A hilarious picaresque fiction where two legendary thieves challenge and try to outsmart each other..., with a large number of people drawn into the vortex to witness it all and betting on their respective favourite hero. Read on how it is going to end up and in whose win... Ed.

"The world is full of stories, in fact, the world is made of stories," the old man started on a rhythmic note. He used to tell us stories, stories of the past, our history, the thorny paths he travelled for food, stories of my great grandfathers, adding an emphasis, "You must know, you belonged to great fathers," as though mothers didn’t exist. In the lunch breaks, he always thrilled all of us with his magnificent ways of storytelling, which helped me forget the pain and the hot sun. Many such stories he related, and this was one among them. After finishing his share of conghee and daal, he started: "You might never have heard of the great battle between the Thief of Kasaragod and the Thief of Mangalore."

This is that classical story, the story of two eminent thieves, on whom legends were written in their life time, not after. "I’ll tell you the story," he said. "Imagine what would happen when two great men - or at least those who wish to be identified as great men of the same profession - compete with each other, or say, battle each other." "Have you heard of the Pandavas? You might have. They were the alleged sons of Pandu. Imagine what would happen when Arjuna and Karna battle each other."

If you can believe it happened, it is not a story, it is our history. Yet no history teacher taught this. The incident happened before the British left, and in the selective inclusion of history writing, these two great men were abandoned. Let that be, but I must let you know the story of two great thieves of our history. "This is the story of adventure, day long battle and awesome failure," he continued to suspense us as he always did.

"The hotel Badriya was there in Kasaragod when the British ruled it, and how great it was!" The only hotel in Kasaragod which doesn’t have a shutter, and hence it is open all day and night. "The Thief of Kasaragod was considered a noble man, for he belonged to noble lineage, and in the evenings he accompanied the noble men for a tea and chat at Badriya. The story of the Thief of Mangalore was always a weekly mouth-print in Kasaragod. Every week there would be new stories of his adventures coming in, but the Thief of Kasaragod always denied accepting them, claiming them as cooked up and even if they proved to be happened, considered them worthless before his own adventures. For him, he was the head of the clan of thieves." "But the daylight secret was," the old man added with a tinge of humour, "for no particular reason, people adored the Thief of Mangalore instead of this noble man."

It was at that time his agents brought news to the Thief of Kasaragod that ‘the Thief of Mangalore is coming to Kasaragod for a day’s visit.’ The Thief of Mangalore had also made this remark, that ‘no thief in Kasaragod could defeat him in the art of stealing.’

"The next evening, at the company of noble men over tea at Badriya, the Thief of Kasaragod declared an open battle with the Thief of Mangalore." This was the statement, again if you believe, exactly quoted and translated. Let me make it clear, he made the statement in three languages; Malayalam, Tulu and Kannada, with three rhyming couplets of verses. Such a scholar of languages he was, his possession was true to his profession! And at that time, as it is today, people in Kasaragod could understand any of the three, but he made use of all the three. If I attempt a translation of his eloquent verses in trilingual rhymes, it may not be accurate, since I am not a true scholar as he was, of languages. This was that statement:

Coming the Thief of Mangalore, cunning,
here with a hope of winning.
Challenged he that none under the sun,
can defeat him save the son of a nun.
I swear I’ll beat him with gold,
kept in my mysterious pocket old.

"Thus the battle was declared, and the news spread like a forest fire in Kasaragod." And at that time it needed a lot of effort for a news item to spread across the length and breadth of present day Kasaragod which was under the rule of many kings, yet it did, if I can believe the old man.

In the markets, in the tea shops, in the kavalas¹, in the marriages, death ceremonies, wherever people met, they spoke about this grand oath of the noble man. Village women transferred it from mouth to mouth, nay, from tongue to tongue! In the schools, children organised storytelling competition about it. Who’ll win? This was the question, and wherever it was heard the simple answer was, the Thief of Kasaragod would. They had seen many of his adventures, so they would see this, he never betrayed his oaths, and whenever he had sworn to win he won. But people were also apprehensive about the failure which their adored Thief of Mangalore was going to meet with; they prayed for him, in the mosques, temples, churches, makhams², mandirs³, everywhere nerchas⁴ poured in for both sides. The poet laureate of Mayippady Kingdom wrote his best piece of poetry in the hope of the noble defeat of the Thief of Mangalore. "You know, in your grandfather’s home there was a special prayer meeting for the victory of Thief of Kasaragod," the old man added with a nod.

"At last that day came in. Many had travelled to Kasaragod on the eve of the battle day, and many those who couldn’t reach, waited in their respective kavalas and tea shops longing for the news to come." The news was of the historic battle, of a noble failure and of a grand victory. They were true to their expectations, they had reasons gained from their past. The Thief of Mangalore came in the morning, nobody met him, but they saw the poster in front of the market corner, and of course, in front of Badriya, ‘I am in, the Thief of Mangalore.’

