ഫ്രാൻസിസ് തടത്തിൽ
വിവർത്തനത്തിനുള്ള ഫൊക്കാനാ-എൻ.കെ. ദാമോദരൻ അവാർഡു നേടിയത് അമേരിക്കയിലെ പ്രശസ്ത സാഹിത്യകാരനും അറ്റോർണിയുമായ മുരളി ജെ. നായർ ആണ്. വി.ജെ. ജയിംസിൻ്റെ “ചോരശാസ്ത്രം“ എന്ന നോവലിന്റെ ഇംഗ്ളീഷ് പരിഭാഷയായ “Chorashastra: The Subtle Science of Thievery“ എന്ന പുസ്തകത്തിനാണ് അവാർഡ്. വെസ്റ്റ്ലാൻഡ് പബ്ളിഷേഴ്സ് ആദ്യം പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ച ഈ പുസ്തകം പെൻഗ്വിൻ ഇന്ത്യ അടുത്തമാസം പുന:പ്രസാധനം ചെയ്യുന്നു. ഈ പരിഭാഷ കഴിഞ്ഞവർഷം ബാംഗ്ളൂരിലെ ആട്ട ഗലാട്ട ലിറ്റററി പ്രൈസിൻ്റെ അവസാന അഞ്ചിൽ എത്തിയിരുന്നു.
രണ്ടു പതിറ്റാണ്ടുകൾക്കുമുമ്പ് മലയാളത്തിൽ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിക്കപ്പെട്ട “ചോരശാസ്ത്രം“ വ്യത്യസ്തമായൊരു കഥ പറയുന്നു. വാഴക്കുലകളും ചക്കയും മരച്ചീനിയൊമൊക്കെ മോഷ്ടിച്ചു നടന്നിരുന്ന ഒരു സാധാരണ കള്ളനെ അസാധാരണനായ ഒരു പ്രൊഫസർ കെണിവെച്ചു പിടിച്ച്, പുരാതന താളിയോലഗ്രന്ഥമായ “ചോരശാസ്ത്ര“ത്തിലെ ഗൂഢവിദ്യകൾ പഠിപ്പിക്കുന്നു. നോട്ടംകൊണ്ടു പൂട്ടു തുറക്കാനുള്ള വിദ്യയടക്കം സ്വായത്തമാക്കിയ കള്ളൻ, മോഷണം കലയും ശാസ്ത്രവുമാക്കി ഒരു ജൈത്രയാത്രതന്നെ നടത്തുന്നു. കള്ളൻ്റെ ഭാര്യയായ കള്ളിയും മക്കളായ കുട്ടിക്കള്ളൻമാരും തൻ്റെ പ്രകടനത്തിൽ സഹനടീനടന്മാരാകുന്നു.
നൂറ്റാണ്ടുകൾ പഴക്കമുള്ള ഒരു നാണയത്തിലെ മുദ്രയായി ഉറങ്ങിയിരുന്ന ഒരു ദ്രാവിഡരാജാവും ഒരു പ്രധാന കഥാപാത്രവും ഉപദേശകനുമായി കൂടെയുണ്ട്. പിന്നെ പോലീസുകാരനാഗ്രഹിക്കുന്ന വേറൊരു കൊച്ചുകള്ളൻ കഥാനായകൻ്റെ സഹായിയായെത്തുന്നു… വെറുമൊരു കള്ളൻ്റെ കഥയിൽനിന്നു തത്വശാസ്ത്രത്തിൻ്റെ ദർശനതലങ്ങളിലേക്ക് വായനക്കാർ നടന്നുകയുറുന്നു… വേറിട്ടുനില്ക്കുന്ന പാത്രസൃഷ്ടിയും ഭൂമികയും കഥനരീതിയും ഭാഷാധന്യതയുമായി “ചോരശാസ്ത്രം“ വേറിട്ടുനില്ക്കുന്നു!
