would be finished on October 31st next year.“

“You mean,” I asked, “that she will loose an election?”

“No, she will be murdered.”

Thirumeni went on to make two more predictions. Perhaps noticing the skepticism on my face, he added, “Tharakan, note down in your diary that Mitran said these.”

I did ask him how he could make such forecasts. He explained that it came from a combination of prayers, concentration and precise calculations based on planetary positions.

I didn’t take him seriously. I had no faith in astrology or fortune telling. But the next day there was some discussion about astrology at the club. Rather irreverently I mentioned about Mitran’s predictions and promptly forgot about them. Some people, however, had remembered at least the Indira Gandhi part.

“Mitran Nampoothiri,” I answered the member’s question, “predicted that last year. He had made two more prophecies as well.”

Now the people were astounded. They wanted to know about the other two predictions. I couldn’t remember them.

But I did recall one of them several years later. I was at Chennai, en route to Delhi. The date was September 11, 2001. As the news about the attack on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York poured over the TV, Mitran’s second prediction suddenly came to my mind. He had said that there would be a major explosion in New York with far reaching consequences. I was not sure whether he had mentioned any date.

What about the next forecast? May be I’ll recall Thirumeni’s third prediction if and when that event happens!

Ends.

Also see:

The story of a story.

Komana Kadu.

Komana Kadu by our western lakeshore at Olavipe is one of the thousands of groves found all over India. Such emerald beauties are veritable treasure troves sustaining amazing bio-diversity and functional eco-systems, and provide homes to several species of trees, plants, animals and birds. They are considered hallowed because of the belief that certain deities or spirits dwell in them.

This veneration safeguarded the woods from exploitation by man. Sacred groves, in which all forms of life are protected, existed even during Vedic times. Later, Emperor Ashoka's Fifth Pillar Edict (252 B.C.) decreed that forests were to be preserved. The sanctity of these woods became ingrained in the minds of the people.

The origin of sacred groves is still unclear. One theory is that these small patches escaped intense climatic changes ensuring survival of plants and animals. Another is that parts of forests were left undisturbed while clearing land for agriculture. A third possibility is that they were carefully selected, protected and conserved for the benefit of communities living around them.

In my memory, there was only one family living in the area around Komana Kadu – that of Valan (a fishermen caste) Shankaran. It is said that members of this community manned the boat/s that brought the Parayil Family centuries back from some location near Cragannore to Thycattussarry of which, Olavipe is a part. They had a special relationship with the Family through the generations. Shankaran who was also called Shankari, was our favourite boatman.

Today, no one stays at Komana and no lamp is lit at sunset for the serpent gods and spirits of the Kadu. But once, in another era, there was a community inhabiting the place. It is not known why those people migrated from the locality, but once their descendants came back to pay respects to the spirits of Komana Kadu.

That was, I think, in the early 1970s. Ammachi was alone in the house when a large group of people arrived by a country craft at our western landing and came straight to the house. They said that their ancestors used to live in Komana and that they wanted to conduct a pooja at the grove where their forefathers were buried. According to them, it was to be a onetime function.

Ammachi was naturally apprehensive. It was difficult to say no to the visitors. But at the same time there was the risk of the pooja, if permitted, becoming a regular feature. She asked the people who came to sit on the western courtyard and ordered that all of them be served tender coconut water. After consulting the ‘karyasthans’, permission was given to the visitors to perform their rituals.

The function took couple of hours. When it was over, the leaders of the group returned to the house to thank Ammachi. They told her that their obligation to the departed souls had been discharged and that they would not come back.

They never returned.

Ends.

Also see: Kerala Architecture: Nalukettu, ettukettu, pathinarukettu

Oru Desathinte Amma.

Ammachi.

Mrs. Rosakutty Kochupappu Tharakan.
(1909-1995)
Thekkanattu Parayil.

Ammachi was born into a prominent old family near Palai, in the foothills of the Western Ghats of Kerala. Her father, late Mr. KC Abraham (Kallivayalil-Konduparambil) was perhaps the largest landowner in that area He was one of the first Indians to venture into organized plantations.

Ammachi was married at the age of fifteen. And from the mountainside she came to Olavipe, into the lap of the waves. She lived at Thekkanattu Parayil, the house that her father-in-law (who had died before her wedding) had built, for 71 long years. She gave birth to fifteen children. Three died young. She brought up the remaining eight sons and four daughters and lived on to see all of them well settled in life.

