A Boat in the Storm ( Part I - 01 to 09 chapters)

A word from the translator:

“Puyalile Oru Thoni, one of the classics in Tamil, has been rated as one of the top ten best novels in modern Tamil literature. Its author, Pa. Singaram (1920-1997), an unassuming writer born in Singampunari town in 1920 in Sivaganga District in Tamil Nadu, seemed to have developed a distaste for the so-called literary limelight. Despite having been gifted with enormous literary talent, he had written only two novels in his entire lifetime, both set in Southeast Asia, where he spent many years as a young man. He went to Indonesia when he was 18 and worked in Medan city. After the Second World War, he returned to India in 1946 and worked in a Tamil daily, “Dhinathanthi,” in Madurai till his retirement in 1987. His wife and son died in her pregnancy when he was barely twenty-five years old. He lived alone in a Y.M.C.A. hostel and led the life of a recluse for nearly fifty years after their death. It was reported that not a soul in the newspaper office knew that he was a writer. After he was evicted from the hostel in 1997, he donated all his lifetime savings of seven lakh rupees to Nadar Mahajana Sabha in Madurai for the welfare of poor children and lived in the Sabha’s bachelor mansion for three months. He died on 30.12.1997 due to a prolonged heart problem. He wished his death not to be known to anyone.

He wrote his first novel, Kadalukku Appaal (Beyond the Sea), in 1950. After years of struggle to publish it, this novel could garner a publishing deal with the Kalaimagal Publications only after it could bag a prize in a fiction contest. His second novel, “Puyalile Oru Thoni,” though it was written in 1962, the author couldn’t find any publishers to publish it till 1972. With the unrelenting efforts of one of his friends, Puyalile Oru Thoni was published in 1972 (after ten years it was written) by Chennai-based Kalaignan Publications. But Singaram was not happy with the bowdlerized version of the novel published by Kalaignan Publishers. The parts of the novel that he considered very important were expurgated by the publisher before bringing it in print. This first publication didn’t see its subsequent editions. A revised version of the novel was attempted by another Tamil publisher, Thamizhini, after the author’s death. More than a dozen publishers are publishing this book in Tamil. The version of the novel that Tamil publishers now follow is the version actually published by Tamizhini Publishers. Apart from these two novels, he didn’t attempt writing any other novels, probably due to his bitter experience with the publishing industry infested with petty squabbles and politics at that time.

Several modern Tamil writers and literary critics consider this novel the most important literary work published in Tamil during the 20th century. Several Tamil filmmakers have expressed their desire to bring this epic novel to the screen but reportedly conceded it an impossible task as they wouldn’t be able to do justice to the book.

This novel has been written in the backdrop of the Second World War in Indonesian and Malaysian regions. The novel is sparsely spread with conversations in Indonesian, Malay, and sparingly Japanese and German languages—ostensibly an attempt made to give original flavour to the narrative. As the author didn’t bother to give either footnotes or their English equivalents, the meaning of those sentences needs to be inferred either with the help of subsequent paragraphs or just by assuming the nearest of their meanings. The author seems to be untroubled with the concerns of readers who might face problems in understanding “foreign language phrases.” It may be due to the fact that they do not play any decisive role in altering the understanding of the narrative. As a translator, I faced a certain amount of difficulties not only in terms of paraphrasing it but also in finding the correct spelling of those words in the event of being unable to find out their meaning. This has forced me to use the nearest phonetic transliteration of those words.

It is an extremely satisfying moment in my life to see this classic in English translation. If this English version of ‘Puyalile Oru Thoni’ is placed in the curriculum of Indian universities, it will be a rich tribute to its author, Pa. Singaram.

                                                                 **** 

The foreword to the second edition 

This is the second edition of “Puyalile oru Thoni.” It is a work of fiction written against the backdrop of the Second World War in Malaysian and Indonesian regions. Other than the historical events and figures, the narrative doesn’t mention anyone or any incident in particular.

Here are some explanations that pertain to the narrative:

Indonesia, earlier known as the East Indian Islands under the Dutch government, is an archipelago with many racial groups and languages. The island of Sumatra, which is seven times bigger than Sri Lanka, is a part of Indonesia. Maidan, better known as Medan City, and Belawan Port, lying near it, are located along the northeastern coast of Sumatra. The language spoken in that region is Malay. The currency in vogue at that time under the Dutch government was known as the Guilder. It was roughly equivalent to 1.50 rupees. The Tamils would call it rupee, and Indonesians would call it rupya.

Glossary of some important words used in this book

Annamer - contractors doing renovation works. Uppas – watchman, Kampong – Village, Kanthor – Office, Kitha – rubber, Ling – Tamil people, Kirani – Clerk, Sado – Horse driven coaches, Shakei – a type of Japanese liquor, Shamshu – Arrack, Thavakkei – Owner, Thuvan – addressing someone with sir, Matskappai – Company, Merdekka – Freedom, Independence, Bentheng – Fort.   The city of Penang is situated along the coast of Malaysia, which was earlier known as Malaya in the Penang islands. One Malaysian dollar was equivalent to 1.50 rupees. The Tamils would call it Velli.

It was a customary practice in those days that people other than the Chettiar community, who were into the money lending business abroad, were relegated to a status collectively known as Pillai. More often, the Malays and Chinese believed that all Tamils who were doing money lending business would necessarily be Chettiars. Any reference to “the person from Chettiar house” would only mean the profession, not caste. The building that housed the pawn shops was known as Kittangi. The building where the staff of pawn shops, agents, helpers working in pawn shops, cooks, and Nattukottai Chettiars stayed was known as the Nagara Viduthi, ‘The City Lodge.’.

The Bank of Ulantha—Netherlands Urandal Company, The Bank of Ungakan Janghai—Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, Varaagan—3.50 rupees (It was the currency known as Pakoda during the British rule), Vathaviya Patteviya (known as Jakarta these days), Oru kanakku—the time taken by someone to close an account, Korankikaari—woman from Andhra Pradesh, Vennilai Kadan—the debt without collateral.

We wouldn’t be able to witness the scenes of cars in Tamil Nadu that our hero Pandian was fortunate enough to do. Gone are the days when one could see the car agents roaming the streets with a bundle of bidi and matchboxes in one hand and trip sheets and drama pamphlets in the other, pencils on their ears, and a mouthful of nonsensical bluff. It was the time when buses were known as ‘cars,’ cars as ‘pleasures,’ and one-tonner buses as the biggest vehicles.

The portrayals of First Lane, Madurai, and Pallar Street are just a depiction of their existence at that time. They have been converted into residential areas now.

Wilmette (Lemonade) was the name given to “coloured’ soft drinks sold in bottles.

A military division was a unit commanded by a major general. An army (Sena) consisted of many divisions. An army group consisted of many armies. The strength of armies and volume of military equipment varied from nation to nation according to the requirement. (For instance, the 25th Japanese Army, which conquered Malaya, consisted of sixty thousand soldiers. The 6th Army of Germany in Stalingrad consisted of three lakh fifty thousand soldiers.)

Wehrmacht—German Army, Panzer—a German striking force consisting of tanks, bulletproof vehicles, and soldiers armed with motor vehicles, Task Team—a team of naval soldiers depending on aircraft carrier ships as their major strength, B-24—a notorious American bomber aircraft popularly known as the “Flying Fortress”—Kembithai—Japanese security services. 

Our readers must understand that one could buy roughly four to five kilograms of rice for one rupee, and the jobs that are fetching two thousand rupees now were once done for the salary of somewhere between forty or fifty rupees. The value of a thousand rupees at that time is approximately equivalent to fifty thousand rupees now. (This foreword was written in 1985.)

(The quarter of an Ana—approximately 1.50 Paise. This quarter of an Ana was worth three pennies. Things were available to buy even with a penny.)   

Pa. Singaram

August, 1985

 

                                                    Chapter 1: Kerk Straat 

It was still dark in the morning. The streetlights were found turned out. The rain had just receded, drizzled, and then stopped. The people of Medan City are standing on both sides of the street waiting for the arrival of Japanese troops. The overpowering presence of Mandarin subdues the meek chatters of Malay and Bahasa spoken in the crowd.

That street, known as Kerk Straat, ran through the town from east to west. Long before the Dutch became dominant there, the soldiers of Portugal and Britain had marched through this street from west to east when it was just a boggy mess of mud and sludge with thickly grown “Neeppa” bushes¹ on both sides. The Arabs who brought about the tenets of Islam and rare things on ships and the Tamils who introduced the principles of six faiths and rare forms of arts on magnificent wooden ships even before those Arabs had walked through this route towards the east. Now, the people are standing assembled in large numbers to get a glimpse of the troops of the Great Japan, who are expected to arrive in from the east. 

Pandian, a senior clerk in Annamer² Khader Mohideen’s firm, was coming from the north along Kesawan Street. He was tall and erect, wearing trousers in some unidentifiable colour and a white shirt. His footsteps, uniformly stomping on the ground, produce a patterned sound. A live cigarette emitting smoke is clenched in his teeth. 

“Tholung laalu sikket,” he went past the bookshop in the corner of the tri-junction, bidding people to pave him the way, took a turn to the left on Kerk Street, and stood in front of the Dermulan restaurant. 

The light grew brighter in the east, driving away the darkness around. Everything was now clearly visible. He drew a puff on his cigarette, blew it, walked towards the corner of the weekly camp bookstall, and glanced through the Polish Way that lay before him. That broad road that led to the Sultan’s palace had some elevated platforms built at intermittent distances in its middle. The trees standing on those platforms fanning their leaves rustled in the morning breeze. On one corner was the Davros bungalow, and on the other, a cathedral of Mother Mary. Yonder, large shops were standing on both sides of the road—Thokkovan Toppol, Cournier, Whiteaway, Altenburg, Bayers…

The sunlight was now visible, spreading its rays across. The chirping of birds became dense in trees. The mixed chatter and people brushing against each other grew thicker in the crowd. Everyone standing there was craning their heads forward and looking towards the east to greet the Japanese army, which was on its way to conquer Medan city. 

The semi-spherical, silky marble tower of the Davros Palace was shining in greenish yellow under sunlight. The tops of trees that looked in bunches were decked in golden rays of the sun. The chirpings of birds grew louder. Suddenly, a loud noise of reception came from the east. 

“Japan…sooda daathang! Japan sooda daathang!” 

Tumultuous uproar, clapping of hands, boisterous noise. Three bicycles were coming in a row in the front. Japanese soldiers in dirty clothes carrying shiny Tommy guns were marching forward with big bundles tied on their backs. Tendrils and leaves used for camouflage were found fixed on their uniforms and vehicles. 

“Banzai…Banzai…Banzai.” 

The bicycles were coming in fours in rows now. Dirty bodies that hadn’t taken a bath for so long. Metal caps, water jugs, and the shirt pockets stuffed with some unknown materials and bundles that contained tools kept in pillion. 

They were driving bicycles in a straight line, marching towards the tarmac and Dutch buildings in Bolonia. 

Pandian was standing there, completely astounded. ‘They are the soldiers who had conquered Singapore. Aren’t they? Is this the Japanese army that had tasted victory by invading simultaneously in different directions in many places located thousands of miles away from each other?’ 

Nearly a hundred soldiers might have crossed that street. The march of bicycles stopped on that smooth black road after that. The uproar rose again from the east. 

“Banzai…Banzai…Banzai…” The bicycles started rolling again on the road. This time, the soldiers smiled at the onlookers without parting their lips. Amidst their march, some military officers in olive green woollen uniforms with unfriendly countenances riding motorbikes emitting loud noise made a brief appearance and then disappeared.

The crowd dispersed. About ten or fifteen onlookers entered Chukkamuliya Street and walked in the direction where the Japanese army was marching. Some men from the crowd followed them. Then, many in large numbers started moving, half of them running and half of them walking west. 

Pandian looked to the north and then the south. The villagers were walking towards the tri-junction in groups. A peculiar tint of pride was radiating on their face; their walk was infused with a regal gait, and their eyes were looking sharp as if expecting something.

He turned to the north and walked down in Kesawan. The shops were closed. Two Chinese men were standing near a decent-looking restaurant that was opened very recently and were chit-chatting secretively. An old Chinese lady was grumbling about something under a champak tree in the front yard of the Limpin Sheik bungalow situated on the right. 

Some Chinese children were playing in the front—poor guys! Without knowing anything about these developments, they came running and shrieked. 

“Banzai…jeep un maai” 

On the left were found Heppalaine Bread Shop, Blank Kens Chattered Bank, and Ban Hin Lee. On the right were found textile shops standing in a row owned by Sindhis, Asomul, Mathaani, Kimat Rai, and Daulat Ram.

“Hei Panthiyaan…Panthiyaan…” he heard someone calling him out from behind. He turned his head and saw Lim Theng, the younger brother of Khyam Lim, standing near the half-opened door of the latter’s bicycle shop.

“I am coming there.” 

“Please for a second.” 

He entered. 

“The villagers have planned for a plunder.” Lim’s voice was visibly loaded with terror. He gave Pandian a packet of cigarettes and told him, “The servant has just informed us of this a while ago.”. 

“It seems to be true.” Pandian pulled a cigarette from the box and lighted it. “They must be having their eyes on this bicycle shop. Be careful.”

