A Boat in the Storm Part 3 (21-30 chapters)

Chapter 21: Jarang camp.

A captain from Punjab named Rakbirlal Arora was in the Jarang guerrilla camp. There was a Malayali Havildar in his squad. His name was Sukumaran. They were close friends. There was also a Tamil Havildar in his team named Palavesamuthu. He was thin, dark-complexioned, and a man of indomitable spirit and heart of steel. He was the arch enemy of this former duo. One day, the trouble caused by these three men in the camp first shook the Jarang camp and then the entire Indian National Army. 

The 5th guerrilla regiment was one of the armed units that was getting ready to be dispatched to the battlefield after their training. Those who were holding the ranks above lieutenant in that unit were actually from the British Indian Army, and others, both new and old entrants, were equal in numbers. The platoons were functioning as separate units with new and old incumbents. 

It was not unusual to see the food items and clothing coming to the camp become less in quantity when they reached their destination after long journeys—a truth as old as the period of Alexander the Great. Many Tamil men who had some experience working in commercial centres and cargo transport departments were working in greater numbers in Jarang Camp. They were experts in the assessment of accounts that pertained to decreasing materials due to unavoidable reasons en route, unavailability of vehicles, or pest infestation. They held this duty of accounting for the materials in the storeroom as one of their primary wartime duties. 

The responsibility of looking after storeroom accounting was with Rakbirlal. He, along with his dearest accomplice, Sukumaran, was selling the food items in the black market with the blessing of some senior officials and thus making filthy money indulging in pomp and gaiety. The rice and pulses, which had already been in short supply due to disturbances in transportation, were now spuriously adulterated with tiny stones and sand particles, almost rendering rice and pulses nearly absent on one’s plate.

The complaints sent to the camp commander, Jagar Singh, failed to yield any results. The graffiti of Rakbirlal and Sukumaran in compromising poses with disgusting footnotes explaining their ‘intimacy’ started appearing on hostel walls.

Palavesamuthu and his friends teased Sukumaran in Malayalam, “Sukumareee… Oh, my sweetie! You are my lady” and threw obscene gestures at him.

It was Monday at about four in the evening. Pandian was lying on the bed. He didn’t go to the forest with his team as he had a headache. Other than two squads that were at their leisure, the remaining squads had gone out for training. 

A timid noise of commotion that rose from the southern side grew louder gradually. People were shouting abuses in Hindi and Tamil. 

Who’s that? The body gets shuddered at once. These buggers Palavesamuthu and Rakbirlal... He rose with his lungi and vest and ran towards them. 

Palavesamuthu was lying on the ground like a corpse. Rakbirlal, with his six-foot frame weighing two hundred and twenty pounds, was pressing him down with his left leg on the former’s chest and pummeling his face with both hands. Two soldiers were standing beside them with their raised hands holding bamboo sticks. 

Pandian reached there and yelled at him, “Captain.” Rakbirlal looked up to him. 

“Get up immediately.” 

“What?” Rakbirlal roared and rose with his sparks-emitting eyes and moved his right hand to take his pistol out.

Pandian pounced upon the captain from behind, pulled two of the latter’s fingers with his left hand, and ran his right hand encircling his neck. His left hand opened the pistol pouch and transferred it to the right hand. Within a second, the left hand pushed the captain down while his right leg threw away a hard punch on his hip. 

Rakbirlal fell onto the ground. Those two soldiers took to their heels and disappeared.

Pandian looked down. The condition of Palavesamuthu seemed worse. ‘Rakbirlal would get up anytime once he regains his consciousness. I have to inform the colonel of these incidents for taking action’. 

He quickly ran towards Colonel Jagar Singh’s office. 