ഫിലഡൽഫിയയ്ക്കടുത്ത് ഹണ്‍ടിംഗ്ഡന്‍ വാലിയിൽ താമസിക്കുന്ന മുരളി ജെ. നായർ മാവേലിക്കര താലൂക്കിലെ കണ്ണനാകുഴി സ്വദേശിയാണ്. കണ്ണനാകുഴി ഗവ. എല്‍.പി. സ്കൂള്‍, വെട്ടിക്കോട് നഗരാജവിലാസം യു.പി. സ്കൂള്‍, വള്ളികുന്നം ഹൈസ്കൂള്‍, കായംകുളം എം.എസ്.എം. കോളേജ് എന്നിവിടങ്ങളിലായി പ്രാഥമിക വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം. ബോംബെയിലെ ഡി.ജി. രൂപാരേല്‍ കോളേജിൽനിന്ന് ഇക്കണോമിക്സിൽ ബി.എ. ഓണേഴ്സും, കെ.സി. ലോ കോളേജിൽനിന്ന് എൽ.എൽബി.യും, യു.എസ്.എ. യിലെ വൈഡനര്‍ യൂനിവേഴ്സിറ്റി (വില്മിങ്ങ്ടന്‍, ഡെലവയര്‍) യിൽനിന്നു കോർപ്പറേറ്റ് ലോ ആൻഡ് ഫൈനാൻസിൽ എൽ.എൽ.എമ്മും നേടിയിട്ടുണ്ട്.
വൈഡ്നർ യൂണിവേഴ്സിറ്റിയിലെ പഠനകാലത്ത്, അവിടെ പ്രൊഫസറായിരുന്ന, ഇപ്പോഴത്തെ പ്രസിഡണ്ട് ജോ ബൈഡന്റെ ക്ലാസുകൾ (ലെക്ചർ) അറ്റന്ഡ് ചെയ്യാനും അദ്ദേഹവുമായി സംവദിക്കാനും അവസരം കിട്ടിയിട്ടുണ്ട്.
ഇന്ത്യയിൽ കേന്ദ്രഗവണ്മെൻ്റ് സർവീസിലും സെന്‍ട്രല്‍ ബാങ്ക് ഓഫ് ഇന്ത്യയിലും, സൗദി അറേബ്യയിൽ രണ്ട് അമേരിക്കന്‍ കമ്പനികളിലും ജോലിചെയ്തിട്ടുണ്ട്. കൂടാതെ, സൗദി തലസ്ഥാനത്തുനിന്നും പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ചിരുന്ന ‘റിയാദ് ഡെയിലി’ പത്രത്തിന്റെ ജിദ്ദ ലേഖകനുമായിരുന്നു കുറേക്കാലം. പത്രപ്രവർത്തനകാലത്തെ നല്ല അനുഭവങ്ങളിൽ സംഗീതപ്രതിഭ ജെർമൈൻ ജാക്സൺ (മൈക്കിൽ ജാക്സന്റെ സഹോദരൻ) അടക്കമുള്ളവരെ ഇന്റർവ്യു ചെയ്തതും, സൗദിയിലെ ജിദ്ദയിൽനടന്ന 1989-ലെ ജൂനിയർ ഫുട്ബോൾ ലോകകപ്പ് മത്സരങ്ങൾ റിപ്പോർട്ടു ചെയ്തതുമൊക്കെ ഉൾപ്പെടുന്നു.
ഇപ്പോൾ ഫിലഡല്‍ഫിയയില്‍ സ്വന്തമായി ഇമ്മിഗ്രേഷൻ ലോ ഫേം നടത്തുന്നുണ്ടെങ്കിലും കൂടുതൽ സമയവും ലോകസഞ്ചാരത്തിനായി മാറ്റിവച്ചിരിക്കുകയാണ്.
