Rising Heat, page 18
‘There is no need for insinuations. Just tell me what needs to be done. How many people has my father helped settle disputes? And today, you have made that man himself ask for a mediation, haven’t you?’
‘Maama . . . I understand your state completely. I have a thought. See if this will work out for you.’
‘Only if you say it can I do that.’
His voice was laced with urgency. He would not wait any longer. He went to the vehicle and stood holding it.
‘Pay the amount that was agreed upon to the ones who are already there. Give the ones from our village an amount that they deserve as well. I will tell the villagers to show up.’
‘How can we pay the fellows who aren’t there?’
‘Maama, they should have been the ones called for this rightfully. But you didn’t call them. Even though they don’t collect annual wages like they used to, we still need them for all the good and the bad, don’t we? Therefore, give them what they should have been given. Why don’t you give about two hundred? That should do.’
‘Fine.’
Chithappa agreed. As long as the rites could go on. He gave the money to Sevathaan.
‘This man is something else, da. Even if it’s a cat’s hair, he seems to want a cut from it. As long as everything goes on smoothly now,’ said Chithappa after they left Sevathaan’s house.
The boy did not condone giving any money to Sevathaan. Still, he didn’t say anything. What was going to change even if he did say something? Even before they reached home, the villagers had started trickling in one by one.
Chapter 12
The moon was bright. He was lying down watching only the moon. There was noise all around—discussions about the drama. The temple kumbabhishekam was next week. The plan was for the youngsters to perform a play at the festival. For the past two or three nights, they had been getting together and talking only about this.
The more he stared at the moon, the more he yearned—if he had been living on his ancestral lands, it would have been as bright as day there. He could have put a cot outside the house and stared at the sky, comfortably lying on his back. The light would have gradually dimmed as the moon moved behind the blossoming clouds before slowly making its way out. There would have been darkness everywhere for a brief moment. In a jiffy, it would have become bright again. This game of hide-and-seek would have continued on and on. Here, in the colony lit with electric lights, the full brightness of the moon wasn’t appreciable at all. He became sad when the thought of the farms filled him.
‘The people from the colony conducted games during the festival of Thai Pongal. They showed a movie too. On top of that, they built a temple there and performed a play. We are not less than them, are we?’
That’s how Balu started the conversation with him. He wanted to put up a play one way or the other. And he had to play the role of the protagonist. He wanted to be able to flaunt that around the colony. He had a general store in the colony. He looked like a dark ghost when he sat at the cash counter. He believed that the colony boys were depriving him of his ability to be a hero in real life. He was fully determined to at least act as a hero in a play and establish his heroics.
‘Sure, we can put up a play. Our guys have to agree to it and participate. Who will come forward?’
‘If we get started, they will all join. Who has the play book?’
They heard the sound of a vehicle. Its lights were blinding. The ones who were lying around, the ones who were discussing the play, all stood up in an instant. It was Sevathaan’s bike. The main focus of this gathering was to meet with him, tell him about the play and get the posters started off. He had seen them and stopped his vehicle.
‘What is going on at this hour?’
‘We have to talk to you about something, Maama.’
He put down the bike’s stand and seated himself on the temple plinth. He had fatigue written all over his face.
‘We are planning to perform a drama for the temple kumbabhishekam.’
His face showed no expression.
‘Who all?’
‘Us boys together.’
‘Who is “us”?’
Balu pointed around him: ‘Me, he, Ravi, Muthu . . . and the rest of the boys.’
That was not the answer he was expecting. He grimaced and dug his nose with a finger.
‘Is there someone to write the play?’
‘Raman’s son Shaktivelu is writing it.’
He became quiet after hearing that. He lifted his head up and looked as though he was thinking about something. Shaktivel had written a handful of plays. They had decided to pick one from among those to perform. He was going to direct the play too. He had gone to Chennai for two months claiming he was going to act in the movies. He had sent them a letter from there: ‘Please send two hundred rupees immediately for me to return to the village.’ Raman scrambled the money together and sent it to him. His two-month experience acting in the movies had made him write plays. He had photos of himself in a banian showing his armpit. He showed them around and claimed he would get called to act in the movies. He had stopped going to work at Periappa’s loom completely. He had resigned from there.
Sevathaan’s voice broke the silence.
‘You have decided to join those guys. Tomorrow, will you also be okay marrying one of their women?’
They all got annoyed with him for mixing one thing with another.
‘Are we talking about marrying women right now?’ There was anger in the boy’s voice. It had irritated him too.
‘Today you say drama. Tomorrow you will say wedding. Why should our boys go down this road? You come up with one together. Can you not write a play? M—’
‘Sure . . . but isn’t it way better to marry a girl than to call her to the shed at night?’
Ravi snuck that in when no one expected it. Instantly, a very palpable silence enveloped them all. Sevathaan’s face was glowering. He couldn’t respond to this in that awkward moment. Trying hard to alleviate the awkwardness, Balu said in a lifeless voice, ‘He’s a fool, ignore him. We can also write a play. But Shaktivel has experience in the cinema industry.’