Palavesamuthu tried running his hands along the ground. His eyes were heavy, and he couldn’t open them. Pain all over his body. ‘What is all this? Rakbirlal and his soldiers are standing around... I should have finished them off with a single swing of my sword. It was my foolishness I didn’t do that.’ The sunlight was slightly visible. The trees offered a blurred view. What is that lying in front of me? Is it Rakbirlal? How did he fall? I am unable to move my body. It seems that my death is certain. Before that, I must finish him off too. My eyesight is almost gone, and the head is spinning. Unable to fold the legs. I must get up anyway. My eyesight is gone. Head is spinning. Where is my sword? Oh my waist! Here… I must get up now. A bit more… a bit more… Avoiiiiii—he let out an ear-piercing yell. —It is he...yes...it is he... I pummeled him. Again and again. My head is spinning. A big bull hit him down, and he fell on the ground. Paining everywhere.’ 

Colonel Jagar Singh came there running. Some of his officers followed him with pistols in hand. Pandian came behind them. 

Jagar Singh was stunned at what he saw. Palavesamuthu’s body was lying, frozen. With streaks of blood from injury on his cheeks, Rakbirlal pointed to Pandian and shouted something at him while holding Palavesamuthu’s sword in his hand. 

The colonel checked the pulse of the body and ordered his soldiers to take it to the cremation ground in the rear. He then turned to Pandian and roared:

“You are under arrest. You are singularly responsible for all these." 

He then called upon two of his officers, ordered Pandian to be put in jail, and walked to his office. 

Lance Naik Chinnaiya, lying in the hospital shed, dragged himself somehow and reached the veranda and further moved stealthily to the entrance. He then gave the sepoys under Havildar Peer Mohammed as much as he could of a brief of events that had occurred in the camp. Peer Mohammed called upon Sepoy Udaiyappan and told him to go to the forest to alert the troops that were on their way back to the camp. 

The three squads that had recently completed their training in the Remo jungle were on their way to their base camp. Udaiyappan intercepted the first squad led by Thagavelu near the Peechang riverside and apprised him of the events. 

“Who is in the wireless cabin?” Thangavelu asked him. 

“Gnanaprakasam” 

“Tell him to remove all wires and hide it somewhere. Run fast now." 

Udaiyappan took to his heels and ran fast to the camp. 

Thangavelu passed the information to the other two squads that were coming behind. Thangavelu’s squad entered the camp, went straight into the armoury and got all the sepoys standing guard arrested, and placed new guards there. Then they went to the jail building, put the guards under arrest, and released Pandian. 

Kannusamy’s squad, which was coming second, went straight into the commander’s office and arrested Colonel Jagar Singh along with other officers and sepoys. 

The third squad under Yakup teamed up with Thangavelu’s squad and rounded up two opposing squads that were coming in separate groups from the Kelan forest area. The team that was at leisure in the camp assessed the situation swiftly and took prompt preemptive action by arresting other opposing squads. 

The entire episode ended within forty minutes. As though the camp area was bigger, the act of usurpation went off smoothly without any untoward incidents due to the cooperation extended by the guards. 

Pandian took charge as the new commander of the Jarang Guerilla camp. 

Captain Rakbirlal, Sepoys Bola Singh and Sevaram were awarded the death penalty and were summarily executed. Pandian called upon Gnanaprakasham and asked him to send a wireless message to Taiping Headquarters. The message was sent as follows:

“Havildar Palavesamuthu was brutally murdered. In order to bring the extremely volatile situation under control, the murderers were awarded the death penalty, and it was executed with an anticipation of approval from the higher authorities. The situation is very grim—Jagar Singh, Colonel, Commander of Jarang Camp. 

A reply came in a while later. 

“Netaji is coming. Colonel Kalik Usman, Colonel Banerjee, and Major Rajappa are also coming with their troops. Everyone should be at their respective places. By the order of Netaji. Rakojirao Chitnis, Major General, Headquarters Division, Taiping” 

At about seven in the evening, several cars and trucks were streaming into the camp with roars. The gate was opened. It was ordered that everyone must assemble in the ground in the centre. Everyone assembled there. Colonel Banerjee led the investigation. In that very grim situation, everyone explained the course of events as it had happened briefly in five or six sentences.

