Be Courageous! Tell me are you human?

She stood in front of us without wearing an inch of cloth. Just as the doors bang and close after receiving a hurricane hit, my eye – lids closed. I looked heather and thither. It was early morning and the place was starting to hum with activity. A few youngsters were throwing a mischievous smile at her. These were the eyes of Indra, which gaze and savour the scenes of rape in a second rate film, the beauty of a mother feeding her child and the naked stillness of a dead corpse with the same voyeuristic pleasure.

The scene from an old English film came to mind. A hero, who was hit and downed, ploughs the earth and pours the sand over his body to cover its nakedness. A woman-beggar sitting opposite the Mariamman Koil rushed towards her and covered her with a smothered cloth. It proved to be an Herculean task for her.

She roared with laughter like a devil in the stories which grandmother used to narrate when I was young. She uttered something throwing her hands around. She walked this way and that. Suddenly, she started crying.

She sat on a wooden platform. She took a pocket of left-over food, thrown at her by a passenger travelling in a bus. She peered at it and then put it into her mouth. She licked the fingers to clean the food still sticking to it.

After finishing eating, she cried uproariously. All eyes converged on her. She stood up and walked towards us as we expectantly waited. She looked up at the arch and sang, “Be courageous to declare! Are you human?” at the top of her voice.

While singing the song, the nerves on her neck straightened and a degree of sadness enveloped her face. Even now, I could recall the flair, the weight of diction and the orchestral nicety which lay embedded in her voice.

She ran behind the policeman going on a by-cycle. “Discard the uniform! Why do you wear them! Look at the moustache! Chee! Thoo! She gathered saliva and jetted it out. She also murmured but they were not audible in the noise created by a passing tractor.

Again she sang the same song. “Be courageous to declare! Are you human?” You bitch!

My attention was totally on her now. When a man waving a black shirt passed in front of her, she asked in English, “Do you know the colour of my life? It is black!”

I looked at her now in wonder. There was some poetry in what she said.

Somehow, I took the bus and reached the bank and sat in front of the type writer. A draft letter was already waiting on the table. I inserted a rough paper and for a try wanted to type something. When I pressed the button, I wondered what is to be typed. Then the song came to mind ....... “Be courageous to declare! Are you human?”

The clatter of the type writer, the screeching sound of the tables and chairs being moved, rambunctious talk of the customers, the announcement of numbers in the cash counter; the rustle of counting the currency, the sound of the rotating fan overhead; the sound, ‘charak, charak’ coming from the pages of the ledger being turned; and the generator placed outside, beyond all these, the sweet voice of her.

“Be courageous to declare! Are you human?”

Even after returning home, the thought of her came to mind. For the next few days, I could not see her near the bus stand.

That was the last Sunday of the month. The usual ‘literary meet’ at the beach. Me, Manjulan and Annachi. Sometime, a couple more would join, but it is not a big literary forum.

We sit on the wet and worn out Catamaran, munching ‘Sundal’ and enjoying the breeze. It is in this salubrious circumstance that we enter into literary discussion. Poetry reading, criticism of modern drama and criticism of the latest films are some of the activities we indulge in.

When prodded by Annachi to read the poems that I have penned down, I said I have none to offer. The silence was broken by a voice, which seemed very familiar. She was there too! I narrated the day’s events to Annachi. He stared at me as if he was looking at an unknown creature.

I said, “No Annachi! There is some creative energy in her, but somehow I could not explore what it is! O.K. we shall go near her.”

While moving closer to her, Annachi recalled a proverb which meant, “There is a subtle line that divides a creative artist from a psychic patient”

Annachi continued, “Why you have become sullen all of a sudden. There is lot of poetry and story stored in ordinary people whom we meet daily. To a creative artist, it is visible. With a little effort, we could bring out the story which lies immersed in them.”

She had gathered a few grams lying on the floor and put them down in her mouth. To the vendor who sells fish fry, she uttered something. He waved her away by threatening to hit her.

Annachi and Manjulan took leave of me. I walked along the sea shore. I reached the entrance of the Velankanni Koil, where I saw her for the first time. How did she come here so fast? I wondered.

Sitting in front of the tea stall, I ordered one, expecting to see her.

There were four or five talking politics. I asked one of them, “Do you know anything about that girl?”

