TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY – XXXII

THE MASTER CRAFTSMAN'S TRYST WITH GANDHIJI

'The master craftsman's tryst with Gandhiji', write-up on Silparatnakara N. Veloo Achary's meeting with Gandhiji, The Hindu, 19-07-2014.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY – XXXI

HOME THEY BROUGHT THE WARRIOR DEAD

'Home they brought the warrior dead', write-up on Kurup Kunchupiratti's sacrifice, The Hindu, 05-07-2014.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY – XXX

GOING DOWN MEMORY LANE

'Going Down Memory Lane', write-up on yesteryear theater artist and singer Sharada Ammal, The Hindu, 21-06-2014.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXIX

                                                            THE HEALING TOUCH

Write-up on the famed Visha Vaidyan's of Kaluparambil Veedu (Kaimal's Visha Vaidyasala),The Hindu, (31-05-2014), Thiruvananthapuram edition.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXVIII

TRACING THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST OF YORE

Write-up on the famed Durbar Artist Kizhakkaemadhom Padmanabhan Thampi,The Hindu, (17-05-2014), Thiruvananthapuram edition.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXVII

CRAFTING A NEW LEGACY

Write-up on the famed Edavancaud craftsmen, The Hindu, (03-05-2014), Thiruvananthapuram edition.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXVI

                                                        THE ROYAL OCULIST

My write-up on C. Luke, the 'Royal Oculist' got published in The Hindu, (19-04-2014), Thiruvananthapuram edition.

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXV

SHARADA AMMAL AND SOME 'GOOD OLD MEMORIES'

Once I asked Sharada whether she had visited the Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple in her younger days, before the legendary ‘Temple Entry Proclamation’; the days when the land and people were divided in the name of the ‘caste’. “Yes, of course” - was her prompt reply. She continued; “During those days I had many friends from nearby Nair families, I went to the temple with them and no one noticed me or my caste. Even if they found out, they couldn’t kill me, can they?”

Sharada Ammal, one of the oldest female members of the Manacaud crafts guild was born in Manacaud (c.1925). Sharada was the youngest daughter of Neelakandan Achari of Putten Veedu and Narayani Ammal, a member of Kunnathu Veedu, Attingal. Sharada in her younger days had witnessed the days of glory of the ivory craftsmen and artists of Pillavilakam, Pinarammoodu and the related families in Thiruvananthapuram. The children in the family adore her, and she is always seen happy with them, narrating stories and singing songs. Her frail figure and gentleness have now betrayed her inner self. She had changed from a determined soul that she once was in her younger days, to the gentle frame of a loving grandmother.

Though she was born as a member of the Manacaud guild, Sharada’s parents had maintained a strong relationship with the Kunnathu family, the taproot of the guilds of ivory craftsmen. One of Sharada’s earliest memories is that of a boat journey she took with her immediate family members to Attingal. The little girl was initially reluctant to go near the water but after some time she stretched her hand felt the cool waves of the river. Narayani, her mother soon lifted her up and seated her away from water scolding whether she wanted to fall into the ice-cold river. She attended the girls’ school at Thekkae Theruvu, inside the fort complex. Sharada says; “The classes would come to a halt when we heard a whistle, it was the time for the Kings ‘ezhunnalathu’ in his car. All the students would start singing Vanjeesha Mangalam, in praise of our land, its protector Sree Padmanabha Swamy and his humble servant”, she continues, “Occasionally he (Chithira Thirunal Bala Rama Varma) would be accompanied by his sister Karthika Thirunal. The Maharaja, on hearing the song would raise his head and smile at the students”. Sharada was in her teens when she started learning classical music with her cousins and nephews. ‘Karamana Kuttan Bagavathar’, a famed vocalist well versed in both Carnatic and Hindustani music came to Pillavilakam to train them. Her elder brother Kolappan Achari, an accomplished harmonium player and an artist was the first one in the family to be lured by the tinsel world. Kolappan who went to Āryashala to make backdrop paintings for Golden Theatre Company left home with them. Neelakandan Achari, his father spend years travelling all over India, searching in vain for his lost son. According to Sharada it was not her brother’s fault, it was destiny that made him do that. Karicha Keshavan, the family astrologer had predicted that when Kolappan would turn twenty-one, the house would become a ‘maranaveedu’. Kolappan left his house and family when he was twenty-one years old, leaving a wound in the hearts of his parents and siblings and thus proving right the prediction. After this incident, Sharada’s interests in acting and singing were not so welcome in the family. Her brother Thanuvan Achari was the one who opposed most.