"Kasaragod Street was unusually crowded that day, and the thieves battled amidst the thick crowd without meeting each other, an unseen battle." He smiled on a bit of unexpected joke which came as a doubt from my friend and continued. "Hoping for the enemy to come and conquer him, the Thief of Kasaragod, as he had sworn, walked in and out of the streets, markets, tea stalls, and of course Badriya, with a glittering gold plate in his pocket." The old man added with the care of revealing a secret: "It was a thick circled plate of gold which he claimed he stole from the treasury of Mayippady King. Fearful of the shame of defeat by this noble man, the King of Mayippady neither countered this claim nor did he make any attempt to arrest the grand man of charisma. The truth was in between, but no one tried to know it, only the King and the Thief knew! And since I don’t know the truth, I am not conveying it to you. I must tell only the truth, only what I know, what I have heard as my grandfathers had seen," he was always accurate in making points like this. But, who knows? The truth may be in between. If you can believe this is the story he told. He narrates it to me, I narrate it to you.

"In his turn around in the town, the Thief of Kasaragod entered Badriya three times before lunch and twice after lunch, and he entered once more in the evening for the tea and for the climax, which you will see soon," he continued. "He stopped near the town mosque twice during the prayer times, near the temple with no perfect timings, and in the fish market. He even walked around Chakkara Bazaar three or four times, and you know Chakkara Bazaar of that time was the most crowded street in Kasaragod, your grandfather used to sell tobacco leaves there in the evenings, and as far as I know, he made good profit out of it!" I could assume without his telling that on the day of battle, my grandfather might have sold enough tobacco leaves and sugar canes. And that might have contributed a big share to his savings for my mother’s marriage, which, as he told me, was a festival in my village.

"Hey what are you thinking...? Listen to the story carefully. I won’t repeat a single line." He seemed that he didn’t like my momentary shift of thought, which he could easily grasp from my face; he was a good reader of minds. "The Thief of Kasaragod didn’t have to steal tobacco from your grandfather for he always got his share for free, and that day he got his share twice. Indeed it was a sign of appreciation for the victory to come." My grandfather might have given him some good comments in his troubled voice, which are not recorded in this story. "You are thinking again...?" "Listen, in the day that was passing, there were cheers in the streets, whenever the Thief of Kasaragod passed them, and the elders asked: ‘Hey Settu, the gold is still in your pocket?’ And he smiled at them with a nod, ‘Yes, indeed’. The gold was still in his pocket until the end of the day. When he entered Badriya for the evening tea and to declare his victory, he once again peeped into his pocket, and was surprised! The plate was still there and he is free to declare his victory. The invisible visitor couldn’t win over him by stealing the plate of gold."

"When people heard that the Thief of Kasaragod entered Badriya for the evening tea, they all rushed into Badriya. The hotel was full with the crowd and same was the case of the main street where Badriya stood. The myriad number of people waited for the voice, the voice of the noble man in triumph." He was the sole spectacle of the evening till that fatal moment, the destiny, in which he was exposed... till the time his fear of loss was revealed, he stood as the ultimate triumphant. Badriya witnessed the greatest trade of tea ever in its history in that evening, and the cashier was tired of collecting money, though he still continued to collect.

The time came in, fleeting moment by moment, and it was the time of his declaration. A noble friend asked him from the other end of the table: ‘So, your gold plate is still with you?’ The answer was ‘YES,’ and another noble friend commented: ‘You are our brilliant friend! You have won the battle.’ At this instant, the entire crowd was about to burst into divided shouts, of surprise and shock, of pleasure and grief. "The Thief of Kasaragod stood up from his seat, nearly five yards from the cashier’s box. He said: ‘I have carried the plate of gold in my pocket since morning, and no one has stolen it from me, and if the so-called adventurous thief of Mangalanti had come in, he should have left by now with his utmost sense of failure’."

"There was a silence", like the hollowness of voice before an earthquake. "The utter silence was broken by a tender voice, which pierced the transparent layer of silence like a thin knife."

"‘Well’, the silence said. ‘I would have left, if you had not to make this declaration here. But since you had to make this declaration here that I didn’t steal anything from your pocket I waited till now, and this is time for my exit. Let me tell everyone that I checked your pocket five times in the day, but, the whole day, you have been carrying that gold coated copper plate, which is worth nothing for me. And since I don’t want to be laughed at as someone who stole a copper instead of gold, I haven’t stolen it, but I have taken the five rupees you carried in your side pocket. Thank you for giving me a company for the evening tea’. All eyes turned into the direction of the voice, to see the speaker. The voice was flowing tenderly from near the cashier’s box, and the speaker was paying his bill for the tea." The old man paused for a moment and continued with a sigh. "He was a handsome man at first sight, and he slowly disappeared into the sea of the crowd, leaving the mortified noble man amidst the yelling faces. Before he left, he turned once again with a humorous glance that the noble man could never forget in his life, and he said once again and this time with an emphasis: ‘Thank you’."

Notes:
1. Kavala: A Malayalam word basically meaning a junction. But in the colloquial parlance, it stands for a village junction with a tea shop or some eatery, a usual meeting place for the villagers.
2. Makham: Originally an Arabic word, it literally means a palace or building. In the present times, the Mappila Muslims of Kerala use it to connote the shrines of Sufis.
3. Mandir: Temple of Hindus.
4. Nercha: Originally an Arabic word, it signifies the annual festival at the Sufi shrines. It also refers to the 'ritual offerings' made at shrines, temples, mosques and other religious places, as an obligation for some gain or fulfilment. In this story, it is offered wishing for the victory of their side.