S Hareesh’s new novel: The kingdom of Thiruvithamkoor refuses to join India after independence

I knew the man by sight, but the first time I met him in person was at the post office ground in Muhamma. Towards the end of 1939, I think it was. In those days, I went by the name of Bhasi. I had arrived a couple of days earlier, hitching a ride in a coconut boat from northern Paravoor to Thavanakkadavu, and then walking the rest of the way via Cherthala.

In those days, the whole place was a waterscape with isolated islets within it. Walk a few yards in any direction and the path would end at a canal or a dyke. One could jump across the smaller ones. But to cross the others, one had to wait for a boat passing by. That was dangerous. The obliging boatmen usually wanted you to fulfil their curiosity in return for a ride. Name, native place, caste, purpose of visit – they asked questions that dug deep, even into one’s past life, as though they were on a mission not to let anyone live with even a little bit of privacy.

Making up lies was an unavoidable part of my job. Except in the most crucial instances, I was careful not to fabricate...

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