“She wanders around here and seems to be a mad one. She keeps singing that old song frequently, “Be courageous to declare! Are you human?”

Yet another declared, “One thing is sure. Whenever she sees a policeman, she lets out expletives. Probably she has been harmed by one of them....”

“Why not? Nowadays, policemen do all sorts of things.” Another said while seconding the first opinion.

“She talks a lot of English. Probably, she was well educated” This was from the tea vendor.

This talk continued but I got up and left the scene soon after.

She started singing that song again, “Be courageous to declare! Are you human? You Animal!”

The voice had that sharpness which went piercing straight to your heart.

That was Pensioner’s day. There was heavy rush in the office and I was busy with my work when the head clerk called me to attend a phone call.

In the midst of the conversation, my eyes deviated a little...Surprisingly, I say her in front of the cash counter. She threw the passbook in front of the cashier with ease.

I finished the talk in a hurry and rushed towards cashier Krishnamurthy.

I was at a loss for words and started floundering. Seeing the rush and Krishnamurthy in their midst, I decided to talk to him afterwards.

She counted the money and inserted it into the purse that she was keeping in her hip. I walked out of the office to follow her.

She gathered all the waste paper lying on the road and pushed them all into a bag she had with her. She was talking something to herself.

I wondered what she would do with all the money she had in her hands.

“What Thangamani. Am I a lunatic? You have all ganged to make me a lunatic. Suddenly, she turned around and blurted out, “You are following me to snatch the money from my hands! That would not happen” with a judicious mixture of expletives.

During the luncheon interval, Krishna came and asked, “Why did you come? Is it to enquire about Nirmala?”

“Nirmala”, I repeated instantly.

“Yes. The girl withdrawing money is half-lunatic. She is a pensioner too, do you know?” asked Krishna.

“What is her age?” puzzled at what Krishna had revealed.

“Not much! Probably she had rendered twenty years of service. When the report of her unsound mind reached her office, they had compulsorily retired her or she had herself sought voluntary retirement.”

I asked for more details. I looked at Page 75 of the Ledger that Krishna directed me to look. It contained more details.

Name: Nirmala, W/o Thiagarajan, Date of Birth: 16/7/1963

Address: 2/83, Kutram Poruthaanyiruppu

Bank A/c No. P.75/11698

I was eager to gather more details about her. I worked towards that end but to no avail. After sometime, I was lost in my routine activities.

That day my uncle had come home from another town. “How did you manage to come?” I asked him.

“What kind of place is yours? No bus to travel. I came walking across the river.” He replied in exasperation.

“The water level must have been higher in the river, today being Amavasai, the No-Moon day. Even Angadi Idumban supplied the vegetables yesterday fearing rise in water levels.”

“Yes. Water level was chest high. It would stay that way only for an hour, not more. We managed to cross before that!”

“O.K. Please rest yourself after dinner.”

“What kind of rest” Mama moved on after releasing a sigh indicative of his extreme tiredness.

“Yes. Look at this gem of a girl. I saw her near the arch. I felt why I saw her after all. My heart felt heavy after that.”

“Which girl, Mama?” I hurriedly asked.

“We six were working in that Secondary School at Marungoor Agraharam. Vajravelu was the head master. He had a bad reputation. There was an allegation of his having misbehaved with some grown-up girls, while he was working at Morathoor. It seems the villagers gathered and hounded him out of that place. He was for a time taken aback by the treatment he got at their hands. But it was only for a while. But he was back at his old habits soon. Even here, he had done some mischief. Rathnasamy had once slapped Vajravelu with his chapel. This incident had once again put a break on his familiar behaviour.”

It was at this moment that I joined the School as a B.T Assistant on promotion. Vajravelu was a cunning man. He pitted one teacher against another. Unless he creates problems for others, he won’t have a decent sleep.

After all these, he would show his teeth when he sees the bigwigs of the village. The District Education Officer, Gauthaman would always call him an “Actor’s Poet”.

He lent money on interest. He created groups among the teachers and would play one group against another. Though he earned more that 17,000 rupees per month, he would roam around for even 5 or 10 rupees. He earned additional income by admitting unqualified students into classes. He swindled money by collecting it for building purposes.