One fine day when Sharada was busily engaged in her daily chores, humming a song and helping her mother in the kitchen, her nephews came with a newspaper safely tucked inside a bag. After ensuring that Thanuvan Achari was not there at home did the boys dare to take out the newspaper. The newspaper had an advertisement saying that Merry Land Studio, owned by Subramanyam was searching for new talents, beautiful women who were well versed in acting and singing, for acting in their two upcoming projects - ‘Raja Harishchandra’ and ‘Nalla Thanka’. Finally yielding to the requests of her nephews, Sharada wrote to the studio. Days went by and everyone including Sharada and her nephews forgot the incident, until a fateful day. To quote Sharada’s own words, “I still remember that day, that evening I went to the Shangumukam temple with our neighbour’s family. After visiting the temple we went to the beach and saw aeroplanes landing at the nearby airport. It was such a lovely evening. However, when I reached home, I could sense some problem from the facial expression of my mother, she seemed tense and nervous. My brother was there but he did not speak a word to me”. It so happened that when Sharada went out, a letter addressed to her was delivered at Putten Veedu. Thanuvan Achari, her elder brother was surprised to see the large envelope. In those days it was not usual for a young unmarried woman to get a letter addressed to her. Those who got letters were always looked upon with suspicion. Curious, he opened the envelope; inside there was a large certificate saying that Sharada has been selected for the screening test. She was asked to appear before the director of the film on a prescribed date. Sharada’s father who saw the anger on Thanuvan’s face had tried to lighten the mood by saying that Sharada was lucky to get such an opportunity. Sharada says, “Appan was also not willing to send me to the film field, though in the family we nurtured the tradition of song and dance, it never occurred to the elders that a girl from the family would choose to make her life out of it”. Thanuvan after reading the certificate, without any word tore it into two pieces and threw in the dustbin. Sharada later learned about this from her mother. Her nephews got the certificate from among the trash and pasted the pieces together; however, that day Sharada made up her mind, not to act.

Years passed by, Thanuvan Achari and Neelakandan Achari passed away. Sharada soon found herself living with her elder sister’s family. It was during this time when the idea dawned upon her that she could pursue her desire to act without her family’s consent. The support of her sister and her husband imparted confidence. Sharada was selected for the leading role for a play written by Venpalakkara Vishwambaran. The play was named ‘Stithisamathwam’. Sharada played the role of the heroine ‘Sumati’. Subbarao, a resident of the Agraharam complex inside the Fort who was an employee in All India Radio was the hero. Sharada with her good looks and sweet voice and natural acting skills became a star. Her second play, named ‘Rakthasakshi’ was staged in V.J.T. Hall, in which she donned the role of the heroine ‘Sulochana’. According to Sharada, it was the thick layer of makeup and the different voice tone she used while in the stage had probably saved her from being spotted by her relatives who were living in the same town. However, once when she returned from Chirayinkil after a play Sharada was tensed to see posters pasted on the fort wall bearing her pseudonym ‘Manacaud Sharadambal’, however, this time too she was not caught.

