Mallur kaadukal (The Mallur Forests)

'' This is not a very old story. Yes,it's about those times; the bridge across the river at Kuttipuram was not there then.

Stray travellers to south, far and few, had to cross the river by ferry boats. Once you cross the river,the pathway to reach south of Kuttipuram was only through the Mallur Kaad (Mallur forest).
The sands of the river bed and the pathway has lot of stories to tell; gory stories of robberies
and murders of travellers ending up in 'Mallur kayam'. ''

'' What is Mallur Kayam?'' asked Naveen the six year old grandson of his neighbour;he drops in at night to hear stories from Kochappan and fall asleep.It's almost a regular affair. Today I also joined the story listening session. I sat on the floor stretched my legs in front and leaned on to the cot. Cool breeze blew in. It was quiet.Ideal for story listening session.

'' Mallur is a point in that jungle path. There was a huge trench filled with water; unused, un touched and filthy; quite deep too.That's Mallur kayam.''
'' Tell me the story''. Naveen was impatient.

Kochapps continued. '' The ferry man was a crooked and wicked fellow. He had a wife and a son, 10 years old.This man used to give information, about the arrival of travellers by his boat, to a gang of robbers. These robbers used to waylay people, rob them,kill them, and throw their body into the Mallur kayam. They used to give a share of the things robbed to the ferry man also.''

Naveen was listening with concentration written on his face. Let me admit; so was I. Long time since I listened to a story;Chittappan (uncle) used to tell similar ones years back.

'' One day the ferry man, for some silly reason, got angry with his son. He heated an iron rod and pressed that on to his son's legs above his knee ; like he used to brand the cattle whenever he bought a new one for identification. His poor mother couldn't stop the ferry man from doing it.
The mother was in agony seeing her son writhing in pain.The ferry man never repented any wrong he did in his life.''

I could see the pain in Naveen's eyes.

'' One day the boy didn't return from the forest where he had gone to collect firewood. The mother waited; for days and days. He never came back.The mother grew sick and died few months later. The father continued his activities and helped the robbers ; ate , drank well and lived.''
Kochappan was intense in his narration. It was not listening. It was seeing; the story.

'' And one day came a traveller who looked rich.As usual the ferry man signalled to the robbers about the arrival.The traveller refused to part with the money he had. They killed him by by cutting his throat. Took away all he had and gave the ferry man his share and left.''

'' And then it happened'' Kochappan continued.'' While taking the body to be thrown into the Mallur kayam the ferry man noticed a mark on the thigh of the traveller. It was the burn mark; the scar of the wound he had inflicted on his son years back.The wound had healed but the scar remained.He had returned after years of exile to see his parents.It was a moment of realisation for the ferry man of all the wrong things he has done in his life.He dragged the body and threw it into the kayam.Feeling repentent about the atrocities he had commited ,he also jumped into the trench and commited suicide.'' Kochappan finished the story.

Naveen nestled closer to Kochappan. He was a bit scared.Naveen liked the story. He was probably turning the story over and over again in his mind.

Kochappan looked at me. He was stroking the head of Naveen to comfort him, to put him to sleep.

'' Are things any different now?'' he broke the silence posing a question; to himself, to me, to no one in particular.

'' There is one Jessica Lal cut to pieces, loaded on to an oven and roasted;not in Mallur kayam or Chambal forest. In Delhi, not by robbers but by rulers. Now such things happen every day These children will have lot of stories to narrate like I did to day.They do not take place in forests but within the cities. They are not done by ferry men but men of power and pride.They don't hide in the forests or valleys. They walk around under the flash light of cameras. They come by BMWs, Skodas , loot, kill, rape and go scot free.''

The moral anger flared up in him.He finished his soliloquy.

A 'soliloquy' as defined in the Oxford Dictionary, is, the act of talking when alone or regardless of any listeners, esp, in drama. If you have a clinical hatred towards the usage 0f such dramatic words for such a simple situation, may I compare it to the delivery of a monologue by Amitab or
(if you are particular about south) Rajanikanth.

After finishing that 'Soliloquy' or 'dialogue' he looked at me.I was overawed by his diligent summing up of the two different scenarios , of the past and the present. I sat there looking at him admiring his capacity to narrate a folk tale to a six year old with the same expertise with which he used to teach me nuances of British and American English. Amazing man this Kochappan!
After covering Naveen with ablanket he turned and saw me sitting and staring at him.

'' Why do you sit there and look like an envelope without an address written on it?''

I smiled in reply; looked at Naveen. He was blissfully asleep.

I couldn't get sleep when I went to bed.

No, its not the sad story of the ferry man and his son.It was this mention about me and the 'envelope without address on it' that I couldn't understand.

Hats off to Kochappan!. He always speaks things which people can't understand.

I must ask him about it tomorrow!


menon ( aniyan )