‘What cinema experience does he have? Some experience indeed! If you let me, I will write four plays for you tonight. You guys are hanging on to him like he is something. As it is, they barely respect what we say. They walk over our heads. If we go to them asking for a drama and this and that, they will climb on top of us.’
‘Why are you bringing up all that, Maama? You say all these irrelevant things. We are including them because they too are part of our village. They too have a share in this. What do you have to say?’
‘They have a share, do they . . .? If you fellows cannot write a play, then conduct a kabaddi contest. Show two movies on your behalf. Who is stopping you from doing any of that?’
As if there was nothing else to talk about—if he did, it would get more awkward. Sevathaan shook his towel, put it on his shoulder and got up. He had an air about himself as if he had to make all decisions. He wanted everyone to come to him for everything. The thought that he had been the one to cause all the problems when Thatha died fired up anger in the boy.
‘The fact is that we are going to put up a play. If the village accepts, we will be there. If not, don’t call us to be part of anything else.’
Sevathaan started his vehicle, listening to what was said. He softly swallowed his words, ‘Well then, do as you wish.’
Even those words were taken as a big approval. Things began to move in earnest after that. They got the script from Shaktivel and every one of them read it. Because it would take longer if they read it out individually, they listened to Shaktivel read it aloud. He read with emotion and dramatization. Everyone liked the story.
When the character casting was ongoing, they were on the verge of a bloodbath, or so it seemed. Balu and Mani competed for the role of the protagonist. For a couple of days, they were roaming about fighting like cat and dog. Across Balu’s general store was Mani’s ‘contemporary tailoring’ shop with a billboard and an illustration of a woman with a welcoming smile on it. Balu and Mani looked at each other as if they were going to set the other in flames and burn him down. They attacked each other, making indirect references.
When Mani crossed by Balu’s store, Balu would say, ‘Useless fellows roam around believing they are hero material’, sitting at his cash counter.
To the people who came to his store, Mani would say, ‘Look at that blob of a face. Like a soot-covered pot. He doesn’t make the cut even for the role of a comedian!’ and laugh mockingly.
This became such a big problem that it was beginning to jeopardize the play. They had support on both sides. Shaktivel became nervous. He was worried that the one opportunity he was getting to showcase his talent was going to vanish. He was eager to put all his dreams of being in cinema into the play and make it a grand success, but this fight was threatening all that.
The boy was the one who came up with the idea. It was announced immediately.
‘The play is going to have two heroes and two heroines. Whoever provides the higher sponsorship amount will be the lead hero.’
Everyone agreed to this. Balu donated two hundred rupees and became the lead hero. Mani was the second hero. There was a similar problem for the role of comedian. The comedy part also involved an actress. That’s why it was in demand too. Shaktivel had a solution for that as well.
‘You have all watched Vasantha Maligai, right? That movie had both Nagesh and V.K. Ramasamy for comedy. We will do that here too.’
Shaktivel got the villain’s role. He refused to give that to anyone else. The villain had two henchmen. Because they had two heroines now, the villain got two dream scenes, one with each of the heroines. Pacchaami, who was assigned the role of a father, created a ruckus about wanting a dream scene too. How could a father have a dream scene? There was no way for that. Nothing could be modified to include that. But Shaktivel was a smart cookie and managed to resolve that too.
‘Okay, don’t worry. The father character wishes for a second marriage. When he sees the heroine, he dreams about how it would be to marry her. We can add a dream scene there.’
The boy got four or five scenes as a manager. He had a respectable role. All because of the respect he got as a college student. Apart from that, he was the treasurer. Another four or five lads from Shaktivel’s Aalkudi valavu were given character roles. Finally, the rehearsals started. Everyone assembled at eight. The director alone walked in at nine, draped in a long shawl.
Each of them had finished their work by evening and rushed over to be at the rehearsal. Shaktivel didn’t have a job. He had stopped going to the loom under the pretext of wanting to become a cinema actor and did not ever go by that side again. Other than floating around in his dreams, he did not do any work. He had sent mails to a few advertisements seeking people to work in cinema and had gone to places for that. In each place, they had made him pay two–three hundred rupees in the name of a ‘make-up test’, handed him a few photographs and sent him home. So, he stopped responding to those too. He sent his stories to magazines like Rani and Kumudham but nothing was published yet.
He hoped that if this play went well, he would get opportunities in the neighbouring villages. In spite of that, he made everyone wait just to show his importance. The rest of them lost patience with him walking in late day after day and began rehearsals without him. There was a dance for a duet song. The rehearsal started with the comedian Ravi doing the part of the heroine. Shaktivel had written the lyrics too.
In my heart a storm blows
Cheer me up, come close
I can’t bear this rain, my lover
Shall we tuck in together under a cover?
In their hoary voices they sang the lines over and over as they practised the steps. Then, Shaktivel arrived.
‘Who started the rehearsal without me?’
He yelled as though a great blunder had been committed. Not because he felt that they disrespected him or his talent, but because he was afraid there may be no need for his position.