നൂറിലേറെ ലോകരാജ്യങ്ങളിലും യു.എസ്.എ.യിലെ മിക്കവാറുമെല്ലാ സംസ്ഥാനങ്ങളിലും സഞ്ചരിച്ചിട്ടുള്ള മുരളി ജെ. നായരുടെ യാത്രാനുഭവങ്ങളിൽ, ബെർലിൻ മതിൽ പൊളിക്കുന്നതിന് ദൃഡ്സാക്ഷിയാകാൻ കഴിഞ്ഞത് വേറിട്ട ഒരു അനുഭവം തന്നെയായിരുന്നു. സോവ്യറ്റ് യൂണിയന്റെ നേതൃത്വത്തിലുള്ള കമ്യൂണിസ്റ്റ് ബ്ളോക്ക് തകർന്നതിന്റെ തൊട്ടടുത്ത മാസങ്ങളിൽ (1990) നടത്തിയ സംഭവബഹുലമായ പൂർവ യൂറോപ്യൻ (പൂർവജർമനി/ചെക്കോസ്ളോവാക്യ/ഹംഗറി) യാത്രയും അവയുടെ വിവരങ്ങൾ വിവിധ മാധ്യമങ്ങളിലൂടെ യാത്രാ വിവരണമായി നൽകിയതും ഏറെ ശ്രദ്ധേയമായിരുന്നു.
നോവലിസ്റ്റ് ബെന്യാമിൻ ഖത്തറിൽ ബിസിനസുകാരനായ സുഹൃത്ത് റഷീദ് അറയ്ക്കൽ എന്നിവർക്കൊപ്പം ആമസോൺ മഴക്കാടുകളിൽ ഒരു മരമുകളിലെ കാബിനിൽ ഒരു രാത്രി കഴിഞ്ഞുകൂടിയതും ഗബ്രിയേൽ ഗാർസിയ മാർക്കേസിന്റെ ജന്മനാടായ കൊളംബിയയിലെ അരക്കാത്താക്കയിലെക്കു നടത്തിയ യാത്രയുമൊക്കെ ഉൾപ്പെടുന്നു.
കേരളത്തിലെ എല്ലാ പ്രമുഖ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരണങ്ങളിലും അമേരിക്കയിലും യൂറോപ്പിലും ഗള്‍ഫിലും സിംഗപ്പൂരിലും മറ്റുമുള്ള ഇംഗ്ളീഷ്/മലയാളം പ്രസിദ്ധീകരണങ്ങളിലും ഓണ്‍ലൈനിലുമായി ധാരാളം ലേഖനങ്ങളും ഫീച്ചറുകളും കഥകളും കവിതകളും പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.
പുസ്തകരൂപത്തിലുള്ള ആദ്യകൃതി മാതൃഭൂമി ആഴ്ചപ്പതിപ്പില്‍ ഖണ്ഡശ്ശ: പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ച ഗ്രീക് യാത്രാവിവരണമായ ‘ഇതിഹാസങ്ങളുടെ മണ്ണില്‍’ ആണ്. മലയാളത്തിലുള്ള മറ്റു കൃതികള്‍ ‘നിലാവുപൊഴിയുന്ന ശബ്ദം’ (കഥകള്‍), ‘സ്വപ്നഭൂമിക’ (നോവല്‍), ‘ഹണ്‍ടിംഗ്ഡന്‍ താഴ്വരയിലെ സന്ന്യാസിക്കിളികള്‍’ (കഥകള്‍) എന്നിവയാണ്. ഇംഗ്ളീഷിൽ The Monsoon Mystic, Chorashastra: The Subtle Science of Thievery (വി. ജെ. ജയിംസിൻ്റെ “ചോരശാസ്ത്ര“ത്തിൻ്റെ പരിഭാഷ) എന്നീ നോവലുകൾ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.
