Rising Heat, page 16
With these thoughts through the day, he waited for the postman expectantly. Until the colony was built, everyone had been receiving their mail properly even though there was only one postman delivering to ten villages. After the colony was built, the postman had time only to deliver mail to all the houses there. The mail delivery reached at eleven every day. After it was opened and distributed, he had to collect all the letters from the letter boxes and take them back by two in the afternoon when the collection truck arrived. The post office was in Seppur, which was three miles away. Within that short frame of time, how much could the postman do? How could he deliver to all ten villages? He didn’t. If he saw someone from any of those villages, he would hand the whole bundle of post for that village to that person. Sometimes, the mail reached after a whole month.
So he waited along the postman’s route and asked him if it was a yes or a no every day. Veeran had told him that he would receive the interview card within a week’s time.
The card arrived after two days. It was a notification for him to come in person the following week. He took the card and went to see Veeran. Veeran was eating when he got there. So the boy sat on the exterior plinth and flipped through a book that was lying there. It was an anthology of poems with a foreword by Thalaivar. The front cover and the title pages were all torn. When Veeran finished eating and came out, he saw him reading the book. He seated himself next to him immediately and straightened his moustache, making the droplets of water trapped in it drip down.
‘This is how you should read, Maaple! People skip the introduction and preface and go somewhere to the middle of the book directly. I can see you are interested in reading. And you know how to read.’
His praise had the boy wrapped in shyness. He tittered as an acknowledgement. Seeing the card spread happiness on Veeran’s face. He shook his head as he spoke.
‘It arrived, didn’t it! That’s what I thought. They all do as discussed and agreed upon. They name the price shamelessly for doing it, don’t they? Now you can go and join the college, Maaple.’
‘I will join the hostel, Maama.’
‘Getting into the hostel is a bit tough, Maaple. They may say that you are from Karattur and need to be a day scholar. Mm . . .’
‘Get me into the hostel somehow, Maama! Only then can I study properly. If I have to commute from here, it is not going to be possible.’
‘Okay, you get ready to pay the fees. Only if we push two hundred or three hundred to those fellows can we get into the hostel. Let’s see.’
He brought three hundred to get into the hostel. Veeran made another trip just for that purpose. The next week, they paid the fees and got him admitted. Appa went with them too. They bought his bed and baggage at Odaiyur, dropped him off at the hostel and went back.
Even if he tried lifting it with both his hands, the trunk box still felt heavy. The boy had put everything in it and locked it. He would have to get off slowly in Aattur. Knowing that the bus driver was always in a hurry, not really halting even at a stop, he had told him beforehand about his trunk box. The breeze blew wild inside the bus, messing up his hair. It fell on his face. The first order of business after reaching home is to snip this burden off my head, he thought to himself. He didn’t like even getting his hair cut in Odaiyur. Only if he got it done in his usual place would it be to his satisfaction. In the month that passed, was there anything that was to his satisfaction?
After he was dropped off at the hostel, he felt as if everything around him dried up. Being in a college and the happiness and excitement it brought on all got deflated within half an hour of being there. The dreams that had sprouted and grown burned down to their roots. He was hurting more there than the place he had escaped.
The campaigning for the college elections was in progress: support that party, support this party. They were competing for power. His room was upstairs. Number 27. The din that started at eight in the evening went on till as late at twelve or one at night. The contestant for the post of student council chairman, Venkatachalam, bought everyone a pen. Ravichandran gave them shaving sets. The ones standing for various executive posts made sure that booze flowed through the hostel; every room got a bottle. The boy had the habit of sleeping at ten and was in constant fear that even if he covered himself from head to toe to sleep, they would wake him up and offer him a drink that he had to drink.
The newcomers were made to strip down to their underwear and run up from the ground floor all the way to the terrace and back tooting like a train. If they refused, they were made to remove even their underwear and do it. If he came across a senior student, his heart pounded in fear as he wondered what he was going to make him do.
The ordinary kind of ragging did not faze him much. But when each of their sadistic and torturous minds began to be displayed in the name of ragging, he couldn’t take it any more and ran away as fast as he could with his bag and baggage. Venkatesan was in the BCom line in his final year. His eyes were always bloodshot. His nickname was ‘Mabban’, and he was always drunk. The way he laughed at the juniors made them shit in their pants.
The ragging that happened in the open usually involved running like a train or pretending to play cricket. But what he did behind closed doors in his room went way beyond all this. The boy too got caught in that trap once.
That room was painted in blue. It felt ‘edgy’, and with the night lamp turned on it became a very private set-up. He felt like he was levitating. On the cot and the chair were three people. On the table was a bottle and a packet of snacks. He was told to ‘sit on the floor’. Sipping on his tumbler, Venkatesan asked, ‘Do you want to drink?’
‘Mm.’
‘What is “mm”? Open your mouth and answer the question.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘You will? Can a student drink? Why have they sent you here? To study or to drink?’
‘To study.’
‘Then why did you say you will drink?’
