The Sorrows of Geevarghese Sahada
Geevarghese Sahada, St George the Martyr, was the beloved punyalachan – patron saint – of the land. His primary job was to protect the land’s chickens from foxes, eagles and snakes – especially from snakes. There was a story that he had, once upon a time, killed a snake, so everyone assumed he was the sworn enemy of all snakes. As they were not acquainted with dragons, they took the fearsome creature in the pictures of Geevarghese Sahada to be a type of snake, and obviously it became his duty to protect the chickens from the snakes. As time went by, people updated the things they expected him to protect the chickens from, and added the fox, the eagle and the wildcat called kaattumakkan to the list.
Even a whiff of something untoward near the chicken coops would set matriarchs such as Shoshamma, Mariyamma, Annamma, Pennamma, Thresyamma and others calling out: ‘O Punyalacha, protect my chickens…’
Geevarghese Sahada heeded their call and protected the chickens, except on the occasions when he was in a contrary mood. Then he ignored them completely.
‘I know they mean well and all, but come on! Do they think I have nothing else to do except look after their chickens? What foolishness!’
And for all that, did a single person in the land bother to find out what was going on with Geevarghese Sahada? No. Truth be told, Geevarghese Sahada was bored stiff. He had been sitting at the same spot for as long as he could remember, looking out at the same scenery, seeing the same people … No one even seemed to remember that he was once a soldier who had fought in so many wars, seen so many sights. Then there was the awkward way in which he was made to sit – straddled on a horse, aiming his spear at the snake at its feet. The spear was within an inch of the snake, but try as he might, it never made actual contact with the creature. And this land! Barely the size of a paisa! So, obviously Geevarghese Sahada was bored.
Besides, the punyalachan was a sentimental type. It hurt him that the people of the land never really thought about him. He was envious of the patron saints of other nations, and sighed deeply when he thought of their good fortune.
‘I take care of all these people and their chickens. Yet, does a single one of them think about me? Wonder how I am doing? I know what’s inside each one of them. I watch over them even when they’re asleep. I don’t mind helping them, but when I see their attitude … it makes me so mad! Do they ever think that I, too, have a heart?’
That was the real issue – Geevarghese Sahada, too, had a heart.
‘Does any other punyalachan care about his wards as much as I do? People here live up to a hundred and ten! And in all that time, do they have to face any real problems? They haven’t even heard about earthquakes and volcanoes or lived through a war. The number of wars I have fought in … These people don’t even know what a real war is!’
His people’s complete disregard for his welfare turned Geevarghese Sahada’s tender heart to thoughts of revenge. He was certain about one thing – whatever the mode of exacting revenge, it should be entertaining. His initial thought was to make them fight with one another, but he discarded this idea for two reasons:
1) Pitting people against each other was an old method of revenge that had been used by many before, and Geevarghese Sahada wanted a brand-new method.
2) All said and done, Geevarghese Sahada still loved his people.
Finally, after considering and discarding several ideas, Geevarghese Sahada settled on one: he would enter their dreams.
That morning, when he got up, Geevarghese found himself in the grip of a nameless fear. He had spent the previous day like any other, and had returned home from the toddy shop after midnight, along the way rewarding a mongrel bitch with a kick. Had he run into Mariyamma? He could not remember. But, that night…
‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’
‘Geevarghese Sahada!’
‘Answer me. Are you afraid of me or not?’
‘No … Why? Should I be?’
‘Most certainly! I am the patron saint of this land. Besides, they have given you my name!’
‘Well, I’ve never felt afraid of you. Felt sorry for you though…’
‘For what?’
‘The way you sit on that horse! So uncomfortable … and for so long!’
Geevarghese Sahada felt his eyes welling up with tears. At least one person had been worrying about him.
‘Geevarghese, you must stop all this nonsense and live a proper life. I’ve come to tell you this.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing any such thing.’
‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’ said Geevarghese Sahada and disappeared.
Geevarghese spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his sleep. The answers he had given to Geevarghese Sahada’s questions were not the ones that were in his mind. He did not intend to disrespect the saint, but what to do, it was a dream after all, and we don’t really have much control over our dreams. So, the answers that came out of his mouth were the exact opposite of what he had intended to say.
As his restless sleep progressed, Geevarghese Sahada reappeared in Geevarghese’s dream. He was seated on an elephant this time. The horse, his traditional ride, was an animal unfamiliar to the region, which was probably why he had exchanged it for an elephant. A kind of local adaptation. Sitting on top of the elephant, Geevarghese Sahada began chasing Geevarghese, and all night in his sleep Geevarghese ran until he was fed up.
After that, night after night, Geevarghese began to have the same dream. The same questions, the same answers, and the same elephant…
‘Can’t he occasionally come up with something new?’ Geevarghese thought dejectedly.
Meanwhile, Mariyamma began to have dreams about Geevarghese Sahada following her with a rose in his hand. It made her feel guilty and she began thinking about hell.