He would attend duty only for 10 to 15 days in a month. For the rest, he would be engaged in collecting interest money and looking after the textile shop. He had gathered the support of the high ups. In fact, he got into this position by spoiling the chances of Ramamurthy.

Of the other teachers, less said the better. There was this teacher by name Kumari. She was fond of gossiping. One can get information about the place where the softest “Bonda” was available from her. The second one, Manorama would fall asleep on her table daily as if all nights have been a “Sivarathri” for her. She was called the “Incubating Hen” for her habit of sleeping in the Staff Room all the time. She was adept at staging “Talk Shows”. She would exhibit a vibrant face on the salary day, but on other days her face would turn owl-like. She had this habit of beating students to her liking.

The third one was Shyamala. She would eat savouries made of groundnut and Jaggery and boiled peanuts mixed with pieces of mango and coconut at the expense of the students. Which demented person had chosen her, nobody knew! She had the coarsest voice imaginable. She failed at the secondary level, but probably studied for 3 to 6 months to obtain the Teacher Training Certificate and secured this job. She was very envious of prettier faces. Always on the look out to pick up quarrels with tall and fair complexioned women. She could be described as short, stout, dark complexioned with a widened nose. Hers’ was a case of a very high degree of inferiority complex! She would also question the authenticity of the higher qualifications obtained by others. For not performing an iota of work, she earned ten thousand rupees!

Shyamala had lived in the village for some time. But, soon thereafter she went on to live in the nearby town. She was assaulted in a local tussle. It was said that her husband, unable to bear her tantrums, used to torture her by piercing needle into her skin. If someone were to advice her to work for the money she earned, Shyamala would threaten to lodge a complaint of sexual harassment! There was another character by the name of Muthayyan, who would always cut a sleepy figure. He would also be aloof and would not mix with others. On a couple of occasions, Muthayyan had left his cup unwashed after consuming milk. When Shyamala chastised him for not keeping him clean, Muthayyan had turned the tables on her by calling her castiest!

This was the milieu in which I worked. None worked and they would not let even the honest few like us to work without hindrance. The condition of the School could rightly be compared to an abandoned well. If someone were to describe the community of teachers as holy ladders which helped the society climb upwards, I would imagine what would happen to the society which depended on a corroded ladder like this one!

On my face, they would pleasingly say, “Why do you strive hard at the time of your retirement?” but behind me, would taunt, “Possibly, working hard to earn the Best Teachers Award!”

I was dumb-founded on hearing all that my Uncle had to say!

Amongst this worthless gang, Nirmala was the one who worked honestly and sincerely. In the kind of situation which prevailed there, she was isolated. She was not just honest, but quite calm and patient.

Vajravelu, who longed after white skin, teased Nirmala repeatedly, knowing her family problems. She did not budge a bit. He started to trouble her.

We both set out to walk after dinner and my Uncle continued with the narration.

Vajravelu adopted a crude method to harass Nirmala. He had once come to the School early and wrote his name besides Nirmala’s on the wall. Nirmala was put into an embarrassing position. The students laughed when she went in to the class. She asked the students, “Why did you laugh?”

A student answered, “Madam, Bala Sundar says, you and the big Sir have become a pair!”

Her heart broke.

Another day, Nirmala had come before us and went to mark her attendance. The womaniser patted her from behind. She had blasted him to her heart’s contentment. Nirmala herself had narrated this incident to me. Nirmala said she considered me her father.

“You should have taken revenge on your husband, just as he had done!” saying this, Vajravelu had thrown a naughty look at Nirmala on another occasion.

“I will have to take revenge on you if you don’t behave well with me. You would lose all your honour, if you dare talk in this fashion again!” Nirmala came out hastily then.

Wounded, Vajravelu waited for an opportunity. It presented itself with the AEO’s visit to the School. Jayaraman, the AEO was a rascal too, just like Vajravelu.

On the first day, a sumptuous lunch of fish dropped in gravy and rice was being served to him.

Vajravelu called Nirmala and ordered her to remove the bones of the fishes and serve the same to Jayaraman.

Nirmala starred at him and replied, “The AEO is not a kid. I have been doing my work properly. So I need not go begging for favours. If you so desire, do it yourself!”

Waiting for such a moment, Vajravelu silently lighted fire by saying, “Sir, look at the way she talks. This is the way she behaves with elders. How do I manage the affairs of the School with teachers like this?”

