The December rain drummed a steady beat on the asbestos outside. The air was cool but humid; typical Madras weather. From my window I saw a group of young boys- athletic, nervous- line-up for their auditions under the peepal and banyan trees. The wet earth, sticky air and intermittent rainfall took me all the way back to my childhood home in the Malabar. There, the monsoon was particularly exciting. Frogs croaked all day long beside swollen ponds, water in the canals overflowed onto muddy paths and rice fields were flooded. Water snakes often slithered unnoticed into homes, only to be discovered by startled servants, among the rice sacks. Rajan, our father’s ‘Man Friday’, would climb up coconut trees to give us coconuts from which we drank the sweetest daab. He would row us through the rice fields and set up make-shift tree houses in the middle of them to scare away hungry birds. In those tree houses, all of us cousins would huddle up close and listen to Rajan Chetan’s stories about demons and local legends, goddesses and family deities. Often his stories would keep us enraptured way after dusk. On such occasions, I was always the brave boy who lit the kerosene torches and held them, blazing brightly above our heads as we made our way back home.
One of my favorite pastimes during the monsoon was to go fishing with Rajan Chetan. He was a genius- he taught me how to make a bow and arrow from the mid-rib of a coconut leaf. He taught me how to tell the difference between the common canal fish and the succulent varieties. He let me use his canoe all day long if I wanted to. In it, I learnt how to take aim and shoot at fish in the water with those coconut leaf bows and arrows. I’d return home with aluminum buckets full of fish for my mother to fry. And it was in this canoe that I found one of the deepest, darkest secrets of the Malabar…
It was a cool, rainy morning. The sun was not visible behind the heavy, grey clouds in the sky. Birds stirred almost lazily in their nests and the entire household was still asleep. I had woken up early to get the best catch, and undoing the rope that had anchored Rajan’s canoe, I slid into it, dipping the long bamboo pole into the water.
As I pushed the canoe through the still canal waters, I looked around me. I looked at the muddy paths along the canal banks, the bamboo bridges laid across the waters, the foliage that was a fresh, tender green, the ancient wooden houses. Everything looked so surreal and enchanting in that pale grey morning light. Soon however, I found myself quite lost. I was in the middle of a thick network of canals that seemed to lead to other routes that all looked exactly the same. There was not a soul around to tell me where I was. Not a single house seemed inhabited. I heard a cock crow a few yards away. Deciding that the best thing to do would be to get onto terra firma and then wait for someone to wake up or pass by and tell me how to get home, I pushed my canoe onshore and tied it tightly to a pole on the banks. Lifting myself out of the boat, I stepped onto the mossy bank and started following the mud path along the canal. Aware of how still everything was around me, I tried not to shiver. “Come on, Raghu, you’re not in the middle of a jungle! You’re still in the village. Don’t be such a mouse!” I told myself. Shivering involuntarily, my pace quickened as I made my way to the nearest house I could fine. No matter who or what was behind those doors, my ten-year-old heart had gone cold with fear. As I approached the house, I realized that the door was left slightly ajar and an old oil lamp lit the entrance. The wick in the lamp was very short and the flame flickered rapidly, threatening to go out very soon. I had reached out to knock on the door when I felt a hand grab my shirt and a hand cover my mouth. Trying to break free, I felt an iron-like arm haul me off the ground.
My world turned upside down. The ground was above me, the sky almost invisible below me. My attacker was running along dizzying patches of green. Suddenly, my stomach jolted downwards and my neck jerked forward. Around me, I saw layers of earth. It was like I was being carried down into the depths of the earth. Then I realized- I was underground!
Hazes of fire blazed above me and shapes swirled about while colours flickered and disappeared around my head. I found myself being thrown onto the floor in the middle of a room with walls and a floor made of earth. I gasped. Rows of shining, silver swords of all kinds of shapes and sizes lined the walls. Among them were shields of various sizes, along with different kinds of whips. In one corner, was a shrine decorated with flowers and incense. Faces along the sides of the room stared at me open-mouthed. I felt my head swim and the faces around me merge into one. Then, one of them cleared his throat. Someone else laughed nervously.
My abductor stepped in front of me- it was Rajan Chetan! Seeing my bewildered face, he knelt beside me and murmured soothingly- “don’t worry, Raghu, you’ve nothing to fear. I thought you were a stranger, I couldn’t see in the dark. Forgive me.”
I swallowed and licked my parched lips. I didn’t know how to respond. “Where am I?”
“This, Raghu, is a place known only to a few, fortunate souls. No one, you understand, not a soul other than the people you see assembled here, know of this place, and any stranger who has been here, curious or even a spy, has faced one of those swords or daggers that you see there. You’ve been brought here by accident, but it’s too grave a problem that you’ve seen this much. What shall we do?” asked Rajan Chetan.
I didn’t know this man anymore.”Chetan, what is all this?”
He stared at me. “I suppose you have the right to know now. Yes. Very well then, since you aren’t a stranger you’ll know. But remember, if you tell a soul, and don’t worry, we’ll get to know if you do, I will personally make sure that you meet the edge of one of these swords. I don’t care if you’re my boss’s son. Do you understand me, child?” he roared. I shrank back, not even daring to nod. He fixed his eyes on me intently, his mouth a thin, hard line. He wasn’t going to repeat his question; he was too proud to.
And I was to answer.
“Yes, I will not repeat what you tell me and I won’t tell a soul what I’ve seen. I promise, Rajan Chetan” I managed to stutter. This seemed to soften him, for he suddenly smiled warmly, and I recognized him again.
“Where you stand right now, my little boy, this- pit in the earth- is called a kalari. In this kalari, over thousands of years, the soldiers of this land practiced and perfected the original art of fighting and defense- kalaripayyatu. It is the origin of all martial art forms in the world today and was taught to us by Lord Parashuram himself. Handed down through a sacred disciplic succession, this form is now almost lost. We are one of the two groups who know this martial art still and hence it is our foremost duty to preserve this sacred knowledge and tradition.”
“Then why is it a secret? If it’s almost extinct why do you hide it from the world?” I asked, unable to understand why something as amazing as this was being kept so secretively by such a small group of fierce men.
“That, my child, is the most important question right now.” His face became hard and furious again, and I felt scared. Had I said the wrong thing?
“You see”, he continued,” it would have been the most valuable asset to us all. But no,” he laughed bitterly. “The British, they weren’t even able to defend themselves against our power. They found that they were helpless as long as we had kalaripayyatu to defend ourselves. And so, they went on a rampage, banning the teaching and practice of this art. They mercilessly shot our valiant fathers and grandfathers when they found them just practicing a single move in their backyards. That was when we realized that the only way we could preserve this sacred martial art was by teaching and practicing in complete secrecy. Not a soul is to know, for the British wait around us like a pack of hungry wolves, eager for the slightest opportunity to crush our heritage.” He stopped, becoming very somber.”Our only hope is to free ourselves from their rule.” Silence descended upon the group of warriors in the kalari.
I was moved. A fire sparked within me. I was stirred from the very depth of my heart by this story- so magical, yet so real. I wanted to learn and share this wonder too. Suddenly an idea flashed across my mind. Lifting my head up, I saw everyone in the room staring intently at me. “Rajan Chetan, may I learn too and continue this tradition?”
He had known.
And now, all these years later, I saw these boys waiting to audition and get into this academy. All of them were eager to learn. They had no chains to hold them down. They were free. They were from various nooks and crannies of India. They were the future, the promise.