“Where is Annamer?”

“He has gone away to meet the village tax collector," told Pandian. 

“Chettiars?” 

“They have also gone there. They have the support of Bengalis."

“Why haven’t you gone there?”

“There must be someone here to watch all these. Mustn't it?” 

“Food?”

“I can manage it somewhere.”

“You are a Tamil. But I am a Chinese with a family behind to look after.”

“Nothing untoward will happen in this street. Keep your women indoors. All these troubles will die down in a day. Everything will be normal by tomorrow.” 

“Feeling positive is the only way out now.”

“Yes… See you later, friend. 

“You can come here any time to have meals. Or else you can send someone.” 

“Thank you.”

He started walking down. He could hear Lim Theng shutting the shop’s door. 

“Independence! Independence! Independence!” 

A group of people riding bicycles appeared from the northern side of Thana Labbang. The crowd consisted of teachers, students, clerks, and other sundry. They were carrying “Independent Indonesia” flags in different sizes and appearances. The flags seemed to have been stitched in a hurry within a very short time. 

“Hail Indonesia! Down with Holland! The cyclists entered Kesawan, pouring out their wishes for long life to Indonesia and death to Holland. 

“Independence! Hail Indonesia!” Yasin, the clerk working in the municipality, waved his flag at Pandian on seeing him. 

“Independence! Hail Indonesia!”

Pandian raised his right hand and shouted back with his fist closed. - “Independence! Hail Indonesia!”

A Tonga came from the Grand Hotel side. 

“Down with Holland! Down with China! Down with Chettiars!” The Tonga driver screamed as if tearing off his throat pit. 

Pandian turned his head. 

“Ah…hello, sir…sir.” 

Sainuddin, the Tonga driver who used to unfailingly visit pawn shops on Moski Straat every day, bowed his head in supplication and greeted Pandian.

“Hello… Sainuddin.”

“They are charged with frenzy. Scoundrels... hi... hi... hi... hi"..." The Tonga driver pointed his whip in the direction of Crossfield, where the soldiers of ‘Independence’ were marching, and laughed eerily. A streak of a smile spread across Pandian’s face. Sainuddin asked Pandian to get into his tonga. Pandian thanked him and entered Hutton Bagh Street.

“Hello, sir... welcome.” 

The watchman, Siraj-ud-daula Khan, smoking a ‘hookah’ and sitting with his folded legs on a woven cot under the Harrison Crossfield building, greeted him.

“Hello, Nawab Shahi.” 

That “Bengali Nawab” greeted him again with his usual smile. The watchman’s mind was fully occupied with the bliss of hookah smoke, utterly indifferent to the chaos that had been let loose around him. 

On the left, the Moski Straat-Chettiar Street was lying like an orphan. Both Kithada dental hospital at Keezhpakkam and Matshu Vokka shop selling tennis rackets owned by Japanese men were found locked and sealed. There lay Dan Lim’s carpenter shop, the old widower living with his two grown-up daughters. The shop door was locked from inside. Beyond that, there were buildings that housed pawn shops, Venkadachalam’s Singapore salon, and a betel leaf shop run by Vellaichami, an erstwhile cook. The Market Straat ran across from east to west amidst these entities. On the west, there was a lane floored with cement adjacent to the notary office. Following that, pawnshop buildings were found in rows. Renovation work contractor Khader Mohideen’s office was situated somewhere in the middle. On this side of the Market Straat were found Chin Lam coffee shop and Mamundi Asari’s workshop.

He left the platform and climbed onto the first floor that remained closed yet kept unlocked. The sound of his footsteps upset the tranquility of the street. The doors of buildings standing in yellow and blue were found dusty and tightly closed. He went past the Annamer's office, reached the coffee shop, and knocked on its door. 

“Who’s that?” A daunted voice came from inside.

“Panthiyaan” 

The wooden slippers approached the doorstep. Chin Lam, whom the people of Mosky Straat fondly called “Fat Goose,” opened the door. The door was immediately shut as Pandian went in. 

“Coffee, sir?” 

“Yes… Bring some coffee.” 

“The Fat Goose” brought coffee in a porcelain cup along with a Murad cigarette box and inquired about the situation outside. 

“Don’t be afraid. There is no danger." He drank the coffee in one gulp, picked up the cigarette box, and walked towards the door.

A soft humming of Fat Goose’s wife singing a lullaby came from the backyard. 

"Laai... laai... laai... laaaa... aiii! Lav…lav…lav…laaa…aaaiiii.

Pandian reached the office, opened the door, and locked it from inside. The very next minute, he heard the door being knocked on violently. He opened it only to see Thangaiya, the clerk in the Chartered Bank, and Thillaimuthu, the teacher working in the Methodist School, standing at the doorway with their bicycles.

“The chaos has just begun. Come out to see it,” Thangaiya called him out.

“Please come in… Give me five minutes. Have a seat here.”

They leaned their bicycles against the corner of the wall, went in, and sat there. 

In a quick move, Pandian climbed the stairs very fast.

                                                                          *** 

Note:

1.    A type of palm tree. Its leaves are used to make roofs in place of coconut leaves.

      2.   The contractor who does renovation work. 

 

                                                 Chapter 2: The Plunder

The chaos that was orchestrated around Thana Labbang Park was extremely frightful. Was it just a dream, or was it actually happening? People were running amok here and there, carrying bundles of clothes on their heads and holding them in their hands. Bales of cigarettes, bicycle spare parts, radio boxes, books, new pens, button cards, and chocolate boxes were found scattered all around. Those who ran past that area picked up the things strewn on the floor as much as they could and collected the stuff that fell from people who were running ahead of them. The mixed sounds of “flock of humans” reverberated and rumbled on the north and south sides of the park. 

Silverware, glassware, tables, chairs, linen bedsheets, and velvet window curtains were seen taken away from the Tibur Hotel. The ‘Flag of Freedom’ freshly wrapped around the dark greenish bronze statue of Garuda was rustling in the wind.

Three men who were going north on Belawan Street took a turn to the right. Vidde Soseeththaath—the building that once functioned as the White People Association—stood limbless after losing all its appeal. The maniac sound of fire that engulfed Peppe Yem petrol bunk in the north, which was set ablaze a day ago, was now clearly audible. Sounds of barrels blasting in fire were also heard—traaa... ammmm... traaa... ammmm... traaa... ammmm. Godowns of companies were found demolished. The crowd of humans thronged it like a swarm of winged ants with furious uproar—the frenzy of looting. Outside, men were pacing fast and falling down, holding oval tins, tyres, boots, and torches. 

The crowd of human beings was tottering with the loads of loot. All eyes were filled with a singular frenzy—loot! Loot! Loot! None was there around either to question them or to stand in their way to stop them! One could take as much as he could if he preferred so and keep as much as he could if he had enough space. Loot! Loot! Loot everywhere. 

A crowd riding bicycles was coming from the railway station. The creased daggers kept in leather sheaths were clearly visible. Both the men who came by bicycles and the ones who were busy looting were shouting in unison, “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

“Let’s move!” Pandian lifted his leg from the ground and started pedaling the bicycle. They took a turn at Pinjay Way. The pearl-like water was flowing towards the sea in the north through the River Bridge and the banks with thick growths of grasses and reeds. The birds in crimson colour looking like Mina were found hopping.

A mixed uproar of chaotic noises and howling came from the Bentheng area¹. The cycles turned left. A flock of men was dancing with its mouth wide open and eyes filled with craze. 

“Yaa…Ali! Yaa... Ali!”

Pots, vessels, and other sundry items were found scattered around. Tables, chairs. Mattresses and pillows were burning. Both the Dutch soldiers who were trapped in Medan City and those who couldn’t escape due to their ill health were howling, unable to bear the beatings. Blood was streaking out from their heads as their skulls were broken.

“Yaa…Ali! Yaa... Ali!”

They pulled the women out of the fort. Those hapless women standing without clothes were covering their faces with their hands and crying helplessly. “Aiyaiyoov… O Mariyaa...aiyaiyoovvv.

They were dragged out, pulled by their hair, hands, and legs to the grass bed that lay in the facade. They were lying nude on the grass as unknown, creepy faces standing around, staring at them. Under the clear sunlight, with the full view of the villagers, with the full view of the world, and with the acknowledgment of both ears and eyes of everyone around, they were brutally raped in full public view. “Aiyaiyoov… O Mariyaa...aiyaiyoovvv. 

The sun was watching; the land was carrying them; and the villagers were enjoying the show. 

Pandian turned his face and quoted a sentence from an old Tamil literature. “Ah…the penance of saints and the chastity of women won’t be given respect if they are not guarded by able-bodied men.” 

“Pandi…” Thangaiya gently touched Pandian’s back and told him, “Have you ever thought, even in dreams, that you would be destined to watch such a show at this place?”

“This is the result of factors that come together at an opportune time. Let’s move.”

“Yes… nude soldiers won’t like the ones with clothes.”

The bicycles climbed on the bridge and then went down.

The scene enacted around the park remained unchanged. People were running amok on Belawan Street in the north and Kesawan Street in the south, hitting each other and falling down. 

“We can understand the importance of our ancient literature only when such things happen”—his hand pointed at the rear towards the Bentheng area and uttered, “A man without fetters is a very dangerous animal. Isn’t he?” 

“Koolavaanigan Chathanar² must have written the lines only after witnessing such scenes—the penance of saints and the chastity of women won’t be given respect if they are not guarded by able-bodied men.” Thangaiya remarked. “My English teacher Ambalavanar used to quote this line quite often.”

“I was also thinking about these lines.” 

They could see a big crowd assembled in front of the Davros junction. The upper part of a military truck marching towards Bolonia was visible above human heads. Both the men turned to Avudu Market. 

Some Sikh watchmen were busy talking to each other, rolling their eyes, and waving their hands near the Thaiseen shop. They walked through Mango Tree Street and went down towards the south. 

The Dutch bungalows were found locked. Grass beds were looking like green carpet. Flowers blooming in vines that had grown thick were obstructing the view of walls—Asliya flowerbeds with dense plumes of red flowers. Magnolia trees with white flowers radiating an intoxicating fragrance…. ‘No violence in this street so far.’

The pillage in Juliana Way was ghastly. The looters were carrying windowpanes, ashtrays, clothes, and whatever came to their hands on bicycles and tongas. Some even spread their lungis on the streets and bundled up their booties. It appeared that radios and refrigerators were already taken away by the people who had looted before them. 

The Beatrix Lawn looked like a human ocean. Army godowns were located in that area. Fully fuelled lorries, cars, and motorbikes, which were kept ready for rapid discharge during the war, went out one after another and disappeared with the speed of the wind. The godown’s gateway witnessed a nasty fight among people to claim the loot. Those who displayed courage could overpower others and get away with the vehicles. Suddenly, the sound of gunshots filled the air…

“Tum…tutummmm….tututtummmm”

Some policemen, led by Inspector Wickelman, came running in front of them, shooting in the air, holding the guns above their heads.

“Avaas…Avaas.” Their thick voice of warning followed the bullet sound. 

In the lightning of a second, Pandian turned his bicycle and drove faster. ‘These policemen have come from nowhere. The Japanese army might have ordered them to contain the plunder.’

As far as the distance he could see, many were riding bicycles with their crooked torsos. The sound of the footsteps of those who were running on both sides of the road was rhythmic. Thillaimuthu came running from behind and overtook him. 

“tttttt…..trrrrrr…..tatatrrrrrrr” gunshots from Tommy guns! Japanese soldiers were moving on bicycles at lightning speed! The sounds of soldiers running fast were reverberating in the houses. 

“tttttt…..trrrrrr...tatatrrrrrrr”—gunshots continued. Two airplanes were flying low in circles in opposite directions.

Pandian and Thillaimuthu entered Moski Straat at the same time. Thangaiya reached there after a while.

After eating at the Fat Goose’s hotel, they left for their places. 

****

Note:

1.      Fort - The place in Medan city where troops stay.

2.     Koolavaanigan Chathanaar—the poet who wrote one of the five epic stories of Tamil literature, “Manimegalai”

 

                                                     Chapter 3: Five Heads 

Pandian left by his bicycle to visit the depot at Shungai Rengas Way. While passing through Avudu Market Street, he noticed three Japanese soldiers and a Malay citizen wearing a ‘cap of freedom’ on his head, standing silently on a platform on the left, watching the Chinese houses clustered in rows on the opposite side. 

The shops on Kesawan Street were closed. No sign of any living being, nor any movement of vehicles on the street. Kesawan, the main business centre of the town, bore an intimidating look with no bustle of humans. 

In the front, a truck loaded with the Japanese soldiers was moving on the Polish Way. Some soldiers, instead of opening it gently, were trying to break open the front door of the Devros bungalow. He took a turn towards Kerk Straat and went past the Dermulan Restaurant. Japanese officers were standing there, singing songs aloud. He crossed a railway crossing and heard the sound of a truck coming towards him. He moved left and gave way to pass. 

“Yure…eh?” A Japanese voice was hurled at him. 

He turned his head right. 

“Indo…Indo…” The soldiers standing in the truck yelled. 

He acknowledged it with a smile and reverted aloud, “Banzai.”. 