After finishing his lunch, the AEO called Nirmala and asked her to take out the Notes of Lesson.

Nirmala readily presented the book. While glancing through it, the AEO turned his lips upside down and questioned, “Is it the honest work you are supposedly doing? You haven’t written the notes for a week.”

Nirmala was shattered. She noticed ten pages of the notes torn and lying in the dustbin. The AEO scolded her at the top of his voice in front of everybody and handed a “Memo”. Nirmala was completely shattered. Should a sincere worker like me be issued a memo? She wondered. I tried to pacify her.

There was another problem at the time of declaration of results. Shyamala wanted her son to be promoted. Nirmala pointed out that the boy had never attended classes regularly. Even the question papers were leaked by Shyamala to her son in advance but still the boy could not perform well to go to the next class. But Shyamala persisted, “My son has to go through. Otherwise, worse is in store for you all!”

The next day Vajravelu called Nirmala and said, “ Shyamala complained that a women without a husband like Nirmala is indulging in undesirable activities.” He also called Shyamala to tell her that Nirmala had threatened to file a report against Shyamala with the Office.

As is to be expected, a big fight ensued with Shyamala coming down heavily on Nirmala. “How dare you think of reporting to the office against me? Do you know about my experience? You may have the qualification of M.Sc., M.Ed. and I may only be a S.S.L.C. But I have thirty years of service. Keep this in mind. Don’t talk in an arrogant fashion”

“Talk with respect. There is a limit to everything” Nirmala said calmly.

“What respect? Did you respect my age?”

“Don’t Donkeys age too? Why should I give respect?”

“How dare you call me a donkey.”

Shyamala pulled down Nirmala’s hair and kicked her down. We were three men at the scene of the incident but could do little. Students ran around calling, “There is a fight going on between two teachers!”

“My teacher has won the fight!” called some excitedly.

The village elders intervened to set things right. Even they did not admonish Shyamala. It was a shameful moment for Nirmala. Immediately, she went on medical leave. She even thought of resigning, but I dissuaded her from taking this step.

It was hell on the domestic front too for her. Her husband was a scoundrel too! He would come visiting on her salary day to grab the money. He would go gambling to race course. She expended all her savings to send this man to Singapore for a job. After going there, he did not even drop a letter to her.

When she came back after ten years, it was with an attack of Paralysis. Still, she tendered him and helped him recover. Later on it came to light that he had lived with a women belonging to Tirunelveli, who had come to Singapore like him. When struck with the disease, he came begging for refuge in typical Tamil film style.

For six to seven months thereafter, life did proceed well for her. It appears that her husband had opened an account in his name at Tiruunelveli and deposited all his earnings there. He had even purchased an Estate there. The other woman had tried to grab this earning. There appears to be a tussle between these two women for possession of this money. On an occasion, an Inspector had visited Nirmala to question her. Nirmala seems to have become mentally disturbed after the policeman’s visit.

As my Uncle narrated the story, I was filled with anger, shock, rage and fury all rolled into one at the same time. At the end of the narration, we reached Velankanni.

We saw her again, laughing feverishly at herself. Am I mad? She asked no one in particular.

Two youngsters besides us talked to each other. “Do you know one thing? Pandi and Sivakumar had lured her with a Soap, bathed her at Raman’s lake and raped her behind the mutt.”

Hearing this, my Uncle had tears welling in his eyes.

We went to Muthu’s shop to leave the bicycles hired from him. When we returned, there was a crowd in front of the Mariamman temple. We peeped into see her standing in the middle. Someone said she had thrown a stone at a policeman and broke his spectacles. He was bleeding on his head too.

We say the policeman hitting her with a lathi. She screamed and cried repeatedly like a kid. My uncle tried to stop him, but returned in silence. He was profusely sweating too. We could not stand there any longer. As we left the scene, a bus came close by. We jumped into it. After a short interval, the song which she had sung so many times, kept resonating through that region.

“Be courageous to declare! Are you human?”