Sharada still remembers her days of acting when they had rehearsals in an old house in the Statue area. Everyday Sharada had to check with the authorities about who is coming as musicians for the rehearsals. Kanada Subbayya Bagavathar and Kuttan Bhagavathar, her paternal uncles were well-known musicians of the day and were sometimes invited to hear the songs or to compose songs. Sharada had to plan her schedules in such a way that her relatives who visited the house would not spot her there. “Those were adventurous days, many times I hid in the green room when my uncle was there”, says Sharada with a grin. In those days she sometimes had to stay with her fellow artists in the house. There were two young lads who attended to their needs. Abdul Khadar and his brother Abdul Wahab have been always there with them. They brought food for the female artists, whom they always addressed as sahodarimar (sisters). Soon the young men with their charm and good conduct became everyone’s favorite. “It was in one of our visits to Chirayinkil that we visited Abdul Khader’s house”, remembers Sharada. After some years Sharada was married to Janardhanan Achari, her muracherukkan, the marriage didn't last long, as Janardhanan went to Madras never to return. Sharada was alone once again. She had decided not to act again. During later years she spend days staying with close relatives. Wherever Sharada stayed, the children adored her. Though childless, she brought up children from two generations who lovingly address her as Avva. Once while staying at a relative’s house, Sharada heard a man’s voice from the television, the voice had evoked her memory, was it a long-forgotten voice that she was hearing? Sharada raced to the room where the television was kept. In the television screen, she saw a handsome young man; it didn’t take long for her sharp mind to recognize him as the ‘attendant’ boy Abdul Khadar; who was now famous as ‘Prem Nazir’! 

More information on Prem Nazir, 'The Evergreen Hero' of Malayalam cinema: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prem_Nazir

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXIV

LOST MEMORIES

The poomukham of the house - photographed by my uncle Kumar on a rainy day.

Pillavilakathu Veedu, my paternal grandmother’s ancestral home at Manacaud was not different from any other old houses. Built in the mid-nineteenth century, the house was a typical ‘nalukettu’, with a poomukham projecting out from the main living block. The house, with its massive lime plastered brick columns, the old terracotta flooring and the dark room with the smell of old books is etched in my childhood memories.

I was not born in this house, nor did my father have any right over the house or its property. Long ago, a piece of land adjoining this house was given to my grandfather by his father-in-law, however, it was sold off and he moved away from his wife’s ancestral house. However, I was always connected to this house, with the unbreakable emotional bond of love and care. In my childhood, I saw the old house in the last days of its fading glory, when it was still occupied by the families of my three grand uncles. My father’s eldest uncle R. Krishnaswamy and his family occupied the central block, the old portion of the house with the courtyard. Two later additions, the new blocks added by Krishnaswamy’s younger brothers flanked the two sides of the old house.

The padippura - watercolour painting by the author, 2008

The house brings in a thousand scattered images to my mind, the padippura, the poomukham,  the dusty attics, the dark rooms filled with memories from the past, trunks, which had not been open since the death of its owners, old Anchal cards that told the stories of many gone generations etc. One memorable face is that of my grand uncle R. Krishnaswamy. Lovingly addressed as ‘Kishammavan’ by my parents; our ‘Kishammava Appuppan’ is a man I will never forget in my life. How can I ever forget him, when his face is deeply etched in my first memories? One could never forget the taste of the ‘tomato curry and bread’ Kishammavan and his wife served us; never can I forget the music sessions in the poomukham, where I experimented with his harmonium.

The poomukham - watercolour painting by the author, 2008.

Last Deepavali night, after we had dinner at Buhari, my friend and I were about to return home. I asked him to take the route via Manacaud so that I can get a glimpse of the old house from the road. As we approached the house, I lifted my head, waited for the expected view, of the old house sandwiched between my grand uncles’ houses. However, to my amazement (and horror), I found out that the old house was not there! In its place was a new house. On my return home I asked my mother, “What happened to our old house at Manacaud?” Without looking at me, she replied casually, “Oh you don’t know? They demolished the old house and built a new one there, the new owners of the property”. That is when I realized that my favourite memories were lost- forever.