പുസ്തകരൂപത്തിലുള്ള ആദ്യകൃതി മാതൃഭൂമി ആഴ്ചപ്പതിപ്പില്‍ ഖണ്ഡശ്ശ: പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ച ഗ്രീക് യാത്രാവിവരണമായ ‘ഇതിഹാസങ്ങളുടെ മണ്ണില്‍’ ആണ്. മലയാളത്തിലുള്ള മറ്റു കൃതികള്‍ ‘നിലാവുപൊഴിയുന്ന ശബ്ദം’ (കഥകള്‍), ‘സ്വപ്നഭൂമിക’ (നോവല്‍), ‘ഹണ്‍ടിംഗ്ഡന്‍ താഴ്വരയിലെ സന്ന്യാസിക്കിളികള്‍’ (കഥകള്‍) എന്നിവയാണ്. ഇംഗ്ളീഷിൽ The Monsoon Mystic, Chorashastra: The Subtle Science of Thievery (വി. ജെ. ജയിംസിൻ്റെ “ചോരശാസ്ത്ര“ത്തിൻ്റെ പരിഭാഷ) എന്നീ നോവലുകൾ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.
പല സമാഹാരങ്ങളിലും മുരളി ജെ. നായരുടെ കഥകൾ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിക്കപ്പെട്ടിട്ടുണ്ട്. ബെന്യാമിൻ്റെ “സോലാപ്പൂർ“ എന്ന കഥ ഇംഗ്ളീഷിലേക്കു പരിഭാഷപ്പെടുത്തിയത് ബ്രിട്ടനിലെ സാഹിത്യമാസികയായ Litro-യിൽ പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്. കൂടാതെ, അമേരിക്കയിലുള്ള ചില സുഹൃത്തുക്കളുടെ കവിതകൾ ഇംഗ്ളീഷിലേക്ക് പരിഭാഷപ്പെടുത്തിയിട്ടുണ്ട്. ബൈബിളിലെ ചില സംഭവങ്ങൾ അടിസ്ഥാനമാക്കിയുള്ള ഒരു നോവലിൻ്റെ രചനയിലാണിപ്പോൾ.
ഈവർഷത്തെ ഫൊക്കാനാ അവാർഡുകൂടാതെ, 2000-ത്തിലെ “ചിന്താധാര“ സ്വര്‍ണമെഡലുൾപ്പടെ വിവിധവർഷങ്ങളിലെ ഫൊക്കാനാ അവാര്‍ഡുകള്‍, മാമ്മന്‍ മാപ്പിള അവാര്ഡ്, ഹ്യുസ്റ്റന്‍ റൈറ്റേഴ്സ് ഫോറം അവാര്ഡ്, ഫിലഡൽഫിയ ട്രൈസ്റ്റേറ്റ് കേരള ഫോറം അവാർഡ് എന്നിവയടക്കം പല സാഹിത്യപുരസ്കാരങ്ങളും ലഭിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.
Chapter One of “Chorashastra: The Subtle Science of Thievery” By V.J. James(Translated from the Malayalam by Murali J. Nair). Soon to be re-published by Penguin India
You Could Open a Lock with a Look
After a long and eager wait, the thief finally acquired the skill of opening a lock just by looking at it. After he came to own the secret knowledge, he began to wonder when and where to apply it for the first time. He was possessed by thoughts that would haunt any lustful thief with such a skill.
He became nervous about the sleep habits of the girl who walked invitingly, clad in a churidar, through the third street that bore Gandhi’s name. His thoughts would claw all the way up the ramrod straightness of the drainage pipes to her room on the first floor of her two-storied house. His lurid thoughts could enter straight through the main door. On his piercing gaze, any door would open.
Amid the unwanted bedroom-related thoughts, the useful part of his brain cautioned him: If the girl wakes up and screams, wouldn’t the palms of the neighbours’ fury be stamped on your precious skill? No, don’t invite shame to your first attempt.
Why not strike the door of the thirty-second house in Shastri Nagar instead? The fat Thankaswamy would be snoring through his sweltering dreams. His sleep should be shattered by three or four loud blows—a wish the thief had harboured for a long time.
When the thief had worked in Thankaswamy’s grocery store, the insults that Thankaswamy had heaped upon him, that too in the presence of the customers, were by no means small. Thankaswamy did not think that a shop assistant’s dignity was worthy of any consideration.