“Indo-Nippon... hail... hail...”

They held their palms together and affirmed the friendship between Indians and Japanese. 

The truck left the spot. On the right was there Roxy bioscope platform, followed by Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Swatho Streets. A sudden blasting sound of a gun went off somewhere near. Chinese boys took to their heels and disappeared. 

He stood confused at what it was and thought of going back. Speeding military vans were coming in from the front. He moved aside, giving them the way.

“Thambeee…Thambee…” The voice of Nakutha Marakkayar, the owner of the photo shop. 

He parked his bicycle at the corner of the footpath and entered the shop. Marakkayar was standing there wearing a full-sleeved vest, a red-colored lungi, and wooden slippers. A live cheroot in his hand was emitting smoke.

“You have called me. Haven’t you? What’s the matter?” 

“Please have a seat, Thambee… Don’t go that side. They have kept some chopped heads on the street. Merciless blokes” 

“What! Chopped heads? Where is it, brother?”

“At Wilhelmina Straat corner. We have nothing to do with it. Do we? Have a seat.”

“I am going to the depot, brother. An urgent work” 

“Don’t go there now. You can go after some time.” 

“It is very urgent, brother.”

“Thambee… Please listen to my words.”

Nothing beyond these words from Marakkayar did fall into his ears as he got onto his bicycle.

A crowd was standing in a crescent with a little distance from each other at the empty ground lying between Hakka and Wilhelmina. They were standing so petrified without even batting their eyelids, like erect statues.

Without alighting from the bicycle, he stopped on the left side of the footpath with his one leg on the ground and craned his neck through the crowd to get a glimpse. 

Five severed human heads were kept on a waist-high table. The soldier who was standing behind the heads was earnestly combing their dishevelled cropped hair one after another. The Japanese men standing around it were playing with each other. The boards carrying a warning message written in Malay, Tamil, and Chinese languages were kept near the table. 

‘This is the punishment given by the Japanese army to robbers and rebels. Those who do not return the robbed items to the respective places from where they were looted by 8 o'clock tonight will also face a similar fate.’ 

Pandian had seen such severed heads earlier. The heads of Kendai Thuppatta Vellimuthu, his brother Mayalaku, and their assistant Pulikuthi were kept on a Carrier Stone at Vayitruluppai. But it was due to some personal enmity, and the killing was actually executed in secrecy…

He looked around and saw people in crowds staring at those heads without batting an eye. They were standing as if possessed by some evil spirit. 

The soldiers standing around were playing merrily. The one with the comb was scrupulously untangling the heads one after another. One among them, sitting there, got up suddenly, jumped up in front of the crowd, and snarled intimidatingly, “Arreee!” stretching out the first two fingers of his right hand like a knife, pressing them against his neck, and enacting a horrendous scene by moving it across his throat back and forth as if slitting it.

With their mouths wide open and dimmed eyes, those five heads were sitting, to be very right, ‘standing,’ on a table in the empty space lying in Hakka-Wilhelmina junction. The Japanese soldiers standing around them were playing. The one with the comb was tirelessly combing the heads one after another, slowly, yet meticulously.

Pandian lifted his leg from the ground and started pedalling his bicycle. ‘Whose heads are they? Might be of those robbers’ heads! Or some chaps who happened to fall into their hands! Whoever it may be, the pillage has stopped. Hunger pangs started striking the stomach. I need to go to Khadar’s shop to have something.’

He took a turn to the south on Wilhelmina Street. The Methodist school was found filled with the Japanese soldiers. Military vans were standing on the street corners. The tables and chairs from the school were removed and loaded, and wooden boxes were unloaded from the trucks. Window panes and blackboards were reduced into pieces of scrap firewood. The soldiers were making a terrible din. “Thakkanara. ithaa kuchi…yomiyuraa… shikamitshu.”. It sounded like they were calling out to each other. Suddenly a shrieking sound as if coming out of a torn throat pit. 

“Keire…eeiii” 

A captain, looking stout and short, alighted from the car that halted near the doorway. The soldiers stood to attention and saluted him. 

While crossing the railway gate, “White away,” Chellamuthu went to Pandian and posed him a question in English. 

“Pandi…when will your country get freedom?” 

“Next Thai Poosam” 

“As per the tradition, we can have only Kavadiyaattam during Thai Poosam.” 

Khadar’s shop was found closed. He knocked on the door. A boy opened the door. 

“Greetings, brother." Khadar, who was still not fully woken up, received him heartily. 

“Can I have something to eat?” Pandian asked.

“Please have a seat. I’ll get you something to eat. I made it for my people. Vegetarian stuff anyway.” Khadar shut the door. 

“No matter what it is. Serve it now.”

He left the shop after having the meals quickly. The Sumatra Way was lying empty without any human bustle. The houses, belonging to Chinese people, were found locked. 

His bicycle turned left and stopped. He unlatched the curved door closer and went in. All the items remained undisturbed. Those three trucks were still standing in the shed in the backyard. Crowbars, spades, masonry scoops, and bamboo baskets were found neatly stacked up. 

He lay on the sofa near the window on the right in the room. His eyelids fell almost closed as his weary eyes had grown heavy. 

“Ure…Indo…” a Japanese voice shook him. 

“Hello, Sir…” 

“Hello,” the Japanese lieutenant bobbed his head and then roared in good English. “How many trucks are here?” 

“Three trucks…in the backyard.” 

“We take over those lorries for the military use of the hon’ble Thenno Heikka. You would receive a copy of the receipt. Now let’s go to the backyard.”

They left him taking those trucks along with them. He got a piece of paper with something scribbled on it. 

Standing on the street, Pandian kept looking at the rear of the car in which the lieutenant had left. “I have seen this car somewhere. Haven’t I? … Yes... it belongs to Limpin Sheikh. Right and wrong are to be decided on the basis of the sheer power one wields. If you wield a gun in your hand, you will get a dosa without having to pay for it. Sometimes, even if you have money, dosa wouldn’t be available.’

                                                                 ******

 

                                           Chapter 4: Neethaka Yama Nobure 

(Let us climb up the hill, Neethaka, in order to execute war plans.). It was a code language used by the Japanese navy.) 

The army of General Thomayuki Yamashita reached south of Sumatra Island, marched north, and reached Medan City. By the time the army reached the city, it had already received its code word, ‘climb up the hill.’ Now what's next?

What should Japan do now? Should it invade Russia by crossing the boundary beyond the yellow horizon? Or should it prefer conflicts with the western powers? Which one was cost-effective and beneficial? 'The Great' Japan’s best war experts were deeply scrutinising the possibilities. 

The German troops were marching towards Russia and streaming in. On the southern war front, the Red Corps was unable to bear the brunt of the repeated deadly assault of Field Marshal Runts Ted and was completely routed. On the Northern war front, the remaining troops of Marshal Orashilav were caught in the Leningrad circle and facing serious troubles after losing their communications. In the central war front, the troops of Marshal Dimashenko were retreating after facing enormous damage at the very entry point of Moscow city. Nearly eleven lakh Russian soldiers were captured as prisoners of war in this theatre alone. It wasn’t easily possible to compensate for this big loss. Was it? Even if it became feasible to build another army, where to find the able commanders? People like Tuggashevski and Blooker were all gone. In other words, we could sum up that the present condition of Russia was the worst of all time.

So it was better to get involved with South Asia to capture resources like rubber, lead, and petrol required for routine sustenance rather than getting into an uncertain war with Russia. The immediate target of Japan was this: the invasion of South Asia. As long as the Siberian troops of Russia were still intact beyond the boundary of the yellow horizon, the probability of being stabbed from the rear couldn’t be ruled out. In case, what if the situation in the Moscow war theatre grew disastrous and the troops from the eastern front were summoned there….

The troops of Field Marshal Fedorvanbok were marching steadily towards Moscow. Marshal Sergei Jukav, the best among the Russian generals and the only officer who won Russia’s “Hero of the Soviet Union award” five times, had been appointed as the Commander in Chief of the Northern War Zone. 

….

Russia received its snowfall much earlier than usual. 

Tokyo’s "Crimson Red Circle" Red Corps sent a message to the head of the Intelligence Department about the plan of Great Japan’s war committee to invade South Asia. This resulted in the shifting of Siberian troops to the Moscow war theatre, and then came the final order of Japan. 

Japanese admiral Isarok Yamamoto sent an order in the form of code language to the striking force, which was patrolling the seafront under the command of Admiral Siyuchi Nakumo. 

“Neethaka Yama Nobure”

Nakumo diverted his warships towards the Hawaiian islands. 

Then followed the second order of Yamamoto, “Get ready for war.” Tokyo radio announced the weather forecast that night. “Easterly winds…Rain…Easterly winds…Rain…” It was the final, unavoidable, unchangeable war declaration of the War Committee of the Great Japan. 

Admiral Nakumo’s order of assault resonated all through the aircraft carriers. The warplanes took off from the aircraft carriers. They were flying towards the American naval base at Pearl Harbour. 

The lightning attack of Japanese warplanes left the decks of Pearl harbour facing the worst shiver in its lifetime. The ships anchored in the harbour were either drowned or toppled. The aircraft parked on the tarmac were destroyed completely at their respective places. 

At the same time, other columns of Yamomotto’s warplanes were busy harassing the other military bases of America at Guam, Midway, and Wake.

Another fleet of warships reached Malaya’s East Coast region with soldiers. 

The troops of the Great Japan marched south like an unstoppable flood to conquer Singapore. General Yamashitta’s army marched across mountains, traversed thick jungles, and swam across rivers. Alor Setar, Penang, and Kuala Lumpur fell on their way. The Japanese army kept marching south tirelessly, without giving it time to take a rest. 

“Singapore! Singapore! Singapore!”

A terrible conflict to capture the Singapore base thus ensued. On the second day at midnight, the Japanese lightning forces arrived there by boats and jumped onto the western shores that were spiritedly guarded by the Australian troops. 

The military juggernaut of the Great Japan was just unstoppable and was marching ahead. The British fortifications were demolished, and its war columns lost their control, scattered away, and ran for their lives like packs of cattle. 

The British General Pershival, with a white flag in his hands, walked towards the enemy columns. Japanese officers led him to the camp of Yamashita. 

The scene that ensued in the Fukithema Ford motor manufacturing factory resembled a filmic enactment of some drama. Yamashitta, the victor, in full Japanese military attire of Lieutenant General, was sitting in front of a table with his hands folded, placed across on it. Military medals were hanging, rubbing one another in his olive-green woollen uniform. Those tiny, monolid eyes were shining on his yellowish face that seemed to have swollen, apparently with pride. In the front, with his slender body and tired face, the British general was sitting, wearing a full-sleeved shirt and half trousers. 

The Japanese general roared as the British general was mumbling about something. Sukatto, a general with copious sideburns and a moustache, translated his roars. 

Yamashita: Your replies must be very brief. I would accept only an unconditional surrender. 

Pershival: Okay.

Yama: Any Japanese soldiers captured? 

Pers: No.

Yama: Any Japanese citizens? 

Pers: All the Japanese kept under custody have been sent to India. 

Yama: I would like to know whether you are comfortable with the unconditional surrender. 

Pers: Can you give me time till tomorrow? 

Yama: If so, the attack will continue till tomorrow.

Pers: …

Yama: I would like to hear your unequivocal words. I will accept only an unconditional surrender. What do you say now?

Pers: Okay.

Yama: Good. The ceasefire would be declared by 10’ o'clock tonight. 

                                                                   ******

Chapter 5: Moski Straat

The Tamils who were running a pawn business returned to Medan City¹, which was once known to them as Maidan. Attendant boys of different categories were sitting at the cash section, flipping the pages of account books and loan receipts. But the persons who had to repay the loans and installment amounts were not found anywhere around.

Chetti Street, known as Moski Straat, was on its gradual decline, losing its sheen. They were wearing dirty clothes since the daily washing service had long ago been stopped. Only one question was frequently hitting everyone’s brain sitting in the cash sections—it was a three-dimensional question of their livelihood: When would the war end? How to manage filling one’s tummy till the day war gets over? And how much longer would they be able to sustain themselves with the available ration?

The street that was once brimming with pride had now changed into nearly nothing.

In those days—

Every morning, the fragrance of jasmine, frankincense, and paste of Aragaja used for daily puja would be wafting through the shops. The attendants, wearing washed cloths with Vibhoothi liberally smeared on their foreheads, would be busy flipping the pages of loan receipts and account books, sitting behind the tables. The person at the cash section, sitting erect and stiff along the cash locker with his legs folded, would be busy counting the cash and wrapping it in transparent polythene bags for depositing it in banks.

While doing their work, the cash section boys used to fantasise about the day when they would become attendants so that they could go out for “cash collection,” and the attendants would fantasise about becoming supervisors so that they could wield ‘enormous powers’ to make everyone dance at their whims.

The attendants would stretch their legs straight and find time to take rest when the supervisors were snoring cuddling the bunds and ‘Honest’ Soona Paana² was busy playing cards upstairs.  The frail backs of the boys sitting at the cash section would also lean a bit behind for want of some rest. They would recollect their past and chatter incessantly how the car agents Junior Ibrahim and Samikkanu were wrestling on a petty issue in front of ‘vande Mataram’ Aiyar’s hotel, the scuffle between the gangs of Puduppatti and Tiruppathur pertaining to the matters of some women when Sundaramabal drama was run in Valamburi Theatre, and how the Vallalapatti Aiyan challenged taming of black bull of Mariyoor in a bet and tamed it in Siravayal Bull taming arena.