THE IDIOT BOX

Those were the days when it was available not in every house but in one in two or three villages. Invariably they would have been the ones who have returned from abroad. We called it ‘cat’s recording’ because we believed a cat had entered the instrument and sang from behind. Those houses would have a huge gathering of men and women, both in the morning and evening. Not only would the people view the programme, but discuss them for an hour or so, before they disburse. Anthony Muthu of Velankanni had one such ‘cat’s record’. I recall the days sitting with my granny at the courtyard to listen to the record. But those days have long passed.

Nowadays T.V. AND Video have completely come to dominate the villages. It was in Mangalapuram that the T.V. had made its first appearance – in Ponnu Kannu Nadar’s house. On the first day, he played it on the courtyard. The entire village turned up at his house. There was must jostling and hoisting and there was not enough space to accommodate this huge mass of people. The bamboo enclosure was also slightly damaged! Ponnu Kannu was seething with anger but could not let it out. Whom would he admonish? These villagers could not mend their ways, he howled. But at heart he thought, “Alas! Where would they go anyway? After a day’s hard work, these tired and worn out people come here for a few moments of rest.” Thinking thus, he would even place the T.V. on the Veranda so that more people could view without disturbing him. It would go on till 9 – 9.30 p.m. However, the whistling kids and the elders who run an expert’s commentary on small things have often irritated him and he could hardly control them.

After a while, a T.V. set was installed at the Panchayat Office. People in rows and columns reserved for them would view it till 10 p.m. at the Office. It had become daily routine there too! Thereafter, a set had come to the Pattikarar’s house. We had three sets at that point of time.

They made fun of the villagers who resembled the figures who appeared in advertisements. “Hey, look Kottapuli is coming! See how Ammukara is dancing! This was the refrain. One could hardly keep onself aloof when these small kids indulge in fun and laughter. There was this advertisement about “Super Papa and Super Son”. The stories they made of people of the village resembling them was very popular indeed!

Even the cowherds started pronouncing the names of Jayasuriya, Debashish Mohanty, Nikhil Chopra, Harvinder Singh, Inzamamum-ul-Haq, Salim Mallik, Walsh and Steve Waugh in absolute perfection. Not only that, they even assembled a team and started playing cricket! This was the kind of impact which the T.V. had on the village.

Nowadahs, from Marriage halls to cremation grounds, people have started playing videos. As a result traditional dance forms such as Oyillatam, Devarattam, Karagam, Horse Dance, Peacock Dance and stage performances like Harichandaran Story, Lav Kusa, Nallathangaal have become a rarity. The discussion everywhere was about video or television.

That day, I too was watching television with others. Muthiah, as was his wont, chided the kids murmuring amongst themselves. They continued to talk stealthily paying no heed to Muthiah.

“Hey, how great it would be if my hero comes now?”

“Your man has now become old. Could he sing like my hero in his own voice? Could he dance, fight, swinging and rolling the cane stick and dive from a moving car?”

“What rubbish? Could your hero pose in style? Is throwing limbs around in the air and making faces called dancing? As my uncle says, could anyone do the double of crying and laughing at the same time like my hero?”

.................

“Look! He is talking too much! He is abusing our hero!” He complained and gathered the support of a few others. It was Muthiah who intervened to stop the boy from getting lynched by the gang. “Chee, Chee. What kind of drama is being enacted here? It is the way you are being brought up that matters! Don’t ripen at this young age.” He advised.

“All right grandpa, you tell us who is correct.” Someone pleaded.

“What he says is correct. Throwing limbs in the air, like a burning corpse is no dancing at all! Did he not say? A talent of an artist is to be measured by his ability to such things as the double act of crying while laughing and laughing while crying.”

He was proud that he won the argument. I stopped him as the boy was walking with his head high and asked him, “What class are you in?”

“Sixth” he replied.

“Why this longing for films and film stars? Do you study well? Who gets first in your class?”

“It is me, Anna!”

“What is the first lesson in Tamil?”

He brought out from his memory, a three page lesson in no time. I was startled at the power of his memory. Similarly, he recited the song, “What song shall I sing my mother?” with its meaning.

“Whose son are you?”

“I belong to Nemathaanpatti. I stay here at my uncle’s house.”

“Who is your uncle?”

“Sarangapani. I am his elder sister’s son.”

“Oh! That miser Sarangapani?” I went past him.

On the fourth day of Pongal celebrities, there were many contests and he took part in the fancy dress competition. He appeared on stage as a sooth sayer.