Let the wish stay unfulfilled and the thirst for revenge stay unquenched for some more time. In one’s first attempt to open a lock with just a look, it is wrong even to let in such impure thoughts. A clean conscience is the most essential quality a thief ought to have.
One thing could be done. A big gathering could be called for his newly acquired skill to be exhibited.
His silly brain poked him again: Oh, the Lord of Thieves, then won’t I be the accused in all the lock-busting cases that ever happened in this virtuous world? No doubt—he would be picked up for each and every theft, including the looting from the government treasury. And then, his poor, thieving family would be orphaned.
His family comprised the thief himself, a she-thief and two child-thieves. Checkered dhotis were the she-thief ’s favourite. She was short, but she overcame the lack of height by the length of her tongue. She was rather discontent living in matrimony with a thief who lacked expertise in his field. The child-thieves were two years apart and currently practising petty thievery in the nearby government school.
Though the coconut trees tried to bewitch him with their forbidden fruits, he stood steadfast in his resolve like a consummate ascetic. As far as trees were concerned, he maintained closeness only with bananas, jackfruits and cassava. Such harmless agricultural crops provided enough to fill his belly, keeping starvation at bay. But those days too were not devoid of tribulations. If his sneaky harvest were to be caught, he would have to go into self-exile. So he decided to work in the neighbouring villages.
It was on one of those missions that he stole Sofia Maria’s heart. It was at once a burglary and a wrestling match. Also an erotic episode to some extent. Could the thief be accused if the milestones in his life happened to have a touch of eroticism? That night, Sofia Maria had gone to sleep after reading the Holy Bible that said: For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. She was a widow, childless and lonely.
During the day, the thief went scouting around Sofia Maria’s house. He could not detect any human presence then. The front door remained closed. Those days, he hadn’t even heard about the technique of opening locks just by looking at them. So he had to enter through the roof by removing some of its tiles. Since this spelt possibilities of physical harm, he attempted the break-in in a slimy way—by oiling his whole body. He wore only his underwear, the official uniform used by thieves on such missions. In fact, this oil-and-underwear arrangement was an absolute necessity.
But he was wrong in his assumption that the house was empty. What he jumped into was the pitch darkness of the drawing room. His calculations about the depth were off, and he fell from the roof into the room in a sitting position. No matter the precautions he had taken, the sound of his drop was loud enough to be heard. The first thing a thief should do when in the soup like this is to open an escape route.
While he was trying to do just that, he heard the questioning voice: ‘Who’s that?’
Hearing the voice in the darkness, he lost half of his life in panic. He could attempt to swing up and away with the remaining half, but all that was visible was a patch of sky through the gap in the roof; that too seemed far, far away. Before he could bring himself to act, light shone into the room, and a lady shouted, ‘Ayyo, thief!’ Bewildered, he sprang upwards and somehow caught hold of one of the rafters in the roof.
The lady was Sofia Maria. The Sofia Maria who was not afraid of thieves. If the occasion arose, she would even wrestle a thief to the ground. In her lonely existence, she always expected a thief to break in; and in her imagination, she wrestled with him repeatedly. She was in the middle of such an encounter, destroying all traces of an imaginary thief by hitting, kicking and punching, when she encountered this real thief dangling from her roof, mostly naked, defying her preparedness.
Sofia Maria did not panic. She rushed in and caught hold of his feet. But his oiled feet gave her presence of mind the slip. Not only that, the thief shook himself vigorously and pushed her away. Losing her balance, she fell, nearly banging into the wall. But he hadn’t escaped from Sofia Maria just yet. A tactical error had occurred; he had not wiped dry his oiled palms.
The sequence that followed demonstrated how the habit of reading newspapers could help a simple country woman in alarming circumstances. The event could even be used in self-defence workshops as an example, if needed. Long ago, she had laughed on reading a news story, and had continued to laugh for months upon recalling it again and again. It was a story about a courageous housewife. She had bested an intruding, well-oiled thief. Though that marmavidya had sounded hilarious then, as it unfolded itself as an opportunity right in front of her eyes now, it began to seem like no laughing matter.
