The Marakkar I knew...

This month a movie named Marakkar the lion of the Arabian Sea will get released in theatres in Kerala. It is the story of a superhero named Kunjali Marakkar the naval commander of the Zamorins (the kings who ruled Malabar) who fought against the Portuguese in the 1500's.

That reminded me of one of the superheroes I had growing up named Marakkar. He was no commander just an ordinary being in my grandmother’s village but an extremely good person at heart.

Marakkar that I knew was fair-complexioned with light green eyes, well built with a face that would never stop grinning. He always wore a white sleeveless undershirt and a striped lungi with a large rexin (fake leather) belt that had several pockets and a small towel turban on his head. He came to my grandmother one day requesting her to rent a portion of her garden to cultivate betel leaves which was a huge export in those days. The system where people take lands from others and give a portion of the profit to them was very common in Kerala. It was called Pattam.

My grandmother requested him to take care of her garden and look after it instead of giving a profit share. He agreed and did it with a lot of dedication and sincerity. The garden was full of trees. Coconuts, Areca nuts, Mango, Jackfruit, Guava, Chikoo (Zapota), and even Cocoa. Plenty of unwanted weeds, grass, and vines too that grew like wild in the monsoon months. Coconut and areca nut trees needed plenty of tender care.  A trench had to be dug frequently around each of the trees, and compost and organic fertilizers placed in them to increase the yield and needed regular watering in the summer months. Marakkar did that with utmost care. The garden looked pristine and well maintained under his supervision and he was proud of it.

Betel leaves

Betel leaves too needed a lot of water to grow. So, watering the betel plants and the garden was Marakkar’s main job and he would move on to removing the weeds and whatever else that is needed to be done in the garden thereafter. After lunch, he would rest for a while and then start working again and during the early evening, he would pluck the betel leaves, count, stack, and tie them and take them to the market to sell and made a good profit from it. He had the same routine every day 7 days a week.

To water the garden and the betel leaves he would make long trenches all over the garden for the water to flow. The water is drawn from a well that was behind my Grandmother’s house with a manual gas/petrol pump that looked like a large portable generator and when the water level goes down in the well, he would move the heavy large water pump to the Kolam (pond). We didn’t need an alarm to wake up those days as the manual pump would do the job. To start it you had to pour a little water down the shoot and pull a string. Bhum it comes alive with a huge noise phut… phut.. phut…phut…..phut…. Fast at first and then slowing down and the loud noise will continue for the next 2-3 hours.

A freshwater pond (Kolam)in Kerala

That noise would bring a smile to my face as the hobby for us children right after we brush our teeth was to make paper boats and float them in the water that flows through the trenches and watch it go full speed till it gets completely soaked and capsizes. Then move on to dry leaves or twigs or whatever else you can find and run along with it to race with it. After the boating expedition is done Marakkar usually allows us to splish and splash and walk through the trenches in the areas where he had already finished watering the garden. So stomping in the water as high as you can to splash the water as much as you can, would be our next expedition. And seeing us kids have so much fun, Marakkar would grin ear to ear and yell an instruction or two in between. ഇങ്ങള് സൂസിച്ചോളി ട്ടോ ബെയ്ക്കി ബിയ്യണ്ട വയിക്കല് ഇല്ലതാ! ഈ കുട്ട്യോൾടെ ഒരു കാര്യേ! (Be careful you may slip and fall, it is slippery, oh! these kids!) There was so much love and tenderness in that voice. He genuinely loved children.

Marakkar too went to Gulf like all other men in that area do. His brothers were all doing well there. But he did not last long. When asked why he came back he said his boss called him a “shariha” (a slave in Arabic) and he did not like it. He was a proud man. My conclusion is he missed his village and his sweetheart hence he returned.

His sweetheart was a local school teacher named Shanta. She was a petite little thing with a loud voice and even louder laughter. Their relationship was a so-called open secret. Everyone knew they were together but talked about it in hushed tones. He could never marry her as his family would not accept her unless she converted which she was not willing to do. Marakkar got kicked out of his parents house for the affair so he asked permission from my grandmother and built a little shack for himself in the garden very close to the fence of my grandmother’s house and they would meet there. She comes to visit him before she goes to school and again in the evenings and we would hear them giggle, laugh, chat, fight, behave as any couples would. He was madly in love with her and never left her side even though he knew society would never accept their relationship.

Marakkar worked for more than 3 decades with my grandmother and continued to do so after her death. However, once my grandmother passed away the management of the garden came into the hands of the guy who managed all my grandmother’s properties (karyasthan) whose intention by then was only to pilfer as much as possible from the garden for his own benefit. Marakkar of course was not willing to allow him to do that. Unfortunately, he had stopped Betel leaves cultivation by then and was looking after the garden and taking daily wages for the work he did. What did the manager do? He convinced my aunt that his services are no longer required and fired him. My aunt was blissfully unaware of the manager's intentions and assumed that he was cutting costs. 

I asked my mother about Marakkar on one of my trips to India when I did not see him. That is when she told me the story. It devastated him my mother said. He left and died soon after.

People like Marakkar are a rare breed. They cared for humanity. Looking back I get a sense of sadness for many reasons. The sincerity and dedication people had in those days are not seen anymore and relationships between all communities were so much more transparent then. It did not matter what community you belonged to, everyone lived in harmony, helping each other, trusting each other, and loving each other. Praying and hoping those days will someday return. Good human beings like Marakkar would always return.