Netaji was giving away the list of punishments in English and Hindustani, sometimes in a stammering command of voice since his body was shivering in anger. Orders were passed wirelessly from the Jarang camp. 

‘The designated officers working in the designated camps must come to Jarang to take charge of it. Along with it, the designated officers from Jarang camp are hereby transferred to the designated camps. Colonel Jagar Singh and Lieutenant Pandian have been dismissed from the service. Both of them will be placed under arrest and will be court-martialed.’

                                                                     ***

                                                 Chapter 22: The Freedom  

 

The influence of the American navy in the Pacific Ocean region grew stronger. The fighting units of General McArthur launched from New Guinea and Solomon Island bases, traversed the archipelago of the Marshall and Marianne Islands, and were nearing the Philippines and Japan and were spraying bombs on the Japanese cities. Both the countries were readying for a decisive war. 

The Japanese Supreme War Council decided that Japan must exhaust all its naval and air power so as to prevent its enemy forces from reaching Philippine shores and completely decimate the American navy at any cost.

With a resolute spirit, the Japanese navy, with its remaining skeleton number of naval units, left their bases without air power—a fundamental requirement of war—to destroy the magnificent American Navy in the Pacific Ocean and finally got perished, one and all, in the fierce war that occurred in the Leith Sea.

The troops of McArthur reached the Philippine shores. The Anglo-Americans combined forces that could set their foot strongly in Europe after winning many near-miss wars, broke open the array of barriers at Sigbrit, and entered Germany. Montgomery's troops in the north and Bradley’s forces in the south were moving towards the heart of Germany.

Italy’s 20th-century Caesar, Mussolini, and his young concubine Claretta were captured by the communist guerrillas when they tried to escape to Switzerland in a German truck and were summarily impaled.

Russia’s “Attack of Victory” began in the snowy plains of Southern Poland. Russian General Konev crossed the Vistula River and marched forward in the early morning. In the North, Rokossovsky drove away the twenty divisions of German troops in the Dansik Square until the latter were cornered along the sea line. The beleaguered troops had their head collided with Serniovsky, who pounced upon them from the east. Meanwhile, Jukhav penetrated the west and rounded up Poland’s capital, Warsaw, and captured it. 

On the Burma war front, the situation grew worse. 

It had been months since the battlefield of Kohima, which turned red with the blood of countless Tamil martyrs, had gone into the hands of the enemy.

The “Imphal army” of General Muta Kuchi had lost its structural integrity and sped to the Siam (Burma) border. As the dictum says, ‘charity comes only after meeting one’s needs,’ the soldiers of the Indian National Army were abandoned to their destiny. They were roaming, clueless of their destination, without food and medicines for diseases in the steep slopes of mountains and thick jungles that had never seen sunlight.

When Pandian was serving his term in jail, he received an envelope with the seal of the Supreme Commander of the Indian National Army under the caption ‘Change of Officers’ carrying the order of his release.

                                                                       *** 

 

                                           Chapter 23: Colonel Kalik Usman

The Indian Security Office was housed in Singapore’s Gadde Building. A ‘colourful’ Netaji’s portrait in left profile was hanging on the wall behind the table facing the street.

Pandian entered and greeted.

After spending a couple of minutes on the pretext of scrutinizing bundles of documents on his table, the colonel raised his head and threw a sharp look at Pandian.

“Yesss”

“Commando Captain K K 282. I am awaiting the orders from the higher authority, sir.”

“Commando Captain! Hhhaaaaa! Hiiiihiiii. There are no commando or kamikaze teams in the Indian National Army. It is just a plain trick to get you on the roll. What name do you hold now?”

“Pramod Chandra Majumdar”

“Majumdar…those rice-eating Bengalis!” He extended his left hand.

Pandian handed him over the cover he was holding in his right hand.