“Good Times ahead! Good Times ahead! Om Kali has opened her eyes!

Downfall of those who think evil is imminent!

Those who entertain thoughts of treachery and betrayal will soon be down with dysentery!”

There was huge ovation. He won the first prize.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Mani Bharathi, Anna”

Afterwards, we started meeting quite frequently. I wondered at the kind of questions he posed related to the lessons.

He donned the role of Subramanya Bharathi and practised the monologue with me. I was there in the audience when he appeared in the School function.

“When will the thirst for freedom get quenched?

When will the slave’s servitude perish?”

He recited these lengthy verses with great felicity and with emotion. His Bharati-like posture with an upright head got imprinted in my mind. Thereafter, I started visualising him in the image of Bharathi, even when I saw him on other settings. In fact, I was thrilled to imagine him as Subramanya Bharathi!

Most of the time I noticed him loitering around the village. Some said he was not being looked after well by his guardian. It wasn’t a nice house to stay. That miser would not take part in events of the village, neither good nor bad. As the Manager of the temple, he would arrange to distribute the sacred food (Prasadam) to a handful of people and take the rest home to save on cooking for two times a day! It was for this kind of behaviour that he earned the name, miser Sarangapani! One can keep talking about his mean mindedness endlessly. He was the most miserly amongst the misers!

People used to joke by recounting how he oscillated his face to prevent damage to the hand=held fan and that the only thing he spent liberally was the excreta when he visited the toilet three times a day!

His wife Santhmani spent his life with the buffalos and in the process acquired some of the qualities of the animal. She would work laboriously but did not have cordial relations with her neighbors. Even the relations who visit their house have never been looked after well. Despite all these, both of them had a deceptively sweet tongue to mollify others. Truly, they were made for each other!

Since he did not have a son, he adopted his sister’s. But seldom did he care for him. For name’s sake, he did feed him without care or commitment. Even feeding the boy was a herculean task for him and he went around boasting about it in high terms. Sarangapani did never buy a note book for the boy. On his own, Mani Bharathi collected film notices and cut them to the size of a note book. I knew this because he brought them to me for stitching.

After a while, we became really close. He grasped all I taught him very quickly. I felt very happy to teach such a bright mind!

Sarangapani and his family led their lives together for the sake of reputation, nothing else. Leave aside rearing up Mani Bharathi, even his own daughter got separated for her husband because of Sarangapani. He had money in plenty, but pretended to be poor. It was no consideration for him that his daughter had come home separated from her husband but Sarangapani desired that his son-in-law should perish.

Sarangapani was an expert in denigrating others. He never had a good opinion of others. In social events, he would to his heart’s content, but still would find fault with one aspect or the other of the quality of food served. While eating at gatherings, nobody could sit beside him for he would splurge and spray from his mouth. For the sake of money, he would do anything!

I felt Mani Bharathi was not being brought up in a conducive environment. He would have a bright future, if brought up in a better environment. One day I saw him studying under the street light shooing away the night flies and asked him why he wasn’t doing it inside his house.

“Chah!” he said it dejectedly.

“There is commotion all the time. Both of them behave like a snake and a mongoose. At the end of their duel, Mama would receive blows from Aunty and would bark like a dog.”

We all knew that Sarangapani often was at the receiving end of his wife’s fury. Once Babu, a sixth standard student had beaten Sarangapani’s bull and Sarangapani, noticing the boy hitting his animal, raised his hand at Babu. The child it seems had said, “Stop talking loud and don’t threaten to beat me! If I were to complain to your wife, you would get a similar treatment!” This alleged repartee did the rounds in the fields of the village for some time.

That day Kamalakannan was getting married. There was a video show of three full-length films the preceding night. Mani Bharathi had seen all the three films. Sarangapani had left for his work in the ration shop early in the morning. Mani had eaten nothing overnight and went to school. He could not take his lunch at School well and felt sleepy throughout the day. As he watched the television at the house of Ponnu Kannu Nadar’s, he feel asleep at the road side.

Sarangapani was returning home late at night after cornering rice and sugar and mounting bags containing of these on a bullock cart. It was a no moon day and completely dark.