Sharat Sunder Rajeev,

2013.

Links:http://www.geni.com/people/R-Krishnaswamy-Pillavilakathu Veedu/6000000007708507456

TALES FROM THE CAPITAL CITY - XXIII

IN THE BANKS OF PADMATHEERTHAM

February 6, 2000; it was a Sunday, the day for attending the drawing classes at Chitrakalamandalam. Chitrakalamandalam, the art school was then housed in an old ottupura on the northern side of Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple. As a history freak, it was an unforgettable experience attending the drawing class in the old building. I still remember the dark cellar by the side of the courtyard, where we kept our drawing paper and paint brushes, the huge kalthotti and the wooden bed with beautifully carved legs. Many of the rooms were closed and were accessible only to the temple and palace officials and we kids used to peep through the keyhole, hoping to find some treasure chest inside the dark rooms.

Yes, it was February 6, 2000, and that day I was not in a mood to attend the drawing lessons. I went to my father’s studio and in the afternoon I coaxed him to take me to the Fort, to the banks of Padmatheertham, where there was an old man who sold coins and other interesting stuff. As we entered the Fort premises we could sense trouble, a crowd had gathered around Padmatheertham tank. Some of them seemed sad, some of them were arguing with others. The police were trying hard to remove the crowd from the banks of the tank. On one corner stood a group of old men, silently staring at the tank, I could see deep sorrow and disbelief in their eyes.

By then someone told my father that a man was drowned to death in the Padmatheertham!

The next day newspapers carried the shocking news on the front page. We, the residents of Thiruvananthapuram had not relieved from the shock. For us, Padmatheertham was the most sacred tank, an embodiment of spiritual purity, and now a man was murdered in the same sacred tank!

The temple and the tank in the 1900s - Photograph taken by Royal Photographer
J.B. D'cruz.

The old folk of Thiruvananthapuram who live in the precincts of the temple had an intimate association with the temple tank. For some, the tank and its banks were a favourite ‘hangout’, where they would gather with like age group to discuss all things under the sky. Years back, when the temple tank was free from the ugly railing surrounding it, the old folk used to spend hours sitting in the steps and the small mandapams around the tank. The serene waters of the tank, with the reflection of the pagoda and the smell of camphor and incense, imparted a divine ambience. Later, the authorities installed an iron railing around the tank and the pilgrims and visitors were charged to enter the mandapams and to take a dip in the tank. This physical barrier brought about a distance between the tank and the people. The newer generation lacked the ‘intimate’ relation the seniors shared with the tank. Time went by; the tank which was once known for its purity had begun to stink!

 Seniors 'hangout' in the banks of Padmatheertham (1970s)- Photograph from the private collection of K. Hari.

How old is Padmatheertham?

No one seems to have a correct answer; however, no one is doubtful about the antiquity associated with the tank, for it finds mention in ancient works regarding the temple and the temple town. The tank must be as old as the temple itself.

Ananthapuravarnanam (12th-13th century work) gives us a long list of sacred ponds once associated with the Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple and other sacred shrines within its precincts. Indratheertham (Attakulam), Brihutheertham (Manacaud Sree Dharma Sastha temple pond), Agnitheertham (Agneeshwara temple pond), Varahatheertham (Sree Varaham temple pond), Dakshina Ganga (Thekkanamkara canal), Agasthyakundam (Mithranandapuram temple pond), Kanvatheertham (Chettikulam), Varunatheertham (Karippukoikkal pond), Rudratheertham (Chirakkulam), Somatheertham (Manjalikulam) Ramatheertham (Vaniyankulam), Ananthatheertham (Padmatheertham), Ēshanatheertham (old Nandavanam pond), unfortunately many of these water bodies have vanished from the topography of Thiruvananthapuram (Prof. A.G. Menon,  History of the Sree Padmanabhaswami Temple). Padmatheertham was a small tank in its early days, with maybe a modest flight of steps leading to the water. Later it was during the reign of Anizham Thirunal Marthanda Varma(1729-1758) that the area of the tank was expanded and the ghats were added (Shasi Bhooshan M.G., Dr. Raja R.P., Charithramkuricha Sree Padmanabha Swamy Kshetram, D.C. Books (2011).

