They say that the sighting of rats, a source of pestilence in medieval Europe, becomes rare in the month of July in the Continent. The rodents, the lore goes, are petrified of the tunes played by the Piper, which will be heard in the ancient nooks and crannies of Europe three days from now. For July 22 is National Ratcatcher’s Day.
Legend has it that in the thirteenth century, when Hamelin, in Germany’s Lower Saxony, had been infested with the dreaded rodents, the Pied Piper — the original ratcatcher — appeared, promising the mayor to rid the town of the scourge upon a payment of 1,000 guilders. The mayor readily agreed. The Pied Piper then played his lilting tune, drawing the rats out of their subterranean refuge, luring them to the Weser river where they perished.
In true Germanic fashion, the tale isn’t the stuff that features kind souls. The mayor refused the Pied Piper his dues. So the Piper returned, apparently in the guise of a hunter, on Saints John and Paul’s Day. He played that haunting tune, once again, this time leading Hamelin’s children away — like rats — towards doom.
This tale has nourished many a literary mind: Goethe penned a poem based on the myth, as did Robert Browning; Deutsche Sagen, by the Brothers Grimm, includes an account of the legend. A modern, but deeply subversive version — from the point of view of rats — was written by Terry Pratchett.
The Piper has fascinated researchers, too, because of the many shades — white, black, grey — in his persona. Some hold him up as a sign of deliverance; others look at him as an emissary of death.
What is also interesting is that the legend of the Pied Piper lends itself to the tradition of representing the eternal conflict among classes. The Piper is a visitor, possibly an immigrant. Having been denied what is rightfully his — wages? — he returns to exact a terrible revenge, upending the established codes between the serfs and their masters. In fact, in his avatar of the avenger, as a symbol of subaltern resistance, the Pied Piper could remind Indian readers of Dopdi Mehjen, the Santhal heroine, that unforgettable woman in Mahasweta Devi’s short story, “Draupadi”, who, after having endured a brutal violation, rises to confront her uniformed tormentors — the rats.
July 22 then perhaps chills the bones of not only the genus, Rattus, but also a pestilence with a distinct human form.