The village would wear a festive mood during the arrival of letters by post. They would read them out to each other and happily disclose their contents to each other. ‘Brother, this time the village tank is full. So, no need to worry about food this year. Maaple, you know that guy sitting in Mr. Seena Vaana Koonaa’s cash section. Don’t you? That single-chinned chap, Nallamuthan, has stabbed his wife, killed her, and then committed suicide. Moona Roonaa, the son of our Periya Aiya, is coming as a supervisor to your shop. The salary bill has already been prepared. It is secret information…’

The attendants were busy tallying the accounts with their account books, sitting either upstairs or somewhere in the corner downstairs.

‘The borrower number one—debit account of one Padmavathi, the wife of Yavarkara Kasaabaviro, working as a cook in Senior Sir’s house at number eighty-eight, Manga Lane, in Davros. Debtor number two—two bags of dried ginger from the clerk working in lawyer Kotkens’ office. So, the total stands with two persons’ signatures, a ten-month installment along with interest at two hundred and forty Rupiah (Dutch Guilder).

“Mmm.”

“The interest received from the said person is forty rupees. The amount of debt on account of pledging a gold chain by the Chinese man, Dalbhushim, staying at number ninety-four in Teppang Straat Kederamba, along with collateral security provided by Dav Lee Bhun, the sari shopkeeper in Straat Market, with twenty months of installments along with the interest amount, stands at one thousand two hundred and fifty.”

“Mmm.”

“The interest amount received from the said party is two hundred and fifty rupees.”

“Mmm.”

“Anna! Yonder, look at that baldheaded man in the seventh shop walking with his legs spread apart. Is anything wrong with him? Had he been punctured?”

“He has some men’s disease. See… You mustn’t be frugal while whoring around. Mustn’t you? You know a British lady is whoring in Achin’s hotel. Don’t you? It may be a wholesale procurement from her. Mmm.”

“Two months of the installment amount are needed to close the account of Panajarkara Abdul Suber, residing at number 119.”

“Mmm.”

“The amount given to the said party after deducting the sundry expenses is two rupees.”

“Mmm.”

“The amount in debt for purchasing the sewing machine is three thousand.”

“Mmm.”

“This one is also in debt. The unrealised cheque on the date of debt for rupees eight hundred and ninety-six paise.

“Mmm.”

“O.K. The unrealised check for the amount to be received from Tibur Garden credit collector Maruthamuthu on his current account is eight hundred and ninety-six rupees and paise.”

“Mmm.”

“This one is related to the procurement of Indian currency notes from the Holland Bank. Hundred five rupee notes, hundred and fifty ten rupee notes, totalling Indian currency notes valued at one thousand two hundred seventy-five in the ratio of sixty-three and three quarters to two thousand.

“Mmm.”

“In addition to it, the arrival of seeds worth Indian rupees six hundred fifty, at a rate of seventy, credit of four hundred fifty-five”

“Mmm.”

“The credit from the Holland bank and procurement of Indian currency notes stand at Rupees one thousand two hundred and seventy-five.”

“Mhhh… Let me have a cup of coffee at the Fat Goose’s shop. You may leave once I am back.

…

Some traders started their grocery business in their shops. They started procuring condiments like coffee seeds, nutmeg mace, cinnamon bark, tamarind, pepper, and frankincense and sold them for a profit.

Exporting certain goods to Penang by wooden ships after obtaining a permission letter from the military government and importing certain types of goods permitted by Malaya customs officials to Sumatra was in vogue. There was a rumour floating around that some Chinese traders were already into this Penang merchandise.

Even the Moski Straat traders evinced some interest in business with Penang. Talks were underway. The renovation contractors' offices became busy again with a plethora of contracts.

There was a pressing need to provide a sufficient number of daily wage labourers and bullock carts to Japanese contractors who were extremely busy in constructing military bases around an airstrip by expanding it. Another important task of sending sand from the Arnemia River to assist a secret construction in a forest area along the Prasthaki road was also entrusted to them.

Pandian came out of the office and walked north on the road, having a dead end.

“Paavanna, it doesn't look good if you don’t visit me after coming over here. Please do come in," senior attendant Kalimuthu called him out from the 13th shop.

“Yes…here I am.” He went in and sat on a bench.

“Please have a seat.”

“Come in, brother, have a seat, the helper boy greeted him and ran out to bring him coffee.

“I understand the Japanese men have managed entry in India’s eastern front. Do you know anything about it?” Moona, alias Muthusamy Pillai, who had spent all his lifetime in cash sections, computing accounts with his arched back, asked him.

“Nothing appears like that.”

“They did. It is being said that Kolkata city has been set ablaze. The war is still on just fifteen miles away from the city.”.

The helper boy kept the coffee mug in the front.

“Do you need a cigarette, Anna?”

“No… My throat hurts.”

He drank coffee from the mug.

Muthusamy Pillai moved his handbox aside, spread his legs, and started narrating the rumours about the war he had collected from the Chinese men visiting the coffee shop. “The British army reached the northern shores of Malaya and captured the city of Alor Setar. A Chinese man disguising himself in Japanese army attire killed Japanese General Yamashita.”

Other cash section men were keenly listening to Muthusamy with their mouths wide open. Kalimuthu went very near to Pandian, bringing his mouth closer to his ears.

“Now I feel a bit better, Anna. The irritation has gone down greatly. But I am unable to get that medicine. Having a problem in arranging money too.”

“I’ll inform Yahya. He would bring it somehow. You can make payment later.

“Okay. Tomorrow we can meet in person and settle the things. All I need is just the return of the principal amount,” Kalimuthu said in a raised voice.

“It is alright. I am getting late. Need to leave now.” He rose. 

“Okay. See you again.

“Are you leaving now? Okay, okay… Get going”," Ilangamani Pillai, who was sitting quietly with his ears sharpened in an ultimate attempt to receive at least some essence of their secret conversation as much as he could, raised his eyes from the ledger and said. He was the sole proprietor, owner, supervisor, attendant, and helper of the second cash section.

“Yes, sir... I will meet you all again sometime later. Now I need to leave.”

He left the place and paced north. He heard the voices endearingly calling him all his way. He kept walking with courtly replies to each query and entered the fifth shop.

The cash section boy jumped off the bench and offered him a chair. The attendant Nagalingam called out to the cook to bring water.

“Eiii... I don’t need. Just a while ago I had”

“It is okay, Anna. Have a sip.”

The cook came running from inside and extended his hands with a coffee cup.

“Chinnaiya Anna, do you know coffee is bad for health? This is my sixth coffee.". He received it from him and sipped it.

“Nothing will be bad for health, Anna. This is the age you can even kill a snake by just stomping on it with your leg." He turned back with the coffee tumbler and said, “Be here for some time. I will be back soon" and left.

Pandian enjoyed certain special privileges in this shop by virtue of being its erstwhile employee as a clerk before joining the renovation contractor’s office.

“Pandiya, when will this nonsense called war be over?”

The one who asked this was Vavanna Kenaa Vaanaa (va.ke.va, i.e., Vaazhnthu Ketta Valliyappa Chettiar—the Chettiar who once lived a prosperous life but is a pauper now). He could run his business as an exception to the prevailing rule where the cash sections would necessarily function under the aegis of Pana Zhana kana runaa (Pazhakaru). He was the only one who assumed the right over Pandian to address him in singular terms. Sitting behind the casket placed along the wall at the end of the bench, he asked him that question.

“It will all be over very shortly.” Pandian said.

“What our elders have predicted is actually happening now. You are also witnessing them happening. Aren’t you? The garbage gets to the height, and the towers get to nadir. The one who travelled in a ‘pleasure’ car is now on his feet, and the ones who were on foot are now flying in airplanes. What sort of a noble soul your father was! He lived for truth and never betrayed his words. See, now what had happened to him… Mmm…those who danced on the streets with comic costumes in festivals are now sitting as big shots in the town markets. The condition abroad is also in no way different. Nothing to be blamed for other than the unlucky time we live in...”

‘The prosperous once and pauper at present’ opened his casket, took out a small chit of paper, and put it in front as he kept on bemoaning. Then he took out a yellow velvet cloth pouch from his waist, untied it, scooped out some Vibhoothi in hand, and smeared it liberally on his forehead and neck with a pious chant, “Muruga, Pazhaniyappa…”

“Did you receive letters from Nachiyappan? I learnt that two or three persons would receive letters due to the change of boats,” Pandian asked.

“Nothing I received. I don’t know why. Everything will be taken care of by Thandayuthapani, Muruga, Pazhaniyappa…” Again he chanted.

A boy from his office came there and informed Pandian that the supervisor, Aiyavu, was waiting for him. 

Pandian bid goodbye and left the shop. ‘Tomorrow is Wednesday. I will have to visit the Arnemia Riverfront frequently. Dealing with these Japanese blokes gives me a headache. Dutch prisoners of war are also on the way. It is yet another nuisance.” 

Notes:

1.    This city was established by the Sultanate kings from India. It was called Medan City. Its original name was Medan Dilli. Delhi was the capital city of the Sultanate kings. Medan is a distorted form of Maidan, an Urdu word.

2.    Short form of names with the first letters of words to address persons. For ex., Subbaiah Pandian as Su. Pa. (read as Soonaa Paanaa).

 

                                                  Chapter 6: Arnemia River

The work of dispatching sand from the Arnemia River was in full swing. The river was flowing north, and the water in its upstream was rustling through the rocks that stood erect. The downstream was a milky bed of sand. Vines and various plants were found intertwined along the trees standing taller on both sides of the riverbank. On the South, was there a range of Coral Mountain in green and blue that stood in folds. The patches of the Prasthaki road that ran circling around the mountain were looking like a thin grey line here and there. The Kabanjaho peak, gleaming in a violet hue at a distance, seemed to be playing a joyous game of hide and seek behind the clouds with its recurring appearance and disappearance.

The Dutch prisoners of war brought from the Kulukoor prison were filling the sand in baskets, carrying it on their heads, and throwing it into bullock carts standing on the bank. Once the sand was filled to the required level, the columns of bullock carts dragged themselves hard on the newly made road, got onto the highway, and then disappeared. At some distance in the northern direction, the Tamil Javanese labourers working under the supervisor Periyasamy were standing as a separate group and were busy loading the sand into bullock carts.

Pandian and Lieutenant Kimiyori Nomura were sitting in foldable chairs, conversing in English under a fully grown Jumeirah tree standing on the northern bank of the river, with its expanse of shade under it.

Three columns of warplanes, each column with five planes, were on their way, flying above their heads. Their boom resonated in unison and sounded like waves of noise in synchronicity.

“Jiro…new generation flights,” Nomura said, holding his palm above his eyes, looking through the sky. He started narrating the credentials of the flight as he was still looking up at the sky. Then he cleared his throat and turned to Pandian.

“Indians will be able to return to their motherland very soon. The North East region of India is going to be the graveyard of the British Army. The Burmese General Kavabe is one of the best war strategists of our time.”

Pandian extended his hands to offer him a cigarette.

“Thank you.”

Both of them lit their cigarettes and puffed on them.

“Independence for all Asian countries, the cooperation among them, and making all the necessary arrangements for Asians to settle down in Northern Australia, which is now lying without human settlements, and facilitating the settlers doing agriculture—this is the grand war plan of the Great Japan.”

Nomura puffed his cigarette.

Pandian took out his handkerchief and wiped off his face and neck. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he said:

“Look at these Dutch guys. They ruled the entire Indonesia once upon a time. Cowards... cowards... In those days they were warriors and technically superior beings. But today… they just fight like street dogs for a piece of cigarette butt. Their action wasn’t commensurate with the demonstration they displayed.”

“It is just an empty demonstration. Had it been Japanese people, they would have dragged this matter till the end with their steadfast demonstration in the Medan circle.”

“You are right.”

“You must see their original faces in Kulukoor prison. Just to get one more morsel of food or a cigarette, they betray their fellow men with some unfounded charges. How petty their fights are! Sometimes one would complain that the other had stolen his slippers…and someone had stolen his piece of dried fish. You will never find such a pathetic display of nonsense among Japanese people even while living under extremely pressing circumstances.”

The sun was climbing upwards overhead. The air around grew warmer. The sound of military vans treading on roads fell into ears faintly. The white men in shabby dresses and unkempt hair were carrying the sand collected from the river on their heads. They were bending down, frequently, rhythmically, with spades in their hands, scooping out sand, filling their baskets, lifting them, muttering some unintelligible complaints, and then walking on.

Pandian threw his eyes towards the riverfront. He turned back and saw Nomura, who was still under the spell of his cigarette smoke. He then looked up and examined the treetops and again settled on the river. “Ah…how this life changes its colour so easily! Victory-failure, prosperity-poverty, pride-disgrace...” he pondered.

The time was up. The lieutenant rose, stood stiff, took out his whistle from his pocket, and blew it aloud. Pandian too rose and stood aside.