The tank had a companion, the Patrakulam, another tank which has disappeared from the topography of the Fort area. Marthanda Varma, who built check dams and tanks in Nanjinadu to irrigate the farmlands, had developed an excellent drainage system for Thiruvananthapuram also. The temple tank was constantly kept clean with the water from the Killi Ar, brought in by a small rivulet. The spillover from the Padmatheertham would flow to the nearby Patrakulam and then the water from the pond was in early days directed to the other ponds and to the gardens around the temple. Later the Thekkinakkara canal drained the water to the Parvathy Putten Canal, to the west of the Fort area. When Patrakulam vanished, the old drainage system also became partly defunct. 

The temple premises during early quarter of 20th century.

Picture from Life Collections, 1950s.

Padmatheertham, Patrakulam and the drainage system highlighted in dark blue - The map used here is a cropped portion of the 'Trivandrum Guide Map' (Survey of India 1968-69)

Padmatheertham and Patrakulam during the last quarter of 19th century - engraving from  ' Native Life in Travancore' by Rev. Samuel Matteer.

In the old days, in a society segregated by caste, Padmatheertham was always reserved for the use of the elite communities. Only royals, nobles and the Brahmins were allowed to use the tank. Every morning the residents from the nearby agraharams would gather there to perform the ambulation before entering the temple. This traditional system had a periodic way of keeping the tank clean. The tank was cleaned in every six years for the Lakshadeepam ceremony associated with the Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple. During murajapam the temple and its precincts would be crowded with Brahmins and certain rituals were also conducted in the tank. The tank has a small vault in its centre where the leftover sālagramams used to make the idol of Sree Padmanabha Swamy is stored. It was during the time of Sree Moolam Thirunal Rama Varma (1885-1924) that the Maharaja kept inside the vault the water from the sacred rivers from all over India, thus adding to its sanctity. The tank holds in its depth several interesting tidbits of history. When Travancoreans were shocked to hear about the murder in the temple tank many recalled a similar incident which took place in the days of Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma (1758-1798). Once Tippu Sultan sent a spy disguised as a sanyasi to the Travancore court, the man with his exceptional talents soon gained entry inside the Fort. He is said to have walked over the sacred tank with his yogic skill, however, the sanyasi was drowned in the same waters by Makayiram Thirunal, the younger brother of the King who found out that the sanyasi was a spy from Mysore. 

The famed vocalist Sreekanteswaram Ratnakaran Bagavathar shared with the author his feelings for Padmatheertham. Ratnakaran Bhagavathar who came to Thiruvananthapuram in the 1940s started his career as an ivory carver. He worked in a private firm in Palayam. Ratnakaran hailed from a family of craftsmen from Kadakkavoor. Some of his ancestors and relatives were well-known artists and musicians. Ratnakaran who had the affinity towards music devoted his free time listening music and attending concerts. One of his favourite hangouts in the city was the banks of Padmatheertham, there he would spend his evenings sitting in the granite steps, with his feet in the water and lend his ears to the music from the nearby small shops. The tank and its serene environment had helped in surviving the artist within.

The tank in its present state is a ghost of its glorious past; the old drainage system had once kept the water clean. Now the choked drain keeps the stagnant water in the tank itself, infested with dirt and algae. The temple authorities once tried to pump the water from the depths to aerate the murky water through surface agitation, thinking that it would help in improving the condition of the tank. But looking back one wonders how effective the whole process was.

Sharat Sunder Rajeev

28-01-2012.

For further reading:

http://www.hindu.com/2007/06/09/stories/2007060921560300.htm

http://www.hindu.com/2006/08/01/stories/2006080121810300.htm