Meeting Koya*

 

As I was inspecting

the timeworn stone slab,

he appeared before me asking

if I wanted to know more.

Surprised,

I nodded,

to this energetic antique man

who seemed older than

the ancient prayer house.

 

Every tooth lost

except two,

and a mole on the side

of his right brow -

a bulging third eye,

he took me around,

the guardian of the building,

in his navy blue Nike beret cap.

 

“Take a pic of the inscriptions,” he directed

“That way you can study it later.”

 

Amused by his insistence,

I took one.

 

“It was built by the Thachans…” he continued,

in a friendly yet knowledgeable tone

half muffled by his dialect and

his vacant mouth,

then explained how the dimensions

of the wooden square pillars

resembled those

in a temple

echoing

a time of harmony

with the Zamorins.

 

He told me about

three foot tall arches,

now plastered and sealed

where once,

visitors sat,

reading the holy book,

praying hands sliding

over blessed beads.

 

“This mosque was built 700 years ago,”

he said, “by the Yemeni trader,

on the land granted by the Zamorin.”

 

Those were times when the drum here,

announced the beginning of the feast

and the news reverberated

to the ends of the earth,

word of mouth,

one traveller to the next.

 

“Do take a wide angle pic,” he instructed,

“and make sure that you have captured the roof clearly.”

Glancing at my phone

he approved and

I chuckled.

  

Pointing to the square pond

with dark green water

and a few white ducks,

across the road,

he explained how the earth

from the locale strengthened

the swamp ground,

where the prayer house exists.

 

Then spoke of the special doors

ensuring entry or exit

that didn’t erase the prayers,

and the wood and tile roof,

which was once five tiered.

Made of palm fronds,

in the beginning;

it flew off  in a storm,

long long ago,

and was rebuilt.

Later it even survived the fire

set by the Portuguese

whom

the Hindus and Muslims

fought in union.

 

He urged me to clear my doubts,

if I had any,

and I asked

if I could see the interior.

To which he shook his head

side to side

and said, “sorry madam,

women are not allowed inside.

But, you can definitely

have a peek by standing

on the third step!”

 

“And don’t forget to take a pic of yours with the building

in the background!” he added,

flashing his indelible Kodak smile.

 

* Koya – a guide at Kuttichira Mishkal Mosque