All bullock carts and labourers, both Tamils and Javanese, started walking towards the other side of the river.

The white men came to this side of the river, escorted by soldiers.

“Keire…eeii…” the Corporal yelled at them.

The soldiers saluted. The prisoners paid their respects, bending their torsos down to their waist level. The lieutenant counted their heads and asked the corporal something. He replied; the reply came in a louder voice.

The second whistle was blown. This is to announce the mealtime.

All started walking towards the plains that lay on the eastern side of Jumeirah Tree. A bulky frame of a man, limping on his left leg, was walking behind them. Pale white hair, sharp bluish eyes, aahh…he was lawyer Dilton. Military goblets were seen on him. He was a reserve major!

Dilton looked up; his face became brighter as a sign of satisfaction. He nodded his head gently and moved ahead.

The prisoners sat on the ground and ate the ball of rice packed in dried banana leaves. The amount of rice was not even sufficient for one mouthful. They looked like frozen balls, fully dried up. They were given a tiny piece of dried fish.

Dilton was in charge of those prisoners. He didn’t have to work like others. He had sufficient leisure time as well. He sat aside, opened his banana leaf bundle, took out the rice ball and dried fish, and started eating.

The Japanese shepherds were driving the herds of prisoners again into the river.

Pandian and Nomura sat on their chairs under the Jumeirah tree and puffed on their cigarettes silently.

Dilton completed his meals and opened the tobacco leaves, rolled it into a crumbled piece of paper, and started puffing out his handmade cigarette.

With sweat mixed with dirt flowing like a flood on his body, the ‘Rolls Royce’ lawyer, Dilton, was sitting, facing the east, cuddling his knees with his hands like an orphan. Pandian could see his back visible through the holes of his worn-out shirt. He mumbled something to Nomura. The Japanese yelled at him furiously. Dilton turned his face at them. His eyes glistened with fear.

Pandian puffed his cigarette nonchalantly, calmly staring at the lieutenant’s face. His taciturn eyes insisted on an important message about how one could help the needy people without compromising his ethics of performing duty. 

The Japanese man stood astounded as he had never faced such a dilemma before. ‘How daring this Indo man is! What courage! What a composure! Is he thinking that I am also one among those merciless bastards?’

He was hesitant and explained the dangers of risking such a decision.

At last he conceded to Pandian’s demands, though unwillingly, with a stern warning. “In case the soldiers get a whiff of it, I won’t open my mouth. It is sure that your head will roll.”

Pandian then picked up the food bag and coffee mug kept at the bottom of the tree and ran to Dilton.

“Please eat faster.”

He stuffed two five-rupiah currency notes into a Murat cigarette packet and gave it to Dilton along with a matchbox. He turned left and stood along the river.

Lawyer Dilton’s hands were trembling. His lips were shaking. He opened the bag and found poori, dosa, mutton pieces, and chatni. He ate all amidst hiccups. He drank coffee from the mug. His entire body shuddered. He opened the cigarette box and found two currency notes stuffed into it. ‘Ten guilders’ Ein, Tway, Fiar, Jex, Akt, Teen—thirteen types of cigarettes. Matchbox, that too in full. His eyes welled up with tears. He bent his head down and held it between his knees. ‘He must be the clerk who was working with the fifth number Chettiar. He is a good soul. He attended one issue at Jathilan’s house. Name? I couldn’t recollect it. How did he come here? Is he working with the contractor?’ His lips were mumbling inaudibly.

“My Lord! Please give him a long and prosperous life. Please stand guard to stop any troubles from coming to him. My Lord! The omniscient! Please pay heed to the words of this unlucky soul and bless his life forever. Amen."

He threw away the banana leaves into the bush nearby and approached Pandian as he walked towards the river.

“Brother! Who are you? What is your name?”

“I am Pandian. I am now working as a clerk in the renovation contractor Khader Moideen’s office. I was working under the fifth number, Chettiar, earlier. Please keep moving. Don’t stand here.”

Rolls Royce lawyer Dilton moved ahead, got into the river, and dragged his torn shoes from which his fingers were sticking out.

The work of sand loading from the Arnemia River went on continuously for twenty-three days. Every day he provided Dilton food, coffee, and cigarettes. Luckily, no untoward incident had happened so far.

                                                                     *** 

                                                  Chapter 7: Three Friends

Those three men entered Kimlee Garden Tiffin Centre, situated in the south of Prince Hendrix Street. The shopkeeper greeted them.

“Welcome, sir…”

“Hello, Master.”

Kimlee led them into a circle-shaped, wreath-like structure made with densely grown flowers. Pandian sat facing north while Thangaiya and Thillaimuthu sat facing him.

The attendant boy approached them, almost came running. An order was placed to bring Meekoreng, eggs, pineapple, papaya, and coffee. After they entered the tiffin centre, a couple of Chinese men and Indonesians entered the hotel from the street.

“Who’s that? Is it Pavannaa?”

Navannaa, the first cash section attendant of the 8th number shop, peeked out and called him out.

“Please come…come…”

“Yes... I am in... to spend some time with you.”

Navannaa removed his eyeglass and placed it on the table. He appeared to be older than them. His shiny eyes and crooked cuts of his mouth pronounced his sense of humour.

“Is your father alright in Penang? He turned his attention to Thangaiya and asked him, “What about the letter?”

“He is fine. Received the letter from the boat.

“It is said that they are going to change the name of the Charter Bank and run it as Yokohama Bank. What will happen to your job after that?”

“The order has been passed. Thillaimuthu will also join there.”

“Why? Doesn’t he like teaching in school? The students will then have to spend their time only with asses looking after them till the war is over. Right?”

“Here asses aren’t available. They can herd only pigs,” the former teacher of the Methodist school, Thillaimuthu, retorted. The hotel attendant brought a plate full of savouries, coffee cups, and saucers. An order was placed to bring similar items for Navannaa too.

“Pavannaa, look at that side. Are you able to see a Malay woman over there walking like a bull often seen on the northern side?”

“Who’s that?” He glanced at that side and sat again.

“You don’t know who she is? She is Yasmin, the lady with the golden anklet. See how voluptuous her body looks. She must be forty-five years old.”

“What! Is she that aged?”

“Hold your words, man.” He cut short his articulation and started speaking in Chettinad slang. “If you remove her dress, you will find her breasts taut like a solid Vibhooti bag of Lord Shiva. She has five children.”

“I heard that she has six children,” Thillaimuthu corrected Navannaa.

“Oh…good heavens! See how naughty this guy is! The holes won’t decide the nature of snakes staying in them." He rolled his eyes and said, “Now see for yourself how much our schoolteacher is updated in such matters.”

“Thillaimuthu is a dumb thief,” Thangaiya said.

“Yes… Yes… you are right. Leave it aside. Let’s not divert our talk from the main topic. Pavannaa, people from our business communities throng her house like a herd of sheep even today.”

“Leave her. Stinking whore! Aren’t you getting into the Penang business?”

“I need neither Penang business nor Saigon business. It would be enough if I could take this body intact home. Are you sure about the business with Penang?”

“You are still unsure about it. Aren’t you? Finalised the ships for transit, and procurement has also started.”

“Nothing wrong in doing business with Penang. You just need to be extra careful. That is it.”

“Why? Any issue with that business?”

“Our people suffer from a bad habit of bringing a big wooden plank if they are given a space as tiny as a thread hole. They would boast that they are smart enough to manage when things go wrong. Be careful. If Japanese men find you out doing anything funny there, they will chop your head off and keep it in the middle of the street."

“They will do it only with white men who argue with them. Not with us, the ones already accustomed to chopping heads.”

“I just told you out of concern. Let everything go as planned. Why haven’t you started having your meals yet?”

“Let your food come. Then we can start together."

“Pavannaa, do you know Piranmalai Kalyani?’

“Yes… I know. She used to dance every year in our temple function.”

“How’s that chick piece? Another chick here closely resembling her, wearing a lungi and blouse, has been flirting around with everyone since yesterday. Who’s that?”

The hotel bartender boy brought a plate full of savouries and a coffee mug. They started relishing it.

“Oh! She is Thebingthingi Rajammal,” he declared. “She is very costly. But if Pandian wants her, she might agree for free. People say some have luck writ large on their face.”

“Why are you pulling Pavannaa into this matter?” Navannaa cut short his words again and resumed his usage of slang. “If you have got a mole at an appropriate place, everything will fall your way at an opportune time. Women will come readily to marry one after another, citing as inane reasons that their sisters are readily waiting to nurse their children.”

“Oh… is it so?” Pandian laughed at his comments.

Others too joined him and laughed.

“I think you guys will be leaving late. I have some urgent work." Navanna rose.

“You aren’t coming to Penang. Are you?”

“I’ll decide after a couple of months. Let me think of it, and let me leave now. Bye.

“Bye.”

“Eiii… You need coffee?” Thangaiya shouted.

“My regards! Brother!” Sari shop owner Marakkayar peeked in.

“Greetings, Anna. Please come in. Have a cup of coffee.”

“I have some urgent work, brother. I can have the pleasure of having coffee with you at any time. Did the eight-number Chettiar come here?”

“You mean Navannaa? He has just left.”

“Okay. I need to leave now. Bye.

“Bye, Anna. See you soon again.”

The attendant boy brought coffee cups.

“Why are you leaving for Penang at this critical time? Is your contractor insisting you go there?” Thangaiya asked Pandian.

“The idea of doing business with Penang has been there in my mind. No matter who comes with me or who does not, my going there is very certain." Pandian drank coffee in one gulp.

“What’s the matter? Why this sudden obsession with this Penang business?”

“I have gotten bored with Medan City. This city is relatively isolated. This place is not suitable during wartime. You will feel suffocated as if you are caught in a burrow.”

“What about Penang?”

“In Penang we could meet people from Burma, Siam, and Indonesia and do some constructive business. We are just whiling away our time and roaming lazy here. The world has been experiencing a lot of things, and a lot of events are happening around. We will be able to at least feel a bit of the pulse of what is going on around us if we go there.”

“We are in no way related to the events happening around the world. Are we? Our destiny is being decided by the people, so-called shepherds, who are wielding the whip in their hands.”

“If you prefer to remain quiet by folding your hands at rest, how then can you become a shepherd? We would then remain cattle forever.”

“Oho…! You mean if we board a boat to Malaya, we can become shepherds. Right?”

“Not exactly. At least we will be able to find the ways and means to become shepherds. There are a lot of youth from our country residing in Malaya. How many of us are here? How many of them are seriously concerned about these matters?”

“Planning such things does not indeed suit us.”

“We have to change it.”

“Oh! Tamils from all over the world. Unite! Devise a plan for the Tamil Community to walk on the path of progress” Thillaimuthu shrieked.  

“Thillaimuthu, one of my friends, narrated a story. It was about the pride of Tamils and Tamils’ valour. You must know about it. Let me explain in brief," Pandian sat straight.

“One day the government passed an order that everyone should go to the village administrator to get slapped three times with his slippers before they start their day every morning. The next day, early in the morning, all our chivalrous Tamil community from every village went to their respective village administrators and readily stood in front of his house, displaying their bare backs to him, and insisted he beat them quickly so that they could leave for their daily work early. Some of them were carrying an amount of bribe according to their financial positions so as to ensure quick delivery of slaps without wasting much time. This is the situation of our gallant Tamil community, both in the present and past.”

“I am not aware of anything about Tamil Nadu. I boarded a ship when I was very young. Now tell us what should be done to change this situation. Tell us that.” Thangaiya told.

“Shock treatment. Not for the Tamil community alone. What is the foremost requirement that is needed for the entire population of India to open up their eyes to see the reality? It is nothing other than a ruthless execution of shock treatment.”

“What is the tool for executing such a shock treatment?”

“An army of brave youth and a leader with an indomitable courage”

“An autocratic rule of scoundrels after that. Is that what you mean?”

“No… It is for providing food, clothes, and shelter to everyone living on this earth.”

“Ohooo… Quote from Manimegalai!. If you want to know what exactly righteousness means, listen to me fully. If you are unable to provide food, clothes, and shelter to all living beings on this earth, be assured to listen to lectures, get exhibited, and be whipped."

“No… no… You have also joined the group of people who believe in nihilism. The moment you get to know about your own inability, the faith sets in. The events that follow your faith will have no comparison, my friend. It is faith, a simple faith, that matters. Comrade Lenin was able to capture Russia, a country with a population in billions, with some thousands of determined comrades. How was that possible? Faith. Trust. Unflinching trust. Unwavering trust.”

“What should we believe in?”

“Believe in that light will appear after the darkness disappears.”

“If the light doesn’t appear, do we have to believe darkness is light?”

“Light is nothing but the belief that it is light,” Pandian smiled.

“It is alright. Putting it aside, now tell me based on which criteria you are going to organise such a dedicated army of youth who would be providing food, clothes, and shelter to every living being under the sun? How are you going to get it materialised?”

“I am yet to decide upon it. It is the decision that needs to be taken collectively after due consultation with others.”

“Noble purpose anyway—but I don’t like the idea that is being abused to call the people as people of India.” Thillaimuthu stretched out his legs and leaned on a chair. “If you want this ‘shock-delivering army’ to taste victory, it should have none other than Tamils in its roll. The race of Tamil is the point where one can find pride and valour. The duty of every Tamil man is to work hard to uplift Tamil Nadu and Tamil people. Hell with what would happen to Gujaratis and Bengalis. We have nothing to do with them.”