The cart was trundling its way swinging left and right. It was being driven by Kuppusami. Sangapani was on high after consuming toddy. He rebuked Kuppusami and asked him to drive faster. Kuppusami prodded the animal and the cart ran fast.

As it reached Ponnu Kannu Nadar’s house, Kuppusami felt as though the wheel had climbed up a mound of earth and come down. He heard a rattling sound too.

“Whatever it is, don’t worry. Go ahead like a regal king.” As Sarangapani finished saying this, Kuppusami’s heart beat faster.

“Let me see what it is.”

Kuppusami tried to kneel down. Sarangapani interrupted him with vehemence and ordered, “Go ahead Kuppa! We can find out in the morning. It must have been a big rock like stone.”

Unable to control his anxiety, Kuppusami did manage to light a match and went near the object.

“Oh! Mani Bharathi!”

LANGUAGE

Vora sat like a man possessed. All around him are question marks. He felt like being inside an illusory ring full of question marks. His legs were dropped inside the pond. He was sitting on the riverside steps and saw the images of clouds moving, birds flying after taking a dip and felt the little thuds of fish lings, which seemed to whisper something to him. Perhaps, he would have enjoyed the moment on another occasion. But now?

“Vora”

Mother’s voice..... full of pathos....He recollects the moment again and again.

For the past couple of days he has been doing the same. His body shudders at the thought of it, specially the voice of the mother.

“Vora”

His nephews scream at him. Calls of happiness. How sad it is to repress the thought of yelling at those children playing hide and seek.

Tears start rolling down and swell up. The pond converts itself into the sea and waves upon waves drag him inside. He struggled to gulp water.

The Church bell rings at a distance. We come from so far to take a “darshan” at you! How you made me desolate! Eyes darkened, Vora felt giddy because of hunger. All around there was darkness. Through the darkness, he saw mother, elder brother, sister in-law, their children and then “Sushmita”, the playful girl, who was going to be ‘his’ and ‘his’ only. He stood amidst all of them. Cough catches up from yesterday’s weeping.

Two days have passed and the unthinkable had happened. He walked as the legs desired and kept walking. Men and women were returning after the day’s labour with their food boxes and betel leaf bags hanging from their hands. He lagged behind them as he could not keep pace with them. The day was slowly descending. a su

What would he say if someone were to ask him where he was going? Brooding Vora moved on. The women passing by him looked up at his face. They case surprising look at the person with a dishevelled hair and drained eyes.

A couple of mischievous girls threw questions at him and went away giggling.

Vora stopped as though he had suddenly acquired consciousness. He came across a river and stood there blanking. The girls who went past him made a bundle of their sarees and cloth-bags and went into the river in a half-naked pose. He waited for them to go a distance and dropped his legs into the river. The water was swirling at a good speed. Shivers ran through his spine. What is he going to do after crossing the river? Where is he going to go after leaving “Velaankanni”, the abode of the goddess, Mother Mary near the town Nagapattinam. He seemed completely at a loss for ideas and walked aimlessly.

The river water had just been opened to the villages and the fields were filled with water. To him it appeared the village had been inundated with floods. There were still patches of cracked, unused land. On the other side, there were lands with dense woods.

Agriculture in “Thumbur” had become a feature of contrast like this over a period of time. When water overflows the river, banks are raised and diversions created. There is no trace of unity amongst the farmers. They loiter around during summer and become a little committed only during the sowing season. At a distance and in the middle of a dry paddy field, he saw a group of four or five men sitting around a dimly lit lamp. He was disturbed at the sight of these men, but walked calmly realising that there were men and women both in front and behind him.

Whoever passes through “Thumbur” cannot escape easily the eyes of the village headman, Andiappan.

Just as Vora claimed the road, Andiappan’s eyes fell on him. With a stick in his hand and the stench of liquor from his mouth, he asked Vora, “Are you new to the village?” croaking his throat. Not able to understand, Vora walked straight and Andiappan came across and asked him again, “Who have you come to meet here?”

Pointing his hands towards Velankanni, Vora let out a few words in Hindi.

“Right. How is that you are here at this hour after visiting Velankanni? Intervened Andiappan. Vora blanked at Andi and Andi became suspicious.