The only way to deal with them was to remain silent. But simply keeping silent didn’t help in all situations. He had to talk a little and that too in a very measured way. If he had a look of fright on his face, that thrilled them to no end and made them want to continue. He figured out all these things in a very short amount of time.
They told him to hold his palms like a cup and poured brandy into that. If any drop spilt out they made him lick it up like a dog. Every time they made him do anything, they laughed brazenly. It was as if a tiny little mouse was being teased by a few cats. With just their gaze, the cats would skin the mouse. The mouse struggled, its body bloodied.
‘Have you clapped before?’
‘. . .’
‘Mm?’
‘. . .’
‘Clap. Clap now!’
They let the mouse run and then trapped it again. They dragged it back, digging their long, sharp nails into it and flipped it over. The stench of the open wounds! The mouse fell, broken into pieces. They grabbed it by their mouths, tore it apart and devoured it.
He caught a fever, with the temperature so high it set off sparks of fire. For two days he didn’t get out of bed, except to visit a doctor nearby and buy medicines. He couldn’t stay there any longer. He was glad that his fascination for staying in the hostel had worn off.
The bus stopped. He moved the trunk box slowly and got down from it. His mind was sparkling bright, like the sun after a torrential rain. As he walked carrying his trunk box, Vasu walked over from the tea shop.
‘What is this, you show up suddenly with your bag and baggage?’
‘I’ll tell you all that later. It’s a long story.’
‘Okay, come, let’s have some tea.’
He turned and looked behind the tea shop and was shocked. The back wall of the temple was ruined and gaping, with its mouth wide open.
‘What happened at the temple, Vasu?’
‘You don’t know about it? A lorry driver rammed into it. Nothing happened to him. They are going to demolish the whole wall and rebuild a new one.’
‘Leave this trunk box in the buffalo centre. I will pick it up when I go there. I am going to go to the temple now.’
Vasu took the trunk box and asked him, ‘How are you going to go to college from now?’
‘I’m thinking of becoming a day scholar.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘Will tell you later.’
The back wall of the temple had crumbled to dust. It happened once every couple of years. The motorists seem to be driving with their eyes closed. The villagers would have collected money from the person who ran into the wall. But what could they do with that money? How many times could they rebuild that wall? The whole village was tired of this. They could build a bigger and better temple a little farther away.
He heard voices from the front plinth. He walked around to the front. Sevathaan and the village leader, Nallan, were talking about something. When Sevathaan saw him, he said, ‘Welcome, welcome, Maaple! Wait, we can go home together. Let me finish this discussion.’
The boy too sat next to him. They were discussing a village problem.
‘The water he drew has already been drawn. Getting the village together now and chiding him is not going to work.’
‘But look at how defiant Kodukkan has gotten!’
‘What does the village have of his to deduct anything? Does he pay anything? He doesn’t. We don’t pay him any annual labour gratuity either. That’s why he dared do it.’
‘Okay, okay, let’s talk about this later. I have some work to take care of.’
Kodukkan Rangan, who was from a lower caste, had drawn water from the village’s common well. Up until then, if someone was drawing water, he would put his pot down and have them fill it for him. Now, he was evidently drawing the water from the well by himself. That was the problem. He sold bags, winnows, brooms and so on from market to market. No one in the village bought anything from him. Nor did they pay him an annual labour token. But still, how could he draw water from the common well?
They would find a way to bring a sense of lawfulness.
Sevathaan walked along with the boy, with his arm around his shoulder. His shirt smelt nice, of mothballs. The veshti he was wearing went all the way to the ground and parted slightly with each step before falling back into place. He brought him into the shade of the tamarind tree and asked him a question slowly. With the sound of the passing lorries, his voice sounded even more secretive.
‘Did you see Veeran?’
‘No, Maama.’
The mocking tone of his voice became a smile on his face.
‘How much did he grab from you?’
‘Grab what, Maama?’
‘Money, of course.’
Sevathaan’s voice was full of mischief. But the boy understood too. He needn’t have given Veeran any money to join the hostel. Nor was CM College so well-known that people from the nooks and corners of Tamil Nadu knew about it and wanted to study there. Very few students stayed in the hostel. There were many empty rooms that came in handy when anyone wanted to take a piss in the middle of the night. Those who stayed on the upper floors didn’t spoil their sleep by coming all the way down just to use the toilet. They simply let it drip on the walls of the unused rooms. With so many vacancies, there was no need to bribe anyone to get in. Even for day scholars, there were some rooms available to play truant or get a drink. Those rooms had locks but even the warden of the hostel had no clue about who kept the keys to them.
The three hundred rupees that Veeran took from him had stayed right in his pocket itself. Within a few days of joining the college the boy had realized that he had been cheated. But what was he going to do knowing that? For a person who had never seen a college or had any inkling of how the admissions worked, getting swindled in the process was not uncommon. It was as if the person who said ‘I will take you there and show you around’ was walking behind him with his eyes closed. But Veeran being the one doing this was quite a shock to the boy. Only with experience was he beginning to understand people.