The thief knew nothing about this marmaprayogam — neither from his reading, nor from hearsay. Had he known, he would have thought to have a safety guard, like the one cricket batsmen used. Now, his fate lay in the hands of a woman. He could not move even a hair on his own body without her consent. But Sofia Maria, though she had done what she had to by instinct, was also in a quandary. Holding an unwanted thing in her hand, she was confused whether to let go or not.
If she let it go, the thief would swing upwards. If she did not, he would wriggle. The dilemma presented itself to her several times. The thief, lustful as he was, made up his mind not to make any more attempts to lift himself upwards and outside. Even when Sofia Maria loosened her grip, he did not try to escape. Instead, he dropped down, leaving the rafters.
That night, Sofia Maria—who had ‘caught the thief’— boiled two eggs, sprinkled salt and pepper on them, and fed and rejuvenated him.
Her body had already soaked most of the oil on his. Now she cleaned him, wiping off the remnants. It was like purifying a nation through religious rites. Sofia Maria had sanctified him and made him a part of her own beliefs.
‘Good you did that.’
‘Why?’
‘I could catch a thief!’
‘Leave the tile loose like that—for me to jump through the next time.’ ‘But don’t forget to dry your palms after you oil yourself.’
Only after getting him a two-by-two shirt and a malmal dhoti did Sofia Maria let leave the one who had invaded both her house and body.
But neither the thief nor Sofia Maria knew that he was headed into a man-made trap.
It was a professor, one who taught history at a famous college in the city, and it was he who caught the thief in a cage, like an animal to experiment on. And now, onto that event, which should be etched deeply in the chronicles of history.
Chapter One of “Chorashastra: The Subtle Science of Thievery” By V.J. James(Translated from the Malayalam by Murali J. Nair). Soon to be re-published by Penguin India
You Could Open a Lock with a Look
After a long and eager wait, the thief finally acquired the skill of opening a lock just by looking at it. After he came to own the secret knowledge, he began to wonder when and where to apply it for the first time. He was possessed by thoughts that would haunt any lustful thief with such a skill.
He became nervous about the sleep habits of the girl who walked invitingly, clad in a churidar, through the third street that bore Gandhi’s name. His thoughts would claw all the way up the ramrod straightness of the drainage pipes to her room on the first floor of her two-storied house. His lurid thoughts could enter straight through the main door. On his piercing gaze, any door would open.
Amid the unwanted bedroom-related thoughts, the useful part of his brain cautioned him: If the girl wakes up and screams, wouldn’t the palms of the neighbours’ fury be stamped on your precious skill? No, don’t invite shame to your first attempt.
Why not strike the door of the thirty-second house in Shastri Nagar instead? The fat Thankaswamy would be snoring through his sweltering dreams. His sleep should be shattered by three or four loud blows—a wish the thief had harboured for a long time.
When the thief had worked in Thankaswamy’s grocery store, the insults that Thankaswamy had heaped upon him, that too in the presence of the customers, were by no means small. Thankaswamy did not think that a shop assistant’s dignity was worthy of any consideration.
The brahmin spent his days hugging his money chest, and nights hugging Alamelu Ammal’s body, opening both greedily and quickly closing them again. He considered both the thief and Alamelu just merchandise that he could hustle at will and use as he pleased. Those days, the thief endured it because he was helpless, as was Alamelu. The thief ’s ambition was to bankrupt the brahmin by opening a well-stocked store opposite Thankaswamy’s when the stars came together in a friendly alliance.
Let the wish stay unfulfilled and the thirst for revenge stay unquenched for some more time. In one’s first attempt to open a lock with just a look, it is wrong even to let in such impure thoughts. A clean conscience is the most essential quality a thief ought to have.
One thing could be done. A big gathering could be called for his newly acquired skill to be exhibited.