“Hi. We know you dogs! It happens every time during the Kanni festival. You come here scouring this place. Saying thus, Andiappan delivered a slap on Vora. Vora was benumbed. There was giddiness mixed with hunger. His sight dimmed and he felt like crying. Still he recovered and tried to answer Andiappan, but could not do so.

Now Vora started to think of the ways of escaping. Wriggling the clutches of Andi, he started to run. Andi also came roaring behind him crying, “thief, thief”. Caught by the cruel hand of destiny and seemingly beaten, it was fortunate to be alive. Throughout the night, he laid down not knowing where he was. As the day dawned, he saw himself lying on a Cot woven of jute fibre in front of a courtyard. His body felt bludgeoned. Why does it happen again and again to me? Vora wondered. The wound is not allowed to heal, he thought.

When he looked for time, his wrist-watch was missing. He looked around. There was a young man standing at a distance smiling at him. Vora stared at the sky above. Somehow, he managed to escape because of the sympathetic heart of Santhanam; otherwise, the crowd would have lynched him.

Santhanam called him by the sign of his hand. Going beside the stream, they finished their morning duties. Santhanam gave him a pice of neem stick to brush his teeth. While washing his face, Vora noticed blood in his lips. When he gargled, blood came jetting out with water.

Santhanam took him to the house of “Vaianna”. Vaianna had been a soldier in the army of Subhash. He knew to two or three languages. Santhanam requested Vaianna to find out more about the stranger.

Santhanam could not understand a word of what they were talking. He could notice the stranger struggling to talk, sighing and weeping in between. Vaianna talked sympathetically and Santhanam could already notice a sign of support in Vaianna’s eyes for the stranger. A small crowd started to assemble in front of the house when Vaianna came out.

“Where is the brave soul who had beaten a dead snake? Vaianna asked teasingly. There was silence in the crowd. “Who is that man? Why do you remain silent?” he repeated.

“Since Andiappan yelled ‘thief, thief’ we caught hold of this man and beat him” someone reasoned.

“How does it feel if a person like you with a beard, oil-less hair and a suspicious look gets beaten?” Vaianna taunted. The youngsters in the crowd let out a peal of laughter.

“A great saviour of this village! A person becomes a thief if he thinks so!” Vaianna again taunted Andi.

“This person belongs to Madhya Pradesh and he has come to visit Velankanni with his family. You all would have noticed piece of news in the paper four days back. A bus and lorry dashing head on in which his mother, brother and sister in-law and nephews and the girl this man was to marry were all crushed to death. Not able bear the shock of the accident, this man had lost his consciousness and wandered around and finally reached this place. You have all manhandled a man who has not eaten for four days!” Vaianna gave a sigh of suppressed anger.

Someone brought the Friday’s Dinamani in which the news of the accident was given prominence with a photograph. Seeing this, Vora started to cry again. To console him became a huge task for those who have gathered around.

”Sir, I was under the influence of liquor. I am responsible for the incident” Andiappan talked with remorse. None have seen Andiappan talk in this fashion before. All of them felt disturbed.

Vaianna’s wife brought Coffee in a tumbler. Ask him if he wants Coffee? She queried.

“He had eaten in Santhanam’s house” replied Vaianna.

Suddenly Mariappan came running and said, “The watch was perched on the hibiscus tree. Ask him if it is his watch”. Vora silently acknowledged. Vaianna broke the silence which befell the crowd by saying, “We must find a way to collect money to send this man home”. Suddenly, Munian suggested, “Why don’t we pawn his watch and get the money for him!”. Vaianna threw a furious look at Munian.

“Hai! We belong to a place where our ancestors have built resting places for even total strangers to come and stay! This is the land which gave life to whosoever came to its lap. This is not the land which pawns the belongings of others. “ Vaianna gave a mouthful to Munian and others like him in the crowd.

Handing over 50 rupees, Vaianna said, “Look Santhanam, this is my contribution. You contribute whatever you like.” Soon they collected 400 rupees.

“Santhanam, you go and board this person in the bus. All blessings will be bestowed upon you!” ordered Vaianna.

The bus was about to start from Nagapattinam. He embraced Santhanam and tears started rolling. Santhanam too was at a loss for words.

Vora sat besides the window. A friendly cool breeze wafted through the window. The bus started to move. He waved his hands. Now, both Vora and Santhanam clearly understood each other’s language. What else it could be, other than the language of love!