“Our sustenance depends on their well-being too.” Pandian turned his attention to him. “If they fail, it will affect us as well,” he reasoned.

“Never…no matter if they win or fail. Tamil Nadu will find itself a unique place in history with its pride, valour, and uniqueness as its head looks up.”

“Has it ever stood with pride, valour and uniqueness?”

“Why do you doubt it? Those who have read Sangam literature will never develop such a doubt. Only you and Thangaiya are exceptions to it, as you both are fond of arguing without stuff.”

“Thillaimuthu, you haven’t seen what actual Tamil Nadu is. You have seen it only in poetry. There is a phenomenon called imagination hiding behind poetry. You must not forget it.” Pandian’s voice grew thicker. “The Tamil valour that is being eulogised in the old literary texts is basically about petty squabbles. Was there any pride in Pandiya King conquering Kalaiyarkovil Vengaimarban? Both were Tamils. One was a king. Another one was a chieftain of some tiny village. The king won in a scuffle against the latter, seized all his belongings, and rendered him landless. Is there any pride in it?” He puffed his cigarette and emitted thick rings of smoke. “How many of those chivalrous Tamil warriors who retain their fame only in literary texts fought against the soldiers of the Delhi Sultan when they descended on Tamil lands and went on rampaging, pillaging it? How many of them became martyrs? No one was found. Nowhere were they found. When the cavalry of Malik Kafur was fast approaching at a far-off distance, our Southerner hero, who once ruled the entire South India after conquering the Ganges and the Himalayas in the north, ran away and went into hiding in the hilly tracts of Neriyamangalam.”

“Your vision is narrow as you keep judging everything with that Delhi Sultan narrative.” Thillaimuthu roared. “You should not insult an entire community with just one slip. Your vision lacks inclusiveness.”

“Having an inclusive vision more than what is required is precisely my problem. Not because of lacking it. Let us pause here. What did happen when the army of Vadugars, backed by the Vijaya Nagar Empire, came to Tamil Nadu? The kingdom of Pandiyas was thrown out with the help of fellow Tamils. Who was that broker who arranged for Tamil traitors to assist the Vijaya Nagar king to bribe the soldiers of the Pandiya king to align with their side? It was Ariyanathan. He was a Tamil."

“According to our historians, the Rayars of Vijaya Nagar invaded Tamil Nadu in order to uproot the Islamic influence and infuse fresh blood into the Hindu religion. Is that correct? Thangaiya threw an inscrutable smile. “Do you disagree with it?” he asked.

“Getting rid of Islamic influence! Nonsense. It is just a creatively well-cooked fantasy. What they sought was nothing but the dominance of the Vijaya Nagar king. The Rayar, who betrayed his people as he was afraid of facing the Sultan’s army on the battlefield… The Rayar, who surrendered before the sultan’s army without staging a fight despite having a well-equipped large army at his command… Vijaya Nagar had been ruled by such Rayars. This is how they waged war ignominiously against Islamic domination.”

“Let’s not talk about Vadugars. Your views on Tamils’ pride and their gallant tradition are really dangerous. I will never accept your views. Any Tamil man having a sense of pride in him will never accept what you say,” Thillaimuthu said.

“It is not dangerous. It is the truth. Tamil valour and Tamil civilization actually seem to be an inflated fantasy of some of our inebriated poets, I believe."

“Don’t talk rubbish. Senkuttuvan… Elaalan… Rajendran… Sundaran (Pandiya King Sadaiyavarman Sundara Pandian) Karunakaran….”

“Very old story… Very, very old… Every community has five or six titles to their credit. How far had they gone to achieve? Alexander conquered the entire land of Persians. In one sweep of fury, Hitler subdued the combined forces of Britain, France, Belgium, and the Dutch and decimated them in a single blow. The frog living in a well would think that it has a rich experience of the mighty Amazon River, the Pacific Ocean, and the Great Himalayas, staying in the well in which it lives.”.

Thillaimuthu was staring at Pandian’s face with his decisive yes.

“Thillaimuthu, your research into this Tamil valour looks like a hungry man computing his old accounts.” Thangaiya said, and rose.

“The race that finds happiness in its roots will also have an enormity of meanness about its present within it. It is the truth accorded by the wise men. Let’s leave it." Thillaimuthu placed his left hand on Pandian’s shoulder. “Do inform me before you leave. My school friend Manikkam is now working in the Thana Mera estate near Penang. To be right, he was working. I will give you a letter for him. He is a wonderful friend.”

“Okay. Let’s leave.”

It had been long since the sun disappeared. The paper flower lamps wearing masks were twinkling, moving in the air. It was thickly dark outside the garden.

They started walking on the street where the lamp posts stood without emitting light.

                                                                     ***                                                 

                                                  Chapter 8: Serdang Way  

Pandian was climbing down the stairs from the Dyongwa Restaurant’s upper floor. He saw the dim shadow of Navanna tottering on the steps that were bathing in poor light as he climbed down. The cigarette he was puffing on between his lips a while ago was found lying near the last step and emitting smoke from its still-alive tip.

Both of them came down to the footpath and stood there.

Navanna’s articulation of words grew wobbly due to inebriation. “Pavanna, please get me a taxi. After Colombo Straat, I can walk down to my shop. Pavannaa…Pavannaa. Have you ever been to Colombo? "Kolumbu... Kolumbu... Kolumbu...” He circled his left hand over Pandian’s shoulder and threw an enigmatic stare at him under inebriation. “Kolumbu is a good place. Mmm…mkm…” He cleared his throat vigorously and spat out spittle, smoothed it under his foot, and kept rubbing it for a few seconds. “mmm…mmm… Pavannaa, look at me… Hello Pavannaa… Look here... You know Pranmalai Kalyani. Don’t you? Oh! Kalyani! My Kalyani! What a body! What a body! It will bend like a bow. The bow will be in your hands, but it is she who shoots her arrows. I am her dearest. She would hug my neck. Mmm…mmm…You can see clearly the colour of chewed betel leaves going down through her throat like blood, in red…. mmm…mmm…mmm…krrrr…krrrr”

Tongas were running from both ends of the road.

Pandian was keenly looking through the road lying in the front, having no lamp posts, trying to find a tonga driver known to him. 

“Ahmed”

“Yes, sahib…”

The Tonga came near to them.

“Colombo Straat, Marimuthu’s house, adjacent to twin Red Sandalwood trees. Once he gets down, please have him reach his house.”

“Ok Sahib...”

Pandian led Navannaa by his arms, boarded him into the cart, and extended changes to the driver. Ahmed received it, kept it in his pocket, and turned his tonga.

“Pavanaa… See you again… I can alight myself… mmm…mmm…”

Pandian strode away north. Two Tamils wearing lungis and blazers covering their necks and driving bullock carts were coming from the opposite side.

“Hello, clerk sir... our humble greetings! How come you are seen in this area at this hour?”

“To Tan Poling house”

“O.K. Carry on.”

A woman with the inviting fragrance of mint flowers worn on her body was standing in darkness on the pavement, shrugging her shoulders and voluptuously twisting her limbs. A Chinese man looked at her intently and left. The fruity odour of durian coming from the bazaar side was thick and overpowering.

He stopped a taxi that came from the south.

“Serdang Way”

“Get in, sir…”

The taxi rolled on the road.

He groped for cigarette in his shirt pocket but couldn’t find his cigarette box. ‘Where did I miss it? He ran his right hand around his shirt pocket. “Yes it is here.’. He pulled out a cigarette, clenched it between his lips and struck a match stick against match box. It put out. Tried another match stick. It also put out. It was the third match stick. It burnt with flame. He lit the cigarette with it. ‘O God, what is it? The entire matchstick was burning with fire. Is it a brand or what? No…” He put out the fire by shaking it in the air and threw it away. ‘Why three attempts to light a cigarette? Is it that my hands are shivering? Or is it just the wind that had actually troubled me? Chee...Chee...it is my sheer foolishness. It is just for a day. Heaven won’t fall down for this slip of one day.’

He sank back and sat with his legs folded. The gentle easterly breeze was blowing across. A couple of human silhouettes were visible in dim light and disappeared. The body was out of his control, unable to rein itself. ‘Without reining in the body, the mind can never be brought under control. No one can fulfill their carnal desires with the help of their intellect. It is all about body versus mind and desires versus conduct… Arivazhagar, the one who won the heart of a queen, says it like this:

“Align yourself

With the life force of breath.

Bring it under the control of the

mammoth mad elephant called Mind.

If done, let you be praised as Yogi,

embodiment of yoga in three worlds

by the wise men.

This simple soul will live forever on this earth.

As long as I live here,

Bless me with eight noble powers,

perspicacity to fully read the elegant hymns of four Vedas,

and all the choicest blessings a small king enjoys

under his regal umbrella.

Oh! My Goddess! My Devi!

My golden swan!

My mother, who rules the entire universe

With her millions of subjects.” 

‘O! The devotee! Noble son of Kediliyappa Pillai! Mattuvar Kuzhali’s better half! The Great Arivazhgar, who charmed the queen! You had clearly explained the truth. That too with an enviable clarity! Fine. But tell me the means to control the mad elephant called mind. May you explain that too?. How to tame it? Obstacles are everywhere. The body obstructs the mind, and the mind troubles the body…’

The cigarette smoke entered his eyes and hurt them. ‘Chee...body and mind are essentially nothing, just illusionary things. The distinction was made by humans. Oh! The devotee! Was it the reason why you died at a very young age, being not aware of the means to tame your mind? That too, in that empty, barren land. O.K. Let’s not speak about it. How come Akilandeswari, the goddess who ruled the entire universe, looking after her billions of subjects, did abandon you? Weren’t you able to acquire the art of focusing the mind? Or was it because of the fact that the goddess, Akilandeswari, didn’t look after you as she had been bereft of motherly feelings towards you since she is still a spinster herself?

Five military trucks went past him one after another. He took the cigarette from his lips and glanced at it. Its tip was still alive, burning with smoke. He puffed on it. ‘Chee…what nonsensical narrative is it? I can consign my mind for a short duration to the celestial world where the nobility of one’s character is respected. Just for a short time. Only for a very short time. But on earth, food with six types of tastes! Different types of wines! Women with eyes resembling fishes, words sounding with the sweetness of milk, narrow waists, and small foreheads resembling crescents on the earth! Are these women created just to pull down the men who fly in the air of imagination with their wings? Is she a storm, a fire, or a rain to make all men fall under their feet, blunt their reasons with a simple throw of her eyesight? Had all these taken birth as devil enchantresses taking the form of women?’ 

The devil enchantress in the form of a woman caught me in its hands.

Intimidated me with her eyes; blunted my senses with her breasts;

Threw me into a deep pit full of filth and snatched away everything from me;

And I remained a soulless being without thinking about you, my Lord!

The Lord of Kanchi!’ 

“O! My Lord of Kanchi! What could this poor, helpless soul do when the great man like Pattinathar couldn’t succeed in taming his mind? Please tell me whether there is any justification in blaming this poor man! Oh! You are here! O! devotee! Aren’t you the same saint hailing from Poompuhar? I am addressing only you. Only you. Do you hear me? I have just thought about you. But to my dismay, you are standing alone on the street with a begging bowl in your hands. The bowl is empty. Isn’t it? Why so? Haven’t you come across anyone yet who would be searching for such mendicants to offer them food with their melting hearts? O! My Lord! You shouldn’t get angry with this petty soul for telling this. Will your fasting be of any use in this Kaliyug? If only you go onto the streets and sing some songs and beg, you will be able to earn some rice to fill your tummy. Won’t you? If you need rice to eat, listen to my words carefully. Firstly, you need to go to Kesawan Street and put on a shirt with floral designs. No issues with your beard. You can leave it after a cosmetic trimming. Do you have turmeric paste for the face? If not available, just apply Vibhoothi liberally on your face and rub it across with your loincloth. Your face will look as if you have applied talcum powder. Tell me the movie songs you know. Don’t you even know the song “O Penne...vaa...vaa...Inbam thaa...thaa”? (O! Dear lady! Come to me; give me pleasure. Or will you be able to deliver sharp dialogues from the movies? You don’t know that either. Do you? O.K. Do you know how to dance the Madman dance? That dance...jumping and shaking your bums. You don’t know that either. Do you? What else are you confident of doing then? All you know is just gobbling a potful of rice in one go? Isn’t it? Oh! Lord! You are so rustic and know nothing. If you keep singing your favourite nomadic songs, no woman from any house will give you food. That too, coming to your place with the heart full of hospitality. If you could save one third of your begging in a day, you could very well enjoy a matinee show. It is alright, my Lord! You have your way of living. My words will never get into your ears. I wanted to ask you something. You must be aware of Maavanna Kovanna. Maarkaa Kovalan Chettiyar in Poombuhar. Is there any one of his descendants still doing business there? What an affluent man he was! No trace of their lineage is found anywhere around now. When Kovannaa went to Madurai’s South Avani Street to sell the thali of his wife—sorry, it was not a thali, it was an anklet—he got killed due to some connivance of jewellers there without even leaving a pyre to set his child on fire—again sorry, my tongue gets twisted—without even leaving a child to set fire on his pyre, his wife, Kannaki, also went to some hillside and died there. It was very pathetic! Wasn’t it? Destiny was such that she removed her anklet and gave it to her husband and had to trail him behind only to die at last somewhere in an unknown country. Our Kovanna had an affair with a whore called Mathavi in Thirukkadaiyoor, and they had a girl baby. That sister’s name is Manimegalai. Was it true that she also followed the footsteps of Buddhism at her very young age and settled in some unknown monastery? Mmm… I understand, Kovanna’s father-in-law Etti Maanaaigan also died without an heir. Oh! My Lord! Why did all these things happen? O.K., let us leave it. I have one more piece of information to share with you. As soon as you got bored with your wife, you also tried your luck in Thirukkadaiyoor. Didn’t you? What is her name? Thiruvudaiya Nayaki... Beautiful name… Charming name…Again, you grew bored with her too in three months. Didn’t you? Then Mamallapuram, Nagapattinam, and Korkai. No time to look after your business. All supervisors and attendants cheated you, and your business went into loss. So, you relinquished everything and left the town with what you had on your body to become a Sanyasi to attest to the age-old dictum, ‘Our place is not permanent... Our relatives are not permanent, and the name and fame that we acquired toiling with our flesh and blood are also not permanent’. In spite of all this enlightenment, the lust for women is not yet fully dead. Right? Sometimes, the desire for women pops up. One of your songs had this element in it.