Of the many things that I remember of Ammachi, one stands out. When Appan died I had to temporarily break my career and attend to urgent matters at home. There were Income Tax arrears, Estate Duty, and Gift Tax (Appan and Ammachi had gifted some of their properties to the children to meet education expenses) to be paid. And we were facing a cash crunch.

One morning Ammachi asked me for Rs.500. She said that the marriage of a Brahmin girl in Olavipe was fixed but her family was short of Rs.500 to pay the dowry. That was not a small amount in 1959. I explained about our financial difficulties but Ammachi insisted, and the wedding took place as scheduled. That was the kind of compassion she had. The tax problems were sorted out in due course.

Sunday Herald (Sunday edition of Deccan Herald, Bangalore) dated September 18, 2005 carried an article about Ammachi by Shiela Kumar titled ‘Beneath the wings of a ministering angel’. It focused mainly the exemplary way in which she had brought up her children. The following quote from the article is revealing: “Of course, differences tended to crop up [within the family] from time to time. This was a family of humans after all, not potential saints. However, at times such as these, her clear-cut rules held strong. She had instilled it into her family that they were all part of one entity and how, for that entity to function well, it was essential for all to pull together, harmoniously. Love conquers all, she repeated over and over again and soon, the clan had absorbed that dictum. Soon, they also found love did conquer all differences or at least, made it fade away into insignificance.” Even today, when Ammachi’s great-great grandchildren are growing up, the family bonds are strong and active.

Ammachi’s domain extended far beyond her immediate family. Many relatives, institutions, and common people benefited from her counsel, compassion and generosity. She was, in fact, ‘Oru Desathinte Amma’ (mother to a land). The thousands who attended her funeral demonstrated the respect, love and affection people had for her.

Ends.

Also see:

The House That Grandfather Built.

Ammachi's Health Recipe - may lower cholesterol, blood sugar.

Appan.

PA Kochupappu Tharakan.

1903-1959.
Thekkanattu Parayil.

Appan was studying for the intermediate at The Maharaja’s College, Ernakulam (Cochin), and being groomed to write the Indian Civil Service examination in London, when his father, PM Avira Tharakan died. He was an only son and had to takeover the family responsibilities. We were landed gentry owning large areas of coconut plantations and paddy fields. He was also involved in business activities and along with my maternal uncle Jose A. Kallivayalil, was director of several companies.

Among the public Appan was known as ‘Gentleman’ Parayil (not that the other Parayils were un-gentlemanly). He was a voracious reader. He had fifteen children – eleven sons and four daughters. The first three, all boys, died early. I am the eldest surviving son.

Appan used to discuss with us many subjects including world affairs. It was from him that I first learned the concept of Provident Fund. While I was in high school, our workers were being paid 14 ‘chakrams’ per day while the outside rate was 15. (28 chakrams made 1 Travancore rupee; British rupee exchange was 28.5 chakrams.) I felt that we were being unfair to our workers and took up the matter with Appan.

He explained to me that when we held back one chakram of the worker, we were undertaking a great obligation. Whenever the man had a genuine need, like food, medical treatment, marriage of children etc. we were obligated to take care of it irrespective of whether his money held back by us would cover the expenses; there were no limits.

A couple of days before Appan died, we were discussing about progress. Great changes were taking place. A Communist government had been voted into power in the State. The land limitation programme that was being pushed by the leftists was sure to result in families like ours losing large areas.

Appan gave me a near perfect statement on progress: ‘Progress means a series of changes and adjustments.’ He had constantly imbibed into us the need to study well and obtain jobs. If he had gone through with the pursuit of ICS, he would have been the first in the Parayil Family to break away from the land bound tradition. As it happened, that honour came to me.

Appan lies buried in the family crypt in the cemetery chapel of St. Anthony’s Church, Thycattussarry, which was built by the Parayil Tharakans in 1791.

Ends.

Also see:

Oru Desathinte Amma.

The House That Grandfather Built.

Introduction

My name is Abraham Tharakan, and family name Thekkanattu Parayil (Kerala). I am a retired company executive and consultant, past 73, currently staying at Chennai.

I love reading, mostly fiction. And writing. Writing means sitting in front of the computer and struggling with the writers block. Nevertheless, a published writer. I wrote an article on the education policy of the first Communist government in Kerala, in 1958. It was published by a major U.S. magazine. Forget the name. US Educator or Catholic Educator or something like that. I was paid USD 25 for it. Published a few articles in India after that.

Then I turned to writing short fiction. Two of my stories and a poem have won prizes in competitions.

The purpose of this blog is to record my memories, thoughts and ideas.