The presence of three eminent personalities would be a must: the world-famous Magician Muthukad, Comrade Nayanar, and Bharat Mammootty. Ever since he had seen Mammootty’s fabulous performance as a thief in the movie Kalikkalam, the thief had wanted to see him up close. He admired Muthukad’s expertise in casting spells, as well as Comrade Nayanar’s penchant for humour. Through a performance, the thief could earn the appreciation of these renowned people and shoot to fame in just one day. Newspapers, the next morning, would carry front-page write-ups about him, with a colour photograph and a caption to match.
His silly brain poked him again: Oh, the Lord of Thieves, then won’t I be the accused in all the lock-busting cases that ever happened in this virtuous world? No doubt—he would be picked up for each and every theft, including the looting from the government treasury. And then, his poor, thieving family would be orphaned.
His family comprised the thief himself, a she-thief and two child-thieves. Checkered dhotis were the she-thief ’s favourite. She was short, but she overcame the lack of height by the length of her tongue. She was rather discontent living in matrimony with a thief who lacked expertise in his field. The child-thieves were two years apart and currently practising petty thievery in the nearby government school.
The thief ’s father, who had passed away two years ago, had also been a thief. If the thief ’s weakness was women, his father’s was coconut trees. The father, who was famous in his village and nearby areas, met his maker when he slipped halfway from a coconut tree that was being tapped for toddy. The unfortunate man had bad timing; the owner of the orchard had planted razor-blades on the trunk to ward off thieves.
The father’s sad fate compelled the son to have second thoughts about his modus operandi. He gave up any stealing practices that went against the earth’s gravitational force. As his source of income dried up and the household expenses became overwhelming, he was forced to increase the rate of filching from the brahmin’s store in proportion to the national rate of inflation.
But the brahmin had a raven’s eyes and a crane’s alertness. He could detect things buried up to a foot beneath the ground. And in those days, our thief did not have a formal education in thievery. It was much later that the professor trapped and trained him in the science of thieving, in the gurukul tradition. Needless to say, the thief lost his job in the shop as he failed to protect himself against the brahmin’s acuity. And so, he decided to become a full-time thief.
Though the coconut trees tried to bewitch him with their forbidden fruits, he stood steadfast in his resolve like a consummate ascetic. As far as trees were concerned, he maintained closeness only with bananas, jackfruits and cassava. Such harmless agricultural crops provided enough to fill his belly, keeping starvation at bay. But those days too were not devoid of tribulations. If his sneaky harvest were to be caught, he would have to go into self-exile. So he decided to work in the neighbouring villages.
It was on one of those missions that he stole Sofia Maria’s heart. It was at once a burglary and a wrestling match. Also an erotic episode to some extent. Could the thief be accused if the milestones in his life happened to have a touch of eroticism? That night, Sofia Maria had gone to sleep after reading the Holy Bible that said: For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. She was a widow, childless and lonely.
During the day, the thief went scouting around Sofia Maria’s house. He could not detect any human presence then. The front door remained closed. Those days, he hadn’t even heard about the technique of opening locks just by looking at them. So he had to enter through the roof by removing some of its tiles. Since this spelt possibilities of physical harm, he attempted the break-in in a slimy way—by oiling his whole body. He wore only his underwear, the official uniform used by thieves on such missions. In fact, this oil-and-underwear arrangement was an absolute necessity.
But he was wrong in his assumption that the house was empty. What he jumped into was the pitch darkness of the drawing room. His calculations about the depth were off, and he fell from the roof into the room in a sitting position. No matter the precautions he had taken, the sound of his drop was loud enough to be heard. The first thing a thief should do when in the soup like this is to open an escape route.
While he was trying to do just that, he heard the questioning voice: ‘Who’s that?’
Hearing the voice in the darkness, he lost half of his life in panic. He could attempt to swing up and away with the remaining half, but all that was visible was a patch of sky through the gap in the roof; that too seemed far, far away. Before he could bring himself to act, light shone into the room, and a lady shouted, ‘Ayyo, thief!’ Bewildered, he sprang upwards and somehow caught hold of one of the rafters in the roof.
