Birth

History has recorded many stories about Sultan’s Battery, my hometown, in Wayanad, where I was born on 15 July 1948. As a child, I grew up on a staple diet of myths and legends, stories of brave warriors and benevolent gods and goddesses. I also heard the heroic stories of mighty Pazhassi Raja, Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan and Mahatma Gandhi, and Nehru who were all my heroes whom I adored because they were all the earliest freedom fighters of India and brought an Empire, on which the sun never sets, to its knees.

“Ganapathy Vattom,” that was the earlier name of my hometown before Tipu’s invasion on Malabar and to confront the East India Company’s troops, the tiger of Mysore used the abandoned Jain temple as his armory and fortified the region with his cavalry and infantry against the invading East Indian Company’s army which was reported to have garrisoned at Tellichery. Their plan from there was to march through Wayanad and capture Seringapatam, the then capital of Mysore.

Thus, “Ganapathy Vattom,” became Sultan’s Battery, following Tipu’s padayottam.

An abandoned statue of lord Ganapathy, without one arm, was found lying in Kaippanchery paddy fields just below our high School foot-ball ground and me and my cousin named Kareem would clamber down the hill to the spot to see the statue of the one-armed Ganapathy. Once, my cousin grew curious and he asked our drawing teacher, Govindan master as to what happened to one arm of the statue and our sir said that Tipu Sultan and his company of forces were camping at Kottakkunu and one day, as if from nowhere, the lord Ganapathy, appeared in front of Tipu, and warned him to leave the place immediately or suffer the consequences. This enraged the Sultan who drew out his sword from its sheath and maimed Ganapathy.

When next day my cousin saw the drawing sir who was waddling along the school veranda and he ran after him and asked, “Sir then what happened to Ganathy?”

Sir knew my cousin was making fun of him and he looked at my cousin sternly and said, “Do you want to know then what happened?”

My cousin grinned.

My cousin knew as to his earlier question, sir didn’t have the answer and he was so sure that it was a concocted story.

Sir gestured my cousin to come closer to him and once he got closer, sir pulled out both his ears and tweaked it with his razor like nails and I saw my cousin wreathing in pain and struggling to free himself from his grip and after giving him the punishment for making fun, he released his ears that had turned reddish color and he commended him to go to classroom and he turned and walked away.

The next day the news spread that the statue of Ganapathy was missing from that spot and never to be found anywhere till now.

Sultan’s Battery is bordered by Karnataka (Mysore state) and Tamil Nadu (Madras State) and Wayanad was in erstwhile Madras State.

I was born while my father away on one of his business trips to Mysore. As my mom got her labor pain, our aged maid servant, Pathumathatha, scurried to fetch Koroth aunty who was my father’s relative and neighbor in Chungum  and she rushed to my house  and was handy at my birth. Pettichi amma, Mrs. Kurup, the head nurse at government hospital, was also summoned and she took charge of the rest and thus I came into this world on Jan 15^th, in the year 1949.

My father’s business was right across the road of our Chungath house. He ran his trade from a wooden shack which during my grandfather’s time was made of mud blocks which he later turned it into a wooden one following a burglary. The burglars could easily break into the shop because it was made of brittle mud blocks. He therefore immediately converted its walls into strong, made of wood, against further burglary and now the shop is the only relic of the Thiruvangadans, left in the Chunghum corner.

My grandfather was from Nathapuram and as a boy, he had a dream to attain his life’s goal and he, therefore, wisely chose his destination, Wayanad. The Thiruvangadans emigrated to Wayanad before first World War. Once he and the trail made to the top through Peria ghats, some settled down in Kurumbala village, in South Wayanad.

 Grandfather and his only sister, who was by birth a dumb, moved further up and finally found his dream place in Sultan’s Battery, a sleepy hamlet in Kidanganad village, there he prospered his trade in Chungum corner.

