Chapter 5

  

Kingdom of Travancore, South India, 1900

  

Five years after Anand Paravar nearly died of typhoid, he made the decision to leave Travancore to travel the world. He had been working in Kochi for two years where he met supporters of the controversial Indian independence movement. He realized he had been too vocal in support of their ideas, for he heard the maharaja was not pleased with the work he was doing. Though he was not afraid, as he was told he should be, Anand nevertheless thought it a prudent time to follow his heart and see more of the world.

Anand had seen glimpses of life beyond the Kingdoms of Travancore and Kochi -- and he wanted more. Although the British did not technically control the southern kingdoms, which were princely states under the control of local rajas, the foreign influence could be felt. Men left their villages to work in the tea plantations. Children learned English. Strange-looking women with golden hair wore clothing puffed out from their lower bodies. Light-skinned men in military uniforms told stories of dangerous sea voyages. There was a strange and fascinating world to see -- and it could be seen by traveling across the ocean.

  

Before he could depart, Anand almost changed his mind about leaving. On this day, he was returning to his village of Kolachal, in southern Travancore, from Kochi. The rains fell more heavily that day, or so it seemed to Anand. He was going to share his plans with his mother and little brother.

Anand’s white tunic clung to his thin body as the rain soaked the fabric through to his skin.

The monsoons had always struck the kingdom of Travancore twice each year. During the hot season, the waters swelled and the people resigned themselves to being as thoroughly soaked as if they had fallen directly into the ocean.

The kingdom wouldn’t be nearly as prosperous without the rains, Anand knew, but still he wasn’t happy about it as he extracted his feet from the muddy road.

He had been away in Kochi building and fixing boats, as his Paravar caste had always done. Throughout the coastal southern kingdoms, the easiest way to travel was by boat. Foreign traders came by large ships in the Arabian Sea and local men traveled through the backwater lakes and canals. There was enough work for him near Kolachal, but he’d grown restless. His friend Faruk Marikayaer, from the Muslim caste of merchants and boat builders, invited him to work with him in Kochi. A rough season of high winds had left the port underserved by skilled workers. The men in Kochi had not been like the men in Travancore. Muslims from the north and Chinese from the east worked alongside the Hindus and Christians. Anand had learned to speak some Arabic and improved his Hindi, but Chinese remained a mystery.

Almost a mile from his home in Kolachal, Anand stopped to adjust the sodden bag he carried over his shoulder.

As he did so, he spotted his little brother Vishwan. Vishwan was too far away to call out to, so Anand turned off the main road to get closer. Vishwan wore no sandals on his feet, and ran quickly through a cluster of coconut trees in spite of his lungi being tangled by the rain. A coconut fell on the ground a few meters away from him.

Anand looked up at the coconut tree. The rain was light, almost done for the day. It wasn’t falling hard enough to dislodge coconuts.

“Anna!” the little boy shouted upon seeing Anand, using the affectionate term to hail his big brother.

“What are you doing, thambi?”

Another coconut fell to the ground, this time accompanied by the familiar screech of a monkey.

“I’m helping Mother gather food,” Vishwan said proudly. “I sold our sick chicken at the market, and bought Mother spices. I wanted to bring some fruit to her, but the tree was too high and too wet to climb. I did not wish to hurt myself, so I did as you said.”

The rain had finally stopped falling. Vishwan wiped his face with his shirt, which was as wet as his skin.

Anand saw a small rhesus monkey jumping up and down at the top of the coconut tree. Vishwan knelt down to pick up the two coconuts from the muddy path.

“What do you mean you did as I said?” Anand asked.

“I followed your wisdom, anna. I saw the monkey go up the tree, where I could not go, so I threw rocks at him until he wanted to throw things back at me. He had no rocks up in the tree, so he needed to use coconuts. You told me the story with betel nuts, but I thought coconuts would be the same, no?”

Anand nearly fell to the ground as his body shook with laughter.

“That was a children’s story, thambi! To make you go to sleep. I never threw rocks at a monkey in my life. And I never met a monkey who threw them at me.”

Vishwan’s large eyes grew wide. “But...” He looked up at the tall tree.

“How long have you been attempting this?” Anand asked.

“I tried since the month you left for Kochi.”

“All these months?”

“You weren’t home to help me, anna. I thought I must be doing something incorrectly.”

Anand tried to stop laughing. “You finally found a monkey smart enough and angry enough to make your persistence pay off.”

Vishwan’s lower lip quivered for a short moment, as if he might cry. But as only a child can do, a second later a wide smile replaced the sadness.

“I did better than you!” Vishwan cried out.

He gripped the coconuts firmly in his hands and ran toward the house.

Anand watched his little brother run through the tall grass. He knew he was destined to travel the world, but how could he leave Vishwan on his own?