‘You take your own sweet time to appear every day. And we have to sit around and wait for you to show up?’
From the next day onwards, he was there before anyone else. He was adamant on only one thing: that they listened to what he said. He had the role of the villain. When he delivered his bit shaking his hands and legs, he looked like a clown.
‘Dei . . . Motte. She has insulted me. I have to have her, otherwise my name is not Karkotakan!’
‘Master, our Sotte has something to say.’
‘Dei Sotta, let me get her and you get the leftovers.’
Gajendran and Keerthi had the roles of Motta and Sotta. They could not bear being bossed around.
‘Whatever it is, we cannot accept that he addresses us disrespectfully with a “da”.’
‘This is a drama, da!’
‘But still, how can he?’
The boy tried to pacify them and then burst out in exasperation. ‘Fools. Does your pride hurt just because he addresses you with a ‘da’? He has been directing us all the while, telling us to ‘do this’ and ‘do that’ and we all listen. Where is this self-esteem then? Stop talking rubbish. Either do your roles properly or pack your bags right now.’
Even though he belonged to another valavu, because Shaktivel knew a thing or two about acting, they tolerated him. They decided to stay quiet at least till the drama was over. As it is, there was enough jealousy when someone from among one’s own people rose up in life. On top of that, they had to tolerate him, someone from another valavu, making them dance to his tunes. Sevathaan and the other villagers didn’t miss a beat to build on that animosity.
‘Till yesterday they addressed us as “Saami” and stood bowing in front of us with their hands crossed as a sign of respect. With all the latitude you are giving them today, they are going to come to our homes tomorrow seeking brides for their grooms. At that time, feel free to offer your sisters. You all don’t understand the need to keep someone at the status that he belongs to.’
Those words were largely ignored for their want to perform a drama.
A few from the group went to Therrur to find actresses, negotiate and sign the deal. Four times. Each time they went, they spent a hundred. They all had a glow on their faces that wasn’t there before, like that of a new groom. They gathered together often, whispered something to each other and laughed. ‘Actresses are a rare commodity . . . We have to roam around looking for them . . . If you go out and look, you will know. Even just finding out where they live itself is a big problem. By the time we find a few of them, we get exhausted. If they are good-looking, they are not available, if they are available, they look terrible.’ And many such excuses were made to justify more trips.
As the treasurer, the boy updated everyone on the accounts at the rehearsal one day.
‘The four trips you made cost us four hundred. You still haven’t booked anyone. Therefore, those who went need not go again. I will go with two others and find someone to book.’
When they heard him, they became nervous. Balu became very angry with him. ‘He behaved like a friend but dug a grave for us instead,’ he told himself. When the few got together and shared chuckles, they should have included the boy in at least one of the trips. If they had done that, perhaps this situation wouldn’t have risen.
The boy, meanwhile, had the satisfaction of taking revenge on them. Balu tried to keep the clique from falling apart and said, ‘We will go this one time. If we don’t accomplish what we set out to, you can go the next time. Why waste more money on this?’
‘Who wasted money on this? It’s you fellows! Did you have to use the common funds to go touch and tickle those women?’ barked Ravi.
Bringing Ravi in on the expenses beforehand and singing to him the song of their misbehaviour was paying off.
‘Dei . . . don’t speak indecently.’
‘What did I say that didn’t happen? Isn’t it because you went to some woman that you all gather and cackle? There, you flaunt the money from common funds as your own, don’t you? Find someone else to cheat.’
Balu got up and slapped Ravi. Ravi smacked him back and the two of them got into a fight, rolling on the floor. The boy stood with a sly smile on his face. The rest tried to separate them. Shaktivel mitigated the situation.
‘Both of you have hit each other. No need to take this further. After all this work, you are going to get the play stopped.’
‘Why did he slap me first?’
‘If he accuses me of going to a prostitute, will that not peeve me?’
‘Of course! As if you are the epitome of good behaviour. We can go to that street and find out about that.’
They each washed the other’s dirty laundry. Shaktivel was in a pickle. He shut his mouth and stayed quiet. The stench gave the boy the biggest satisfaction. He felt relief, as if he had accomplished something great, and got a sense of calm like the feeling of having taken revenge. Somehow, the two of them were pacified and the rehearsal continued. As they got closer to the day of the show, they wrote down all the dialogues on a forty-page notebook, fearing that they may forget their lines, and memorized them.
Then there was the job of getting the temple kumbabhishekam notices printed. They drew up the notice for the play and gave it to Sevathaan. He took one look at it and said, ‘Come to the finance office, I will review it and let you know.’ He treated the finance office as his own.
Finance companies had sprouted all across Karattur like mushrooms. Putting money in financing yielded a lot of interest money. Investing in one paid bountiful dividends. The allure of the big returns made everyone scrape together all the money they had and dump it in one of these companies. Even if one sold a buffalo the money went directly to a finance company, without spending a paisa on anything else. Not having the heart to spend the money earned from interest, they collected a few months’ worth of dividends and when that added up to about five thousand, they invested that back in. The women didn’t have an ounce of gold on them.