Grandfather had two children. The first born was my father and a sister after him. My grandfather was a pious man and he was the first one from Sultan’s Battery to go on a pilgrimage to the holy Mecca to perform haj. Haji Abdullah was an astute businessman too, and he accumulated his wealth which he equally distributed among his two children and he saw both get married on time and provided them the best of comfortable life before he closed his eyes.

My father’ mother died when they were young kids. Later grandfather remarried Koroth Elamma only for looking after my father and his sister. It is said that there was a horse-drawn carriage to take my father back and forth.

Chungath Moidhu

My mother and other siblings were all serving their eldest sister Mariam who was married to Kakkodan Mammu Haji, the richest landlord in Sultan’s Battery. They all hailed from Panamaram and this Kakkodan saw to that all his wife’s siblings get married into the prospective families and settled them in Bathery town itself. My father brought my mother to his Chunguth residence and there we seven siblings were born.   

      

I vividly remember the day when the District Education Officer of Kozhikode( then Wayanad was in Kozhikode district), who was presiding over the Annual Day function of our school and I was to sing a Hindi song, “Aji Aisa Mouka Phir Kahan Milega,” by Rafi, from the film “An Evening In Paris”, accompanied by George master’s orchestra and that was the first time I saw  Hawaiian guitar being played for my song. George  master we called him was from Koliyadi school who was adept in this instrument and played beautifully.  He was seated on the stage, adorned with a floral garland around his neck, while I was singing, he was listening so thrilled. When I completed the song, a thundering applause followed. He got up and as a token of his appreciation, he removed the garland the one that he was wearing and honored by garlanding me and he requested for an encore of the same song. I straitened myself, took a deep breath and began singing the same song once again. The encores came again and I was stimulated to perform by the applause and the encores and I belted out another hit Hindi song, “Deewana Hua Baadhai,” by Rafi, from the film, “Kashimir Ki Kali”.

Batheri Panjayath library was adjacent to Unni’s house.  The librarian, Radhakrishnan, who hailed from Kozhikode city, was a handsome looking guy. Unni was my best friend. My evenings I always spent in that poky library hall and I devoured articles from The Illustrated Weekly of India, Blitz and Screen with great delight. As I progressed in English, I started reading the Complete Works of Shakespeare.  That was my first introduction to published literature from abroad and I was fascinated by the plot structure and storytelling ability of the bard of Avon. In a latent sort of way, I was developing a keen narrative skill by reading the works of English and other European authors that I found in the library. Large collections of books were stacked on bookshelves and I borrowed books and carried home and read avidly

I had always wondered how the English language dawned on me and there were none in the family spoke it. My father ubiquitously known as Chungath Moidhu, even though our family roots were of the Thiruvangadans, my father preferred to be known as Chungath Moidhu as his residence and business were situated at Chunghum junction. My grandfather’s name was Abdullah and I was called after his name, and the first Juma masjid  was built by him in the heart of Bathery town and he was the custodian of the mosque until his death and after he passed away, Kakkodan Mammu Haji succeeded him.

The family business came to my father’s hands and he took care of the trade.

I used to run errands for Ummachi to Chenakkal eliyappa’s provisions store where uppava had credit. Majeed, a Pattan, was my Madhrassa classmate who was known Kottakunnu bully. He was my size, and he made it a point to threaten me and my small circle of friends. On the way to school, there stood a huge banyan tree at Kottakunnu junction that place was known as “Alinte Chuvattil”.

The Chungham junction, tea stall owner Kunjettan’s son George had a bicycle that he used to lend me free of charge. Next to Kunjettan’s tea shop was Chungath Andhru, he set up a small stall there to sell beedi, cigars and lime juice. George was the sole agent for Pesum Padam and Ananda Vikatan both published from Madras. Pesum Padam was a Tamil film magazine and Anada Vikatan published good articles and short stories. George knew how to read and write Tamil. His father’s tea shop had a Bush radio and I used to hear Tamil Film songs from Radio Ceylon. He taught me how to read and write Tamil language. The Tamil films ran at Sadhuni Talkies, was situated just opposite of our shop. It was a thatched cinema hall. Two column speakers were mounted in between the branches of a jackfruit tree and the old Hindi, Tamil and Malayalam film songs blared out through it and Chunghum junction would go live and buzz with activities centered round the talkies. Posters of shortly coming films were on display on top of the ticket counter and now playing movie’s black and white stills were displayed in a mirrored box.