The lady was Sofia Maria. The Sofia Maria who was not afraid of thieves. If the occasion arose, she would even wrestle a thief to the ground. In her lonely existence, she always expected a thief to break in; and in her imagination, she wrestled with him repeatedly. She was in the middle of such an encounter, destroying all traces of an imaginary thief by hitting, kicking and punching, when she encountered this real thief dangling from her roof, mostly naked, defying her preparedness.
Sofia Maria did not panic. She rushed in and caught hold of his feet. But his oiled feet gave her presence of mind the slip. Not only that, the thief shook himself vigorously and pushed her away. Losing her balance, she fell, nearly banging into the wall. But he hadn’t escaped from Sofia Maria just yet. A tactical error had occurred; he had not wiped dry his oiled palms.
He could not tighten the grasp enough around the rafter enough to heave himself upwards. Moreover, by the time he tried again to somehow lift himself up, Sofia Maria had stood up. Shaking off the effects of the fall, with renewed valour, she grabbed the thief ’s feet once again, but the grease failed her yet again.
The sequence that followed demonstrated how the habit of reading newspapers could help a simple country woman in alarming circumstances. The event could even be used in self-defence workshops as an example, if needed. Long ago, she had laughed on reading a news story, and had continued to laugh for months upon recalling it again and again. It was a story about a courageous housewife. She had bested an intruding, well-oiled thief. Though that marmavidya had sounded hilarious then, as it unfolded itself as an opportunity right in front of her eyes now, it began to seem like no laughing matter.
And she did exactly what the heroic woman in the paper had done. As her grip around the malposition tightened, the thief let out a sharp cry, calling out to all the thieves in his ancestry. He hung helplessly, both his hands holding onto the rafters, feet dangling, his sensitive organ in Sofia Maria’s iron-gripped fist. An awkward and painful situation altogether.
The thief knew nothing about this marmaprayogam — neither from his reading, nor from hearsay. Had he known, he would have thought to have a safety guard, like the one cricket batsmen used. Now, his fate lay in the hands of a woman. He could not move even a hair on his own body without her consent. But Sofia Maria, though she had done what she had to by instinct, was also in a quandary. Holding an unwanted thing in her hand, she was confused whether to let go or not.
If she let it go, the thief would swing upwards. If she did not, he would wriggle. The dilemma presented itself to her several times. The thief, lustful as he was, made up his mind not to make any more attempts to lift himself upwards and outside. Even when Sofia Maria loosened her grip, he did not try to escape. Instead, he dropped down, leaving the rafters.
That night, Sofia Maria—who had ‘caught the thief’— boiled two eggs, sprinkled salt and pepper on them, and fed and rejuvenated him.
Her body had already soaked most of the oil on his. Now she cleaned him, wiping off the remnants. It was like purifying a nation through religious rites. Sofia Maria had sanctified him and made him a part of her own beliefs.
That night, the thief did not return to his she-thief and child-thieves. Throughout the next day, he lay in Sofia Maria’s bed, taking in her smell of spiced oil. Before leaving, he looked up and down at the ecosystem of her home and said, ‘I entered through the roof assuming the house was vacant.’
‘Good you did that.’
‘Why?’
‘I could catch a thief!’
‘Leave the tile loose like that—for me to jump through the next time.’ ‘But don’t forget to dry your palms after you oil yourself.’
Only after getting him a two-by-two shirt and a malmal dhoti did Sofia Maria let leave the one who had invaded both her house and body.
But neither the thief nor Sofia Maria knew that he was headed into a man-made trap.
It was a professor, one who taught history at a famous college in the city, and it was he who caught the thief in a cage, like an animal to experiment on. And now, onto that event, which should be etched deeply in the chronicles of history.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY:– Westland Publishers
Soon to be re-published by Penguin India