“The moment the lust for women appears,

Remember, good-natured prostitutes are found everywhere on the streets.

O! Lord! What a prediction! What perspicacity! It seems that you loved prostitutes more. Didn’t you? You didn’t like the mangoes grown in our backyard. You were right. The mangoes lying on the street in the market do have an exquisite taste. It is only capable of giving you different types of tastes. You must be above sixty years old. Mustn’t you? You might be suffering from a petty nervous breakdown due to senility and taking some medicine to increase your virility. Nothing to be ashamed of, my lord! It happens with everyone. All I know is that there is only one royal medicine for this problem: it is the Manmatha Paana chywanprash (a pasty supplement that increases one’s libido) prepared and sold by a handicapped physician at Madurai Thennolaikara Street. Just three vials would be sufficient. Three times a day for ninety days. Since it is wartime, you may not get the item. Only after the ships are permitted to cruise across seas will you get it. Meanwhile, do manage your day with this prescription: You do like the smell of durian fruits. Don’t you? It is O.K. Take some pieces of durian fruit and squeeze them to get some juice. Take a quarter of a kilogram of rambutan fruit, ladyfinger bananas, mangosteen fruit, almonds, cashew nuts, pistachio nuts, saffron powder, sugar cubes, rose paste, milk, ghee, and honey in equal amounts and grind it to a paste and mix it with durian juice and boil it till the total mixture gets to half of it. Have it every morning and evening for a full Mandalam of forty-eight days. You will find the results amazing. Let us take a break from this topic now. Do you know Vekupatti Romeo Kaanaa Roonaa?

When his father died, he left him behind nearly thirty-five lakh rupees. He ruined all that amount in just three years. I have heard that our Kaanaa Roonaa is living somewhere in Kumbakonam or Mayiladudurai in the Chola kingdom, spending his days in a prostitute’s house who acts in drama. Aren’t you aware of it? Other than these men, Thirunavukkarasu, the son of Marankudi ‘Final word’ Muthu Karuppa Pillai, Rajarathinam, the son of Viruthunagar Kumkumapottu Ulagalantha Nadar, and Sundarasu, the son of Hundi shop owner Ramaiah of Sami Thoppu, all were going after some cine actresses in Kodampakkam and living with them somewhere near your area. It must be either Pondicherry or Karaikkal, I heard.

“You don’t know them either. Do you? Oh! I must be a fool. They do not belong to this present generation. You may not know about them. My lord! ...My lord! … What is this magic? Where have you disappeared? Oh! It seems that you are good at playing magic too. 

The horse, seemingly of an inferior breed, was running slowly, hopping down tiny steps. His right hand was gently rubbing his forehead. ‘Every saint is of different types. This Poombuhar saint thinks that woman, a devil enchantress, should not come near him—that is, only when the intense lust doesn’t cloud his senses. If at all it occurs, he could find fine-quality prostitutes on the streets, beautiful young prostitutes with no diseases’. 

The Tonga turned to Serdang Way. He threw away the cigarette butt, which had gotten cold, emitting a foul odour. On his right, he heard the musical voice of Malay women talking to each other. Ah…Ayesha…Ayesha…Ayesha… a woman with a good heart… beautiful body… captivating fragrance. A sculpted body as if made in marble, engraved in gold and tusks.

Shiny silver boxes under blue lights were found kept on an eight-legged table draped in a yellow silk cloth. Near it was a bottle of honey in a crimson colour. The sweetness of a soul-melting voice springing from the cot, filling the room.

‘One day I was returning along with the wife of an immigrant after watching a movie. It was when she had got divorced from her husband. You were standing on the doorstep wearing a white dhoti and a sandal coloured overcoat. The lock of your dark hair was flowing across your face in the air. The teeth, looking like pearls, were shining. Your broad eyes penetrated my chest. You were busy talking to some Chettiar. That time you told me, “I have found my love. I have found my man. My man. My hero. Oh! My eyes! My heart! The man who rules me! Marry me. I will wear a sari and a small vermilion on my forehead as a sign of our marriage. Tell me if you don’t like this town; we can go to Singapore and live there. Chaya poognar sinda... Chaya poognar Raja.

“O! My beautiful peahen! It is impossible. Just impossible. I don’t belong to the category of such men who prefer settling with a woman tying a holy knot around her neck. The life that is chained and destined to live under a shelter will never suit me. My dearest girl! Listen to me. When I was supposed to be brought up with the care and affection of a mother, I was suckling the breasts of prostitutes. At the age of enjoying a solemnity of family life with a wife, I am now roaming the streets as a confused soul detesting family life and its sanctity. My Gold! My Pearl! My beautiful flower! I am extremely happy to hear your words that you want to become my better half. But I am a man who hates family life. The hatred of a man who intentionally hates family life is much more dangerous than the one who hates it due to his instinctual disability. Isn’t it? Oh! The best among the women! I am a runaway brat who betrayed his herd. With the hatred of my herd for getting separated from them chasing me and the self-hatred I had acquired due to the compulsions to get separated, I have been roaming alone, helpless, and still unable to stomp my feet on some sticky point on this vast earth. My life is spent on roaming, and I will die one day while roaming alone. Oh! My lady with a lightning-like waist and words with sugar cane’s sweetness! I become oblivious of myself when I understand you while placing my head on your bosoms, while looking into your fish-like eyes, while hearing your sweet words that taste like milk. So, as long as I enjoy the warmth of your body, I will never demand Sanga Nithi and Padma Nithi. (The two divine girls entrusted by the king of wealth, Kuberan, to keep all his wealth for safe custody). I won’t ask for the blessing of the one in whose hair the river Ganges descends, flowing down, the Lord Shiva. But, my beauty! I am a lonely man. Oh! My love! You are my lady love who will make me forget this world, keeping my head on your breasts. Won’t you keep me lain on your lap and sing a lullaby by being a mother to this man who doesn’t have one? Won’t you keep me, who has no sister, on your waist, pinch me tenderly, feed me, and then play with me? Won’t you run behind me, who has no sister, and pester me with your silly nagging?’

The cloud-like dark hair shining under the row of jasmine lamps was moving wavy in thick strands on her chest. Her melodious Malay voice was flowing like honey, milk, and fruit juice.

“O! My dearest! My hero who owns my heart! Do accept me as your wife in front of everyone here. I will give you a bath with rose water and wipe your body with my hair. I will comb your hair with my fingers. I will cook the foodstuff you love the most and feed you with my own hand. I will kiss your lips, eyes, and forehead again and again. I will scoop you up in my hands and hug you against me and sing a lullaby, moving my body like a tendril of flowers. I will caress your eyelids gently and make you sleep. …”

He wiped his face with his palms. Everything here has its own reason for its existence. How could that woman, the wife of a merchant in Madurai South Veli Street, cheat an innocent student and rape him? She had a son of his age. That merchant who looked like his father didn’t actually suffer from any ailments of inadequacy. Then why did it happen? Perhaps it was her mouth, which is always chomping on something, a reason behind it? It is said that if someone eats like pigs, they might develop characteristics like pigs. Isn’t it true?

Ah…those student days… Money was regularly coming from the home. Nagamani from a lane in Venkalakadai Street, Sornam from Manjanakara Street, and Kokila Rani alias Kuppammal from Kuyavar Palayam. If the supply of money fell short, then Malayalam-speaking women from the first lane would become easy access—Omana, Parukutty, Sarojamma…

Women wearing dresses in different colours would be standing, circling the pillars of the outer veranda—in red, black, and white…

“Jne…ivda nokke” 

If tempted to turn and have a look at them, you would see them holding both the ends of their blouse, showing their assets for full visual consumption. If left, without showing interest in their display, their spittle soaked in betel leaf juices would follow your steps. They would tease you with the jingles of their bangles and sometimes throw invectives at you. 

It was on the left of the Lord Krishna temple lane—the street of Pallars, but the students had named it Downing Street. At one corner was a fish shop, and on the other corner, a coffee club of Brahmins. The whores who couldn’t find prospective clients at other places would roam around in that area, standing in the middle of streets with the reek of arrack odour coming out of their breath. One had to cross that street very carefully, or else he would have to face them, who would pull his dhoti down, yelling at him, “You can leave this place only after settling the matter with us. You impotent!”. An army of rogues led by Topper Mama would appear suddenly from the holes-like hutments lying low on the ground. The houses of costly prostitutes, with their house doors half-opened and Kochi breed dogs chained onto the pillars behind them, would be seen on the street that lay stretched facing the east. Mama would assure, “I am not an incidental beggar; I am a professional beggar. So, don’t worry. This business is not like those of Kuchikaris’1 house, where one would do business with encumbrances. Nothing to worry about here. You can get up in the morning and leave this place peacefully after having a hot shower.”

Then I got a job in Medan City.

Then again to the motherland.

Muthu Nayagi in West Masi Street. The daughter of a prostitute is a prostitute.

“Do you know Rao Sahib? He is very fond of me. During his visits to Madurai, he never goes back without meeting me. He won’t stand more than a minute. No torture. Currency notes will fall on my feet. Mmm... Are you a Chettiar? Don’t be angry. I asked this as I saw you wearing a Singapore dhoti.” She would ask.

“Nadar”

“Aiyo! Naa...daa...rrr. Why didn’t you tell me this before? You have sat on this cot and spoken so nonchalantly. What will I do now? Hmm... My rants must sound like a joke. Mmmm. It is alright. You have come here as my guest. I too have started falling for you.”

She would pinch his cheeks with a teasing smile. 

“The moment I saw you, I had an initial intuition that you must belong to that caste. My mother would ask you some uncomfortable questions. Never open your mouth. She will create a scene yelling that the purity of her caste and clan has gone in the wind. We can’t afford to examine one’s caste and such nonsense these days. Can we?”

She would go downstairs and bring some milk and fruits.

“Look at me. Will you forget me, Athaan? Please tell me you won’t. If you come to Madurai, you must meet me. You shouldn’t give me any lame excuses. I have a dozen people who could bathe me with currency notes. My dearest! Had I been born in a good family, you would have married me. Wouldn’t you? Will you love me the way you love me now? Mmm...Aththan... Look this side...look at me. Will you please close your eyes for a second? She would thrust her hand in his armpit and tickle him. He chuckled at her effort of making him laugh as her face became brighter. “Look at the beauty of my baby smiling!” She would caress his cheeks and fondly kiss his forehead, “My small doll…my lovely doll.”

“Aththaan… If I ask you one thing, will you give it to me? Mmmmm... Can you give me a baby that resembles you?”

She didn’t have children. Her desire for a baby grew more and more. She had already bought three houses, and the discussion to finalise the purchase of the fourth house was underway. What was the use of all these assets without having a child? No temple, no festival was left unattended for the want of a baby. No doctor was left out without being consulted. No midwife was left without being consulted. All went in vain. She couldn’t bear a baby. All she needed was just a child... only one child... one child to show her love, to have a support, and to look after her assets. All she needed was just a child. Oh! Goddess Azhakumeenaa! Mother, Eswari! Please bless me at least with one baby...”

Then came ‘Rangoon’ Rajasundari in North Avani Moola Street. She hadn’t seen Rangoon even in her dreams. She was born and brought up in Paramakudi town. Her real name given by her parents was Nakulu. The old men who knew about her used to tell that she was the first prostitute who had introduced dim bluish electric bulbs in Madurai to hide the black and red dots that showed up prominently on her face even after heavy application of talcum powder.

Another woman, ‘twin house’ Muthu Laxmi. She would say, ‘No one would dare step into my house that easily. But when I receive such quality clients like you, I have to accept it out of obligation."

Vallikkannu from Kundrakudi—She was like a cow. With her tranquil and innocent-looking face, she would keep chomping on something in her mouth.