Payasskaran Mohammedka, a street vendor, was a fixed furniture, always seen seated in the junction busy minding his own business by selling sweet payasam.

 My best friends were my cousin Kareem, Unni and Kuppadi Ali. Cousin would outwit his elder brother Pokukka whom he was so afraid of because Pokooka punished him for bunking classes and my companionship. Once Pokooka came to know of that we both were at the cinema watching some Tamil black and white Sivaji Ganeshan’s film “Puthayal”, and we were seated on the thara, ground filled with sand, which the ticket cost then four annas. It was the month of Ramzaan and we both had skipped tharaviha, a mandatory prayer during the whole month of Ramzaan, and watching this movie. Before about to reach the interval time, I could see a hand, out of darkness, slowly grabbing my cousin by the scruff of his neck and as I was engrossed in the movie, I could not make out what was going on except seeing   my cousin being dragged out of the hall. After the interval the movie resumed and after a short while, I could feel my cousin seated beside me and watching the film as if nothing had happened. I was mortified.

Once the movie got over, he told me the entire story that it was Pokooka who had come and dragged him away to the mosque to attend the tharavia. After he took ablution, he was led to the row where the prayer was progressing and he was made to join the last row and pray and while the row knelt down to sujood posture, my cousin seized the opportunity and slowly crawled back without making any noise and he ran all the way back to the cinema hall and joined me to watch the film.

 I inwardly chuckled all the way to my home thinking of the funniest things that happened in the mosque and how he had outwitted his brother in order to get back to the cinema hall.

I was average and my cousin was a dunce in studies and he was a chronic failure who determined to remain student throughout his life in the same class. My cousin first studied at JDT School at Calicut and he was expelled from there and landed in my school. He once asked me who the hell invented the schools. Bunking classes became a routine habit and hitchhiking on top of some lorry to Mysore city was the only the thrill to watch the latest blockbuster Hollywood, Tamil and Hindi movies. Priority always went to Hollywood.

As a boy I was immensely happy in the green surroundings of Kottakkunnu. Having spent a free, spirited Childhood at Kottakunnu, wandering gleefully in open spaces, breathing fresh air stopping by the Karakkandi streams below Kuppadi hills, it was sheer delight to be in the laps of Wayanadian hills.

My hills looked verdant in the monsoons, filled my boyish heart with unspeakable joy.

Karakkandi vayal   streams would overflow and Kuppadi hills would be invisible to eyes in the Kalla Kardkidaka month’s torrential rain. Schools would be off due to heavy monsoon. My house leaked through the hay thatched roof and the entire floor would become filled with rain water and ummachi and sisters had a field day to prevent the water from reaching inside the house. The heavy rain drops falling and thudding sound could be heard. Non-stop raining and no relapse or breaks in between.

 Once I remember the August 15^th Independence Day school students’ procession was conducted in the heavy rains. From high school ground it started and by the time the procession reached the Chungum junction, the procession proceeding further was so difficult in the non-stop pour, so all the students broke the line and huddled up by taking shelter on the veranda of uppa’s wooden shop in the corner. I told pallan Unni in the pouring rain about the story of a burglar who made off with provision and cash from the shop and the thief could break into so easily as it was built of clay blocks and later my grandfather changed it into wooden and strong to ward off thieves. Hearing this story pallan Unni guffawed.

PT master loudly announced that the procession was cancelled because of rain and all could go home. Many had no umbrellas to return home and all soaked in the rain walked back.