His face was full of silliness as he responded to Sevathaan.
‘He took me there and got me admitted. He may have taken a little for himself. But why are you bringing it up, Maama?’
His response made Sevathaan’s face serious. He held on to the tamarind tree with one hand. He didn’t pay any attention to the ants that were climbing up his legs as he spat out the words.
‘He is wretched! He steals from the village. Nobody knows where he is right now. And gullible boys like you, the educated fools, you all go seeking him.’
Sevathaan was offended because the boy hadn’t come to him instead.
‘Where is he now?’
‘He lives somewhere . . . He cheated two or three lads from the colony. One was promised a seat in a polytechnic. And the other in a college in Kottur. He took a thousand or two thousand. Those boys are literally crying. He has disappeared. There is no trace of him.’
‘Is that so?’
His surprise served to encourage Sevathaan. Someone on the street put his hands together as a sign of respect to Sevathaan. He nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgement to the other man as he patted him.
‘I know Nallaiyan from Odaiyur really well. His is my man. He will do anything for me, whatever it is. We could have admitted you in that college without any expense. But you rushed to him and got trapped. At least from now on use your brains.’
‘How did he become so cheap?’
His question made Sevathaan excited.
‘That is fate. His party itself is like that. What did he really achieve from protesting against Hindi? A two-hundred-rupee token and a bus pass? And what can he do with that? Each person makes himself a lot of money even when his party is not in power. And fools like him only grin and bear all that.’
The boy’s throat became parched. He couldn’t swallow even his saliva. He felt like killing himself by jumping from atop some place really high. For Veeran’s livelihood, the party became useful. He had the letter from the professor. He had the identity of the person who fought in the Hindi protests. With all that, he was able to beg for money with dignity from a few people. And he could still walk right back after disappearing like this. He could still stroke his moustache after getting drunk. He could still yell and challenge anyone. His body could handle all that. But Veeran’s sacrifices were oozing out. The blood that Veeran shed in the soil of Karattur was now in a large sewage pond. Thinking of him was making the boy want to cry. Which faceless force was behind this?
He hung his head to hide his tears. Sevathaan consoled him half-heartedly.
‘It’s okay, Maaple, now you go. Your grandfather isn’t doing well. They were going to bring you home today or tomorrow anyway. Go see him. If there is anything you need in the future, discuss with me before you do anything. Learn to survive. Go now.’
As soon as he mentioned his grandfather, the boy forgot everything else and hastened his pace.
Chapter 11
Thatha looked like a food-poisoned goat on the brink of death. His face was shrivelled and sagging. He was lying down with his mouth wide open, like someone snoring with fatigue. Before he died, he was breathing only through his mouth. The ‘nggkr, nggkr’ sound that he was making since the previous night was the only sign of life in him. He sounded like he wanted to say something badly but instead was yelling in frustration because words didn’t join him in his effort. He kept his legs folded. Even if they kept straightening his legs, they didn’t stay straight. His hands moved up and down with his breath. His body was covered with sores. The soul was fighting to shake itself away and somehow escape the body that was holding on to it. They thought of ways to put to an end to that fight that carried on through dawn.
‘All his life, he never carried a money purse on his hip. That may be what Appa is still yearning for. It must be his desire for money. Let’s strike a rupee coin with water and give him that water.’
Everyone thought what Periappa said was reasonable. The water that they fed him stagnated in his throat. There was a ‘kara kara’ sound. The water then went through swiftly. The ‘nggkr nggkr’ sound resumed. Paati sat next to his head and cried. She often placed her hand on Thatha’s forehead and stroked him gently.
‘Thatha had a lot of liking for arrack. Should we try that?’
‘Let’s try toddy. If he wasn’t fasting, he always preferred toddy.’
They called for Chinnaan and had him give Thatha some toddy. The toddy went through him like buttermilk.
‘Just what does he desire so much?’
‘Wonder what his fragile soul has its mind set on?’
Periamma, who was sitting on the plinth with her head against a pillar, spoke up. ‘It is the land that he craved. How much he lamented that the land was being taken away for the colony. It was only after that that he began to give up. Look at him, does he seem like one who should be dying now? His love for his land isn’t letting him move on. This is a body that sprouted from that soil. Bring some of that, mix it in water and give him.’
For two days and nights, they all had taken turns to stay by Thatha’s side all the time. The weariness had begun to show on everyone’s faces. They sent the boy to bring some soil. If they gave that with water to Thatha, his throat would be blocked. The ‘nggkr’ sound would stop.
The love that Thatha had for the land where the colony had been constructed was indescribable. The boy still remembered the wounds his Thatha suffered, crying inconsolably when they filled their well with soil. Where the well was, they had built a large water tank and a park around it. A single coconut tree still stood there. It used to belong to his Chithappa. It was a short tree, and its fruits alone ‘would have prevented all this misery’. He took some soil from between the roots of that tree.