“Go there fast. It is time for Chettiars to come here."

“What! Chettiars do visit here. Don’t they?”

“Yes. Am I under some obligation to explain to you about everyone visiting this place? All three Chettiars are taking care of my food and other things. They will come together and leave together. Now, have you got adequately informed about them? Leave this place immediately. The time is up."

When she got acquainted with the Chettiar in Chennai, they spent three days together. Her husband, Nayakkar, left her as soon as he came to know about their affair. Whether she became a whore after she got married to a cuckold or he became a cuckold after he married a whore had still been a million-dollar question. Was he impotent? Possibly yes. Or had he lost all his virility as he went astray in his youth? His wife might have been a whore ever since her birth. Who knows?

He took out a cigarette packet, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Body…body…body…body… Cheeee…! This body is just an illusion. Just a bag of skin filled with air. Made of blood, flesh, and bones and nothing more than that. Yet, it is considered the breeding ground of the same, hence making it obligatory for one to study, think, and write about it. Cheeee…. One man to one woman…sometimes two men and sometimes many men. On the other hand, one woman to one man…sometimes two women and sometimes many women. Like dogs…like pigs…just a ball of flesh soaked in blood and bones. A dirty pit. Without any awareness of virtues, the body spent in coition! The semen that is leaked when the senses are not in order and mixed with suety feminine fluids and a drop half a size of an invisible snow particle getting into the womb of women and thus creating a bundle of something called life. As long as it stays up in the dirty pit of the vaginal tract, it is intolerably odorous. When it gets out of the womb as a baby lying on our lap, listening to its lisp is a fragrant, vibrant tune of music and pleasure unbound! When it is in the dirty pit, it is like a worm wriggling in gutter. Then it becomes a golden painting that speaks beautiful language. He is our son, speaking unintelligible language with the melting choice of words, crying, chasing me, and playing on my strong chest. He is my little baby, making me ecstatic with his tiny steps, gentle touches and punches, picking things in his mouth, and soaking this with ghee-mixed rice. Like petals of a lotus and lily, his pure fingers spread across, and sweet words coming out of his mouth, which doesn’t know the usage of foul language. He is a child desired by everyone. Being touched by others gives pleasure to one’s body, whereas listening to others speaking sweet words gives pleasure to one’s ears. Where did he come from? Cheee... from that dirty pit? Did he come from that dirty pit, forming his body, coming out of it, growing up, seeing around and learning everything around him, and yearning to have the pit again, immersing in it, and finally becoming nothing out of it… cheeee.

As the tummy getting bulged,

hair growing grey, teeth falling down,

back arching forward, lips sagging

Walking with one hand on a stick,

women teasing you as a grand old man,

words coming out unclearly with a cough

eyes getting blind

ears getting deaf… 

Bemoaning the destiny, falling onto the ground, crawling, mumbling something inaudibly, senses becoming completely rot, and then becoming a dead body. Finally lying as a corpse. After that?

The whole town would sing a dirge aloud.

removing your real name

And calling it a dead body

Taking it to the funeral ground

burning it there

and

would come back after an ablution

forgetting your existence. 

Now every account is tallied. Arrival and departure are settled henceforth.

The Tonga was running.

“Brendhi”

The Tonga stopped. He gave the driver changes, entered Bilithon Street, and walked fast.

The servant maid opened the door. Heard someone climbing down the stairs. Jasmine fragrance followed the steps. Ayesha was standing there.

“Chaya poognar sinda... Chaya poognar Raja.”

That beautiful body, made of marble and engraved in gold, and tusks embraced him and exuded its fragrance.

                                     

Note:

1.    Kuchikari—They were not traditional prostitutes. They became prostitutes on their own volition. These women were kept outside the villages in huts and hence were known as Kuchikari. Kuchu-hut)  

                                                               ***

                                                       Chapter 9: The Journey   

At Mosky Straat, the 18th number pawn shop building.

It was an evening.

While eating rambutan fruits by scrupulously peeling them, Kayambu Pillai told the third cash box supervisor, Murugaiya Pillai, sitting opposite the owner of the first cash section, Seenaa Kaavannaa.

“Let them leave with the blessings of the Lord Thandayuthabani. (Lord Murugan). I don’t object to it. But personally, I don’t like them leaving.”

Murugaiah Pillai was sitting on a wooden plank with his legs folded in such a way that one of his legs was folded along, snuggling his loin area, and the other folded perpendicular, touching the wooden plank, thus making it difficult for anyone to arrive at a decisive conclusion whether his posture was a sign of humility or arrogance. 

“Yes…yes…you are right.” Murugaiya Pillai sang the same tune.

“Thooo…ththooooo.” Kaavannaa spat out the spittle of crushed nuts into the spittoon kept near the cot with its mouth open, collected the water jug from the boy who was holding it with his two hands submissively, and gargled his mouth.

“Dei… Anyone there?”

“Anything you need?” asked the attendant, who was busy recording something in the registers, and got up and went to him.

“Tell that chap to bring those tablets. It is in the almirah.”

The attendant went in swiftly.

What Kaavannaa told him to bring was a bottle of Royal Manmatha Sanjeevi tablets (Royal brand libido-enhancing tablets). Just one tablet three times a day for a full mandalam (forty-eight days) would be enough. No matter how weak you had become due to old age, you would still be able to regain all your virility. One would get a chiselled frame of body and a magnetic power in the eyes to attract women. It didn’t require any disciplined intake of food. If you didn’t find tangible results, the money would be returned. Our Pillai was now sixty years old. He was fifty-nine by the seventeenth day of the Avani month. He had that medicine brought from Penang. He had kept it in a different bottle.

“My stomach always gives me trouble. The doctor said that this medicine is good for the stomach.”

“Yes…yes…We must be very prudent in settling such issues at an appropriate time. You are right.”

The boy came running to him with a bottle in his hands.

“You fool! It is not that one. It is a blue bottle on the upper shelf. If I ask you to bring my wife, you bring my mother-in-law. You bugger! You have proved your idiocy again. Go…get the right bottle.”

The boy ran to the almirah again, climbing down the stairs fast.

“So, we can safely assume that the total value of the freight will be nearly forty rupees. Right?” Moonaa Roonaa’s usual obsequious voice posed him this question.

“No... No... It can never be forty or fifty. It won’t be more than twenty-five or thirty."

“I just asked you as I heard the freight is getting loaded in lakhs.”

“Empty talks! Anyone can do it. Can’t they? It would fetch nothing. I think they are planning to take tea, coffee, and mace spice, sell it there, and bring cloths here."

“Seems to be a well-thought-out plan anyway. But this is wartime. What if something goes wrong on their way?”

“It is none of our concern. Isn’t it? It is their plan, and they execute it.” Kaavanaa sank his body behind, stretched out his legs, raised his hands upwards, and yawned. He then rose, stood up, and twisted his torso left to right and vice versa, trying to drive away the sluggishness built in, and sat on the chair again. “Mmm... it is their sweet will they prefer leaving from here. These days everyone thinks what they see with their narrow vision is only correct. In earlier days, before venturing into something, the elders would be consulted to assess the pros and cons of it. It is miserably missing these days. Right? What we see now is just an outgrown form of such impudence.”

“Yes… Yes…I just told you what I heard. They are going to set off on their journey tomorrow, I guess."

“Let them go and come back with the money they minted. No one would object to it. I understand that Pandian, that Nadar community chap who was working as a clerk in the Zhanna Kaanaa Roonaa office, is also leaving along with our Chettiars. Am I correct?”

The boy brought a blue bottle and a jug full of water. He took two tablets, put them into his mouth, and drank some water. Belching followed drinking—paa...aahvvv...paaa. Ahhh...”

The boy collected the bottle and water jug and went in.

Murugaiya Pillai remarked, “You are right. I also heard the same. He is different type of a chap. Straight frame. Not even having a remote resemblance to our chettiars’ body size. He wouldn’t look like a person who had been groomed under Zhaanaa Kaanaa Roonaa pawn shop.”

“You will find different languages spoken in different countries. He is from the South. Near Aruppukkottai. Immigrant groups, I guess. His father had a shop near the Pillaiyar temple in Sinna Mangalam.”

“O.K. OK. Is it possible to reach Penang in four days?”

Murugaiya Pillai got off the wooden plank and put on his slippers.

“Yes... it will take at least four days to reach. Where are you leaving? For a relaxing stroll? You are going to Thana Lappan. Right? O.K., carry on."

***

The passengers scheduled for leaving for Penang were going to the Belawan port. Pandian was also going on behalf of his construction company. Others were sundry travellers: Sa. Mu Andiappa Pillai was the proprietor of a shop owned by him. Shanmugam Pillai was the son-in-law of Si. Vai. Vaithiyalingam Pillai. It was about twelve years and three months since he had last seen his wife. Nallakannu Pillai, a Konar caste man but carrying the name of Pillai, was a senior agent in ‘Doniko’ Kannappa Chettiar’s shop. “Dried Meat” Annamalai Pillai, the agent of Muru. Na. Si’s shop- well known in the circles that it was he who could solve the problems he created. Then, Si. Pa. Sanga Pillai, another Pillai alias Servai owning a shop. Then Saminathan, son of Na. Muthaiya Pillai, who was leaving on behalf of his father. Lastly, agent Angamuthu on behalf of Muru. Sathappa Chettiar.

The kerosene engine emitted smoke and left.

Going past the post office came the Delhi Company, then the Kemethe Hospital. The petrol pump at Peppeyam was lying totally burnt down. Then came Kulukoor. Fully grown trees standing along the road were giving a great amount of shade. Then Pulubrayan. Houses were standing on wooden pieces in the middle of the groves on both sides of the road that had taken a diversion towards the east.

Pandian was thoughtful, rubbing his forehead. ‘Isn’t it the same corner of the street where one Tamil woman dressed up in Malay style asked me about Kannathal Temple for her eye pain? Yes. Nattarasankottai Kannudaiya Nayaki Amman Temple.’

In Nattarasankottai

The abode of Goddess Kannathal

Get my eye pain cured.

O! Mother Goddess Kannathal.

I would offer both my eyes. 

At Labuvan, washerman Pachaiyan was sitting with folded legs on a bamboo chair in front of an arrack shop. Some Indonesian, Chinese, and Tamil labourers were sitting on the floor. The Nana plants were found thickly grown like dense bushes all around the market streets, banana, and coconut groves.

The kerosene engine entered Belawan city. The smell of bog was in the air. It seemed that the sea had receded. On the left was found the appam shop of the cook Periyampillai, who once worked in Moski straat. His wife is a Tamil woman. She was walking like a Manila duck, shaking her big rounded buttocks that seemed to be sticking out of her frame in the shop.

Boxes, bedrolls, and bundles were loaded into the ship. The episode of sentimental send-off commenced. 

“Rathinam, I take leave.”

“O.K. Anna. Bon voyage. The boy from the renovation company folded his hands. He called out to Pandian, “Anna…mmm.”

“What?” Pandian went near to him. 

“My father was working as an agent in Kuala Kangsar. I don’t know what had happened to him when the bombs were dropped there.” His teary eyes started shedding tears. “Was he…?” he asked. 

“What is his name? Sivasami Pillai?” 

“Sokkaiya Pillai. Rangiyam shop. Seenaa Vaanaa Moonaa Roonaa shop.” 

“I’ll meet your father and will get back to you. Do you have any letter with you?” 

“Yes… Yes… I have, Anna." 

“Don’t be silly. Be strong. Don’t lose your heart.” 

“How could I be? I haven’t received any letter, Anna.” 

“How could a person travelling in a boat in Kuala Kangsar write you a letter? Be brave. I will meet him and ask him to write you a letter." 

“It is okay, Anna. We don’t own any land assets in our village. I don’t know how my mother and sister are managing their days there. We both here are the only breadwinners," he started crying. 

“Wipe your tears. You are not a woman to shed tears. Are you? Your mother and sister will be alright without any problems. Don’t worry.”

Rathinam took out his handkerchief and wiped his tears. His modern appearance with pants, a shirt, and an overcoat and hair trimmed in style in vogue failed to hide his childlike innocence radiating on his face. 

“Anna… If you are unable to find him, please meet one ‘Mokkai’ Palanippa Chettiar and ask about my father. He is from our village. He is presently in Penang. Inform him that I am working here. If something untoward happens, let my village know about it." 

“O.K., be strong. I take leave.” 

“OK. Anna. You too take care of yourself." 

The ship was about to set out on its journey. The Chinese sailors were shouting and running here and there, untying the ropes, and rolling them into bundles. 

Final send-off: Both the people in the ship and their close ones on shore were yelling at each other. 

“All of you be safe…. We are leaving.... All of you be safe... Moonaa Roonaa, take care of the shop… Maple! I have to meet Theena to ask him about the recent developments in the village. Aavanna… you are the eldest. Take care of our belongings. All of you pray to God Thanni Malaiyan,¹ and you will never face any problem en route…. All of you be safe... Bon voyage!"

The ship started moving slowly towards the north. The harbour began disappearing. The greenery was slowly receding and finally disappeared.

Notes:

1.    The God Thanni Malaiyan—another name of Lord Murugan. His abode is in Thanneer Malai in Penang.

                                                                      ****