The Wayanad climate was perfect and we had ten acres of land, inter-planted with coffee and orange. There were a few jackfruit and mango trees. Uppava had his eyes on the plot and he employed Mohammedka and Raman to tend land. Mohammedka was a jolly character he always humored us and he had a very good voice. Raman slept in a small room attached to our house outside and we could hear him sing ballads of North Malabar, the Vadakkanpattu, and Thacholi Othenan the legendary hero extraordinarily brave who was my first hero and Raman sang in praise of his Othenan’s Kalarippayattu, martial art technique, known as Poozhikkadakan. I worshipped this warrior as his feats told by Raman and the next day I would retell these tales to my classmates and once one of our Malayalam sirs happened to hear me narrating it and he was so pleased and he, every week one period, dedicated he himself telling the entire ballads of Vadakkanpattu

Ummachi sent me to them to either summon them urgently and or to deliver a portion of the Kanji and kappa. She was always generous towards those who served us. She always spoke gently and kindly. I never had seen her she get annoyed and reprimand us.

My elder sister Nafeesu, cooked breakfast for us while ummachi, busy with her household chores. I would be seated on a wooden plank called palaka and dosas, one by one served from an open hearth and I would eat after dipping it in spicy chutney. Then to the well with a thorthu mundu around my loin and a few bucketful of chilling water drawn from the well and pour all over the body, and some footsteps approaching could be heard and suddenly I would stop and gland around to find who could be coming fetch water from our well and it was none other than the neighbor girl who could be spotted walking down steps leading to the well clasped with a cheppudam, the water carrying  pot, and she would abruptly stop and withdraw on seeing me bathing, and hide behind the coffee tree foliage and wait for the bather to finish his open sky bath. In hurry, I would remove the thorthu, and squeeze the water out and rub my head and body by wiping with it and vanish.

“Palakkadan Abdulla jumped into the well”.

Pattani Majeed was yelling at the top of his voice as he ran in a hurry towards Kayyalakkal Kaderka’s well and the place was teeming with the neighbors. A big crowd already swelled around the well and all peeping inside it, while Ummachutha, his mother, uncontrollably wailing aloud and master Mariatha was seen consoling her.

Kottakunnu Veeran was just passing by that way and he saw handicap- Saidhali Mullakka, the muezzin of Kottakunnu  mahal mosque, was seen some distance away, rushing towards the spot, then Kottakunnu Veeran stopped Mullakka and when asked him of why there was such a big commotion and crowd near the well, the Mullaka answered Veeran’s query that Palakkadan was being chased by the police for the Mariyammankovil burglary and he jumped into the well.  Mullakka and Veeran both quickened their pace and squeezed themselves into the crowd.  The people who crowded there eyed the constable Ediyan Jose appeasing everyone to be quiet and he assured the crowd that he would get the thief out of the well and hand him over to the law.

Chambadan Mammooka, an expert at handling such situation, was already there hanging on to a rope and descending to save the protagonist out of the well. It took half an hour for him to haul Palakkadan out while the people in the Kayyalakkal courtyard waited with bated breath. When Palakkadan emerged out of the well, the crowd stood dumb-founded on seeing him in hand-cuffed condition with that he jumped into the deep well. He did this while he was being taken to the scene of crime he committed, he broke from the police custody and ran, with all his might, to the well and jumped in order to escape from the constable Ediyan’s merciless corporal torture and the very mention of Ediyan’s name would send shivers up in the spine of Batterians and therefore all who had gathered there were mutely witnessing  the entire unfolding of Palakkadan being carried away in a police jeep and his mother Ummachutha running after her son screaming her heart out and begging of Ediyan, ” yajmanaay, ente monai kondupovallaa, Monai” (sir, please don’t take my son away, oh my son). Seeing this, the constable Ediyan Jose hollered in an authoritative way, “move thallay, move”.   

The crowd murmured themselves. Some of them felt sorry and the butcher Rabanan murmured the thief deserved severe punishment. Neighborhood beauty queens, Pattani Jainu, Pappathi and Kausu were weeping profusely as police led Palakkadan through the road to the police vehicle.