Soon, everyone in the land began to see the punyalachan in their dreams. There was a problem with these dreams though. They lacked variety or – how to put it – a certain artistry. In fairness, Geevarghese Sahada’s world had been confined to this one region for so many years, thus restricting his experiential knowledge. The children of the land dreamt that Geevarghese Sahada played kuttiyum-kolum with them. Thresya had a dream that Geevarghese Sahada pushed her cow into the well. Again, let’s be fair, when the cow had a bit of a turn once, Thresya had promised an offering to Geevarghese Sahada, but then reneged after it got well, convincing herself that it wasn’t a big deal after all. She had forgotten all about it and had assumed that Geevarghese Sahada would not have taken this silly matter so seriously.
Geevarghese Sahada entered the parish priest Thomman Kathanar’s dreams and began giving him tips about how to make the Qurbana more interesting. Eventually, fed up with Geevarghese Sahada’s insistence, the priest lost all interest in offering the Qurbana.
Gradually, everyone had had enough of Geevarghese Sahada. When they saw him during the day, they began to worry about their nightly sleep, and eventually, in order to avoid seeing him, they stopped going to the church.
That only increased Geevarghese Sahada’s sorrows.
Geevarghese Sahada decided to take a break, and one night, without warning, he disappeared from people’s dreams. He had set out on a world tour.
As he explored the world, Geevarghese Sahada also used his time to learn about the management styles of other patron saints. But it is safe to assume that this plan was not entirely successful because the other patron saints were still figuring out the confused place the world had become at the end of the world war. Besides, it was a time of great economic setback. Geevarghese Sahada tried to help many of his fellow patron saints, but having had no experience in managing hardship or looking after people who were struggling, he only added to their confusion which, in the end, invited the displeasure of some of them. Undaunted, Geevarghese Sahada continued with his mission.
In the enjoyment of this new venture, Geevarghese Sahada postponed his return several times. And when he returned finally, things were in bad shape. With no one to control them, the foxes and the snakes of the land considered each day a feast day, and the entire land had taken to praying arduously to Geevarghese Sahada. Feeling extremely guilty, he made the hens lay two eggs a day. People were placated and happy again, and they promptly forgot all about the punyalachan.
Geevarghese Sahada began the dreams again, but this time around, they were different. Seeing the world outside had developed his artistry. He also stopped the habit of appearing in people’s dreams himself. And since the first world tour had been a resounding success, Geevarghese Sahada made it a regular event. In the days when Geevarghese Sahada was away, the only consolation people had was their dreams.
‘There’s a land where everyone is equal,’ toddy tapper Kelan said to Geevarghese one day. ‘A land where one person doesn’t have to call another person “nanaarey”. I saw it in my dream.’
‘You mean a land where you and I are the same?’ asked Geevarghese.
‘Mm … a land where no one is below anyone else. If only such a land really existed…’
Kelan would see many other dreams in the days to come, but the thought of this particular dream would always make him nostalgic. Years later, Kelan would become the first communist in the land.
‘There’s this thing,’ Mariyamma told Mathachan in secret. ‘Quite sweet … sweeter than payasam even … and soft, too, softer than vattayappam!’
‘How did you come to know of this thing?’ Mathachan asked. Whenever Mathachan looked at Mariyamma, butterflies flitted around his eyes. Butterflies like dreams … dreams like butterflies…
Mariyamma stood very close to Mathachan in order not to upset the butterflies. ‘I had a dream,’ she whispered.
Mathachan felt that the statement ‘I had a dream’ had no connection to what they were talking about, and that if he asked, ‘What was it about?’ she would answer, ‘Butterflies.’ But she just smiled her smile and stood there.
Mathachan wanted to look at that smile until the day he died, but Anna entered the kitchen on the pretext of looking for something, and the butterflies flitted away.
‘Did you see how it was made?’
‘No, but I can still taste it.’
‘Then try making it. It might work…’
Mariyamma tried to recall the taste from her dream.
There was the taste of flour…
The taste of milk…
The taste of sugar…
The taste of eggs…
The taste of butter…
And there was the taste of something else…
Mariyamma could not figure out what that something else was. Still, she mixed together flour, milk, sugar, eggs and butter and made ‘it’.
‘Sweeter than payasam,’ said everyone who tasted it. ‘Softer than vattayappam…’
‘But it’s not “it”,’ Mariyamma said only to Mathachan. ‘There’s something missing. It was much tastier in the dream.’
Three decades later, Mariyamma would eat cake for the first time in a bakery in town and her eyes would overflow thinking about the dreams … about the butterflies in the dreams … By then, Mathachan would have been dead for many years.
Thus, all the people in the land began to have brand-new, awesome dreams. All, that is, except Geevarghese. Geevarghese Sahada was not ready to forgive Geevarghese, and so Geevarghese continued living his shambolic life, seeing only boring old dreams.