<p>In his book, <span class="italic"><em>The Lotus and the Robot</em></span>, British writer Arthur Koestler wrote: <span class="italic"><em>“Rome was saved in A.D.408 by three thousand pounds of pepper imported from India as part of the ransom the Senate paid to Alaric the Goth.”</em></span></p>.<p>It is amazing these tiny seeds loaded with potent antioxidants had the miraculous power of saving an empire!</p>.<p>Koestler’s words let my mind wander back over six decades to remember Krishna Bhaktar, a merchant of pepper who lived in Mathamangalam, a village abutting on ours, Kaithaprom, in north Malabar.</p>.<p>He was around fifty, tall and hefty with a protruding belly. Bhaktar traded in a handful of spices but pepper was his mainstay which earned him the nickname, ‘Pepper Bhaktar.’ He walked daily a few kilometres to reach the bus terminal from where he took a bus to the spice market in Payyannur. Since Kaithaprom was sandwiched between Mathamangalam and the bus terminal, Bhaktar had to leg it to the stop through our village.</p>.<p>Whether the price of pepper soared or not could be inferred from the expressions on Bhaktar’s face. If a cheery smile had stolen across his visage it was a sure sign that the price was up. Often a song accompanied the cheeriness — '<span class="italic"><em>Achutham Kesavam Rama Narayanam, Krishna Damodaram Vasudevambaje…</em></span> praising Lord Krishna for bringing good luck to him by substantially hiking the price of pepper in the spice market.</p>.<p>He would sing the song rhythmically and sonorously. During rains, Bhaktar’s voice rose steadily in pitch and heard over the clatter of rainfalls. His song that resonated across villages, was an appeal to pepper growers, my grandfather and his brothers and cousins among others, that time was propitious for disposing of their products which had already been harvested.</p>.<p>Whenever the price slumped, his countenance was bent down under the weight of dejection and he walked indolently as if all energy had drained out of him. And from a low-spirited Bhaktar no songs emanated. He was the lone merchant who traded in pepper in our village and the neighbouring ones. He earned pepper growers’ gratitude, for he obviated their need to travel to Payyannur.</p>.<p>Undoubtedly, Malabar pepper was a most coveted and sought-after commodity by the ancient Roman and Arab traders. Perhaps the great ancestors of Bhaktar and others of his ilk were instrumental in making pepper well-known merchandise. So, one can safely assume that they contributed the lion’s share of pepper that was paid as ransom to the uncouth Goth to save the historic city of Rome! Right?</p>
<p>In his book, <span class="italic"><em>The Lotus and the Robot</em></span>, British writer Arthur Koestler wrote: <span class="italic"><em>“Rome was saved in A.D.408 by three thousand pounds of pepper imported from India as part of the ransom the Senate paid to Alaric the Goth.”</em></span></p>.<p>It is amazing these tiny seeds loaded with potent antioxidants had the miraculous power of saving an empire!</p>.<p>Koestler’s words let my mind wander back over six decades to remember Krishna Bhaktar, a merchant of pepper who lived in Mathamangalam, a village abutting on ours, Kaithaprom, in north Malabar.</p>.<p>He was around fifty, tall and hefty with a protruding belly. Bhaktar traded in a handful of spices but pepper was his mainstay which earned him the nickname, ‘Pepper Bhaktar.’ He walked daily a few kilometres to reach the bus terminal from where he took a bus to the spice market in Payyannur. Since Kaithaprom was sandwiched between Mathamangalam and the bus terminal, Bhaktar had to leg it to the stop through our village.</p>.<p>Whether the price of pepper soared or not could be inferred from the expressions on Bhaktar’s face. If a cheery smile had stolen across his visage it was a sure sign that the price was up. Often a song accompanied the cheeriness — '<span class="italic"><em>Achutham Kesavam Rama Narayanam, Krishna Damodaram Vasudevambaje…</em></span> praising Lord Krishna for bringing good luck to him by substantially hiking the price of pepper in the spice market.</p>.<p>He would sing the song rhythmically and sonorously. During rains, Bhaktar’s voice rose steadily in pitch and heard over the clatter of rainfalls. His song that resonated across villages, was an appeal to pepper growers, my grandfather and his brothers and cousins among others, that time was propitious for disposing of their products which had already been harvested.</p>.<p>Whenever the price slumped, his countenance was bent down under the weight of dejection and he walked indolently as if all energy had drained out of him. And from a low-spirited Bhaktar no songs emanated. He was the lone merchant who traded in pepper in our village and the neighbouring ones. He earned pepper growers’ gratitude, for he obviated their need to travel to Payyannur.</p>.<p>Undoubtedly, Malabar pepper was a most coveted and sought-after commodity by the ancient Roman and Arab traders. Perhaps the great ancestors of Bhaktar and others of his ilk were instrumental in making pepper well-known merchandise. So, one can safely assume that they contributed the lion’s share of pepper that was paid as ransom to the uncouth Goth to save the historic city of Rome! Right?</p>