Adhan ul Magrib, the call to sunset prayer reverberated Kottakunnu mahal as the police jeep moved towards the police station road.

Ummachi raised poultry mainly for eggs and the eggs she stored inside the rice-filled Uriyil, the earthen hanging pot in the kitchen. The eggs would disappear in the evenings only on the first day of every Tamil film release at the local talkies. The squint-eyed poola Beeran, the teashop owner, at Alinte Chuvattil, would take four anas from his purse for all eggs, which I never counted during “Operation Eggs.” from the uriyil, and give it to me and I put the anas in my pocket, and run straight to the talkies before the first bell.  Poola always cheated me because he knew for sure they were stolen eggs for watching picture show and he took advantage of my weakness for films.

Sometimes chickens also vanished and ummachi would go round and round in the backyard of our house and search for them with the help of my sisters and the youngest sister would exclaim, “Ha, today the picture has changed, ummachi!”. Then she would hasten straight to the cow pen to ascertain whether all her domestic creatures, small and big, were there safe and sound and then she would return with a sigh of relief cursing upon TC Pailichettan, the owner of the local touring talkies.

“ontai talkies nashichu pottai”(let his talkies perish)

The following week when a latest MGR film ran at the local talkies, the rooster did not crow at dawn and ummachi found it was missing from its cage and the “fox”, sleeping cool in the next adjacent room.

Functional toilets were then non-existent. I had my favorite spot behind a jackfruit tree and I would pull up  mundu and squat to answer the call of nature and the trees and the coffee plants benefitted from my precious excretion and yielded in abundance and the jackfruit tasted honey.

 Our mosque and madrasa, were only a stone’s throw away from our house. Majority of the inhabitants of Kottakunnu were pathans, who perhaps, were working as cooks or soldiers in the company of force for Tipu Sulthan or wandering traders who settled there and did not go back to Mysore. They were known as sahibs. The pathan children were my madrasa classmates. My father would rise up early for Fajr prayers (the first of the five daily prayers offered by practicing Muslims) and wake me up and in tow to the mosque. In the months December and Jan, the water stored in the tank for wuzoo(ablution) near the masjid would be ice-cold and when it touched would make one skip wuzoo, but unable to dodge my father’s attention so had to go through the ordeal of taking ablution and join with others for praying.

All pathans of Kottakunnu never missed their prayers and they saw to it compulsory for their male children offer Friday congregational prayers at grand Juma masjid.

Pattani Majeed and Palakkadan were my best childhood madrasa friends. Pattani always exercised his authority as the eldest among us and I found Palakkadan always trailing behind his back. I could see both of them plotting innocent mischief behind our mullakka. They tried to frighten girls in the class and among the girls, Jainu, was the beauty but sterner, never spared the opportunity to catch them red-handed when they were up to mischief and report the matter to mullakka who used his cane on both the bullies and Jainu would spare me as she knew I was not party to the conspiracies against them.

As a toddler, I had run into many accidents. Once I had sustained injuries from burns because I was left unguarded in the kitchen and I put my hands into the hearth. Another incident, my mother told me, was an adrenaline one that once I was missing and they searched for me everywhere in the house and I was nowhere to be found and my mother was so panicked and she started screaming and brought the entire neighborhood to our house.

They all joined in the search and finally my mother noticed me slowly crawling towards the edge of the well in the backyard of our house and I was about to fall into the deep well that had no security ring wall and she cried out loud, “ente Riffai shaikay, ente mon,” and one of the neighbors who, in one sweep, had me in his grip and rescued me from falling into the well.

Another accident was that the news spread that I was hit by a speeding car while I was crossing the road, but as luck would have it the car did not knock me down but I tripped on something and fell and the man behind the wheel  stopped his vehicle thinking that I was hit by his car so he jumped out of the car and picked me up and drove straight to the nearby hospital but providentially there were no injuries and he brought me home in his car and told my weeping mom that there was nothing to worry about that I just fell down only and not hit by the car.

