When the bell tolled...

This is the story that won me a prize in 11th std. There is a definite 'Manhapra' influence in this story. Manhapra is my maternal grandfather's family name- the menon family were one of the biggest landowners in Pallipuram(on the banks ot the Bharathapuzha) once upon a time . I grew up hearing stories of my grandfather's childhood in his family home an 'ettukettu' and a visit to the 'tharavadu' in seventh std influenced me profoundly. I was overawed by the sheer size of the house. All skepticism I had felt when Grandfather told me about getting lost and losing track of direction inside the house vanished when I took a wrong turn and found myself in a bedroom instead of the veranda where I was supposed to be heading, and could not navigate to any familiar place on my own. Stories of the feudal era were plenty in my Grandpa's stock. The deeds of my ancestors (some of kindness, others of brutality) were all stories that afforded me entertainment on the long afternoons of my summer vacations I spent with my grandparents. The myths and legends of the family deity Ayyappan appearing in the Karanavar's dreams had thrilled me and the complicated genealogy and the old inheritance laws intrigued me.

Having the family history written was a dream of Grandfather's. With his passing this March the dream has become more difficult to realize because the number of people who lived in that illustrious era is fast dwindling. If I ever have the resources for it and the sources for such a work, I will make that dream paper and ink. This story was born out of my fascination for the elegant clan I heard stories of and of the mammoth house I visited as a child. I dedicate this to my beloved Grandfather( who insisted on reading it that there were absolutely no similarities with people or places he knew).

When The Bell Tolled

“…and then it is time for the head of the family to give up his seat and his mortal self.” Krishnan Nair wound up the story just as Raju walked in with his friend Ashok.

“What’s that?” asked Ashok.

“Oh! Some crap about old times.” Raju’s voice held all the bitterness and sarcasm that had pent up over the past few years. His was the same old story, M.Com with distinction and present status – unemployed.

“C’mon pal, let’s hear the yarn.” Ashok persisted.

“ Krishnamama will tell you.”

“I am sorry young man. But as you seem to have forgotten; I have to milk the cows.” and with that Krishnamama beat a hasty retreat.

Krishnan Nair was a tall man whose aristocratic features proclaimed a noble birth that was not his. He had been there for as long as Raju could remember ; more a member of the family than a mere servant. Even in times when utter poverty had befallen the once mighty family, Krishnamama was always there.

Raju was awakened from his musings by Ashok who was dying to hear the story that his friend had no wish to tell him. Meanwhile, Raju’s cousins had come in from the fields. It seemed one of those ironies of fate that the heirs of those who had lorded over the land should brood over the prices of coconut and pepper.

“Which tale does the little boy want?” asked Ravi mopping his face and joining the group.

“Oh that of the bell.”

“Come on then; let’s hear it.” Ravi said.

The matter was settled . Raju started off reluctantly.

“Well! Once upon a time, our family was the mightiest of the land. The head of the family Kunjan Menon was the landlord who presided over the land from the banks of the Bharathapuzha to miles around. It was during his time that the family seat was shifted from Kuttippuram to Pallippuram that is right here. This house is only a quarter of the original and is a few hundred years old. Then it is said that a dispute arose among the youngsters regarding the post of the head. They wanted some young blood at the top. Kunjan Menon who was also a known magician found the way out. The myth goes that he installed a magic bell somewhere in the house and when the bell tolls it is time for the head to give up his post and his ‘mortal self’! That’s it!”

Ashok was staring at Raju.

“You mean to say you are descendent of …”

“Oh yeah!” Raju cut him short.” But the only thing I seem to have inherited is my name. Mepparambath Rajashekhara Menon – magnificent, isn’t it?”

“I never knew you were called all that!” Ashok’s sincerity triggered a laugh.

“Listen! Raj; will you take me around the house? Just to look around. We may find it; who knows?” Ashok was as excited as any toddler.

“What? The bell?” there was a hint of sarcasm in the laughter that followed.

“That was a myth- no don’t interrupt. Now let me tell you some facts. Bell or no bell- there was an heirloom, a ruby ring, which was worn traditionally by the heads of the family. The stone, it is said, matches with those in the earrings of the idol at the family temple. During the Moplah rebellion the head of the family had passed on the ring to his little son before sending him off with the women to a safe place. The head was killed by the rebels and the little boy was never heard of again. Probably killed too.” Raju’s face was flushed. “ Now there it is! There is no bell, no ring and no heir. It is just plain crap.”

“One should never talk of things beyond one’s knowledge or understanding.” Krishnamama left the room. No one had noticed him come in.

Ashok got his wish; but the search proved futile as predicted. After dinner the family retired. It was a typical summer night - hot, moist and not even a breeze. The wood paneling did not creak as usual and even the crickets seemed too lethargic to set up their usual racket. The silence was broken around midnight by a wild tolling of bells. The ancient walls and corridors took up the sound and echoed it until a hundred bells seemed to toll at once. The family leapt out of bed and crowded the main hall. There was light in Krishnan Nair’s room. The family filed in - quiet by instinct. Krishnamama lay sprawled at his desk – dead. He had been at his diary . Raju made to close it but the name on the front page caught his eye. He held it up for his cousins to see; it read –Krishnanunni Menon , Mepparambath. They looked at each other. The wide eyes asking the same question-

“For whom will the bell toll next?” Raju’s eyes were on the small object lying in the shadow of the pen stand- a gold ring with a ruby set into it.

- Dipti Mohanan

XI-A(2004)