My mom was so worried about my safety and so she approached our local mullakka who suggested her that an oblation in the name of Riffahi Sheikh would do good to ward off evil spirits.

My mother’s belief in astrology was so firm and she saw to that before anything auspicious took place, first she consulted our family astrologer, Bhaskara Panikkar, who had the power to peep into the womb of time and predicted. He would take out cowries from his small cloth bag and divined the mood of the stars. He would chant mantras, make a hissing noise, and give a talisman to be tied around the loin.

“There is nothing to worry umma.” Then the stargazer would pause and my mom with a worried look would wait for his findings on my stars and he would conclude by saying, “All hurdles are over now”. The clouds on my mom’s face would disappear with Panikker’s answer and in its place, a smile rekindled.

Kakkodans Mammu Haji, whom we kids called moothappa, was the richest man in Wayanad and his wealth was limitless that half of the landed property of Sultan’s Battery belonged to Kakkodan tharavadu.  He married my mother’s eldest sister.

A significant portion of Kakkodan’s wealth came from coffee, pepper and timber and he also had in his plots of land, “vaarikkuzhi,” a pit in the forest land to trap elephants. He had number of elephants and some he sold to the circus and some to the zoos.

His first born was a boy who died very young and after the birth of his second son, moothapa was told by an astrologer that this boy was the mascot of Kakkodan family and he professed unbelievable wealth and prosperity, social standing and all kinds of enviable fortune for the child. Moothapa started acquiring acres and acres of land in Sultan’s Battery and the local people spread the stories that he found treasure- pots which surfaced from beneath the earth of his land belonging to the Jaines who were the earlier dwellers of Ganapathy vattom who might have had buried their gold and jewels from Tipu finding them and fled the country for their lives. But Wayanad had no such historical records of Tipu having a marauding band during the padayottam.

Moothappa built a magificent bungalow with an open courtyard for drying coffee beans was my childhood’s favorite place and I always accompanied my mom whenever she set out to visit her big sister, wife of moothappa. This place was known as “kalathil,” and we called him Kalathilay moothappa and his wife, Kalathilay moothumma. He had a brand new blue Pontiac car and my uncle was his trusted chauffeur and it was always a delight to see moothappa seated at the back of his car and moving through our town. He always used this car to take him on his business trips to far-flung cities, Kozhikode and Mysore.

I always looked forward to my uncle’s  visits to his sister, my mom, and after parking Pontiac car in front of our house, he would climb up all steps and straight into the kitchen to see my mom and while both engaged in their brotherly- sisterly talk, squeezing this opportunity, I would rush the spot where the car parked and with great fascination inspected the car and it looked really wonderful inside- the American car was indeed a beauty without doubt and I dreamed that one day I would drive one like this and show all my neighborhood and make them exclaim, ” hay, look, who goes there in that car, our Kottakunnu veeran!”

I funnily thought to myself that if I ever had to have a car like this, the first thing that I would give a ride to the beauty queen of Kottakunnu, who beside me, spin along the road, but the reverie lasted only for a few seconds, ‘cause my uncle came down and saw me standing transfixed near the car with my school bag over my shoulder and I heard him say,” Get in I’ll drop you at school”.

I knew no bounds of my joy as I jumped inside the car and sitting next to him in the front seat, Pontiac slowly rolled down the road in the direction of my school and I saw students passing by as the car crossed the junction, I saw all eyes gazing at the beautiful machine, the one and only foreign car in entire Battery town, flowing along the road and some of my classmates saw me in the front seat and I put my hand out of the side window and waved at them to drag attention. As my uncle drove the car I was keenly watching him drive and as he shifted the gear under the steering wheel the clicking sound drew my attention and my hand yearned touching the gear handle but I was afraid.

He dropped me at the main gate of school and drove off. I wanted everyone to see me alighting from the car, but no one seemed to acknowledge.