The colonel opened the cover and pulled out the letter, read it, scribbled something on it, opened the drawer on his left, dropped it in, and raised his eyes at him again.

“Setting aside my right as your superior officer, I would like to treat you as my equal for this task,” said the colonel as he lit a cigarette. “I’ll inform you later of the nature of the duty assigned to us. I believe that this sort of informal relationship between us would help in completing that task. Please have a seat,” the colonel said.

“Thank you, Colonel Sahib.” He sat down.

“You can be frank with me about whatever bugs your mind. I must know your views on the task we both are entrusted with, as if coming from a friend. You need a cigarette? The colonel’s hand pushed the cigarette packet to Pandian.

“Thanks, Colonel Sahib.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“A very important and potentially dangerous task would be handed over to you. Where were you before joining the army?”

"I was in Medan City, Sumatra.

“What were you doing there?”

“I was working as a supervisor in a pawn shop. After that….”

“What! You are a Chettiyar. Aren’t you? What the heck do you buggers think about security services? Do you think this place is the haven for those petty business geese?”

Pandian grinned.

“It’s alright. We have to run this army only with the people available to us anyway. It is your good destiny that you were imprisoned. Or else you would have been deported to Burma by now. The action heroes would meet their definite death there. Before I came to Malaya, I was of the opinion that Tamil men are only fit for eating rice and working as clerks."

“It is true anyway,” remarked Pandian.

“No…now I have changed my opinion.”

The colonel was silently watching the smoke emitted from the cigarette in his right hand for a while. His eyes narrowed.

“Rakbirlal was a scoundrel. His wife committed suicide by jumping into a river. He was a rascal of the highest order. What you had done is a grave criminal offense according to military law. You could just escape as the situations worked in your favour”

He flicked the cigarette with his fingers and tapped it to remove its ash.

“The task that is going to be awarded to you is relatively a tougher one. But it is rather a very rare opportunity to prove your mettle. Are you aware of our General Shivnath Rai, our modern-era Napoleon?”

“I have heard about him.”

“A military affairs expert opined that if the panzers deployed in the central divisions of the German army had been placed under the command of our General Shivnath Rai instead of General Heinz Guderian1, Moscow would have fallen by now. Do you know who that expert is?”

“I know. It is General Shivnath Rai."

“Ha! Ha…Goshhhh… You are right.”

“Why isn’t he going to the war front instead of sitting idle in Singapore?”

“It is because he couldn’t find a suitable, courageous guy to look after the rice godown. Now let me get to the point… What I am going to tell you is extremely secret and complicated. You shouldn’t tell this to anyone without my permission. General Shivnath Rai- Yes…that rice hawker has lost an important letter from his custody. Are you with me?”

“Yes… I am getting you, Colonel Sahib."

“You should trace out that letter and bring it to me.”

“O.K. How to identify that?”

“It was actually written by Aungsan, the Chief of the Burmese Army of Independence, to Netaji. It is yellow in colour. Written in Bangla script…”

“How come Bangla script?”

“Aungsan knows Bangla.”

“But I am not familiar with the Bangla language.”

“What sort of a Majumdar are you? I guess you don’t know how to eat fish too."

He leaned over, pulled out the drawer on his right, and took out some stencils of Bangla language and papers written in Bangla and pushed them to him.

Pandian glanced at them and gave them back.

“Keep it with you.”

“Thanks.” He kept them in his trouser pocket and asked, “May I know when, how, and why that letter was lost?”

“Within a month it went out of a chest kept in our general’s room. Why does it assume importance? It is because the contents of the letter are against the Japanese.”

“Pardon my impudence. Who does our rice vendor suspect?”

“He suspects Churchill. Hahhaaaa….” He burst out laughing. “It is of no use knowing who our general suspects are. It is quite possible that he could have eaten that letter under intoxication."

“Can I discuss this matter with the general? Can I visit the spot?”

“No… No… You are just a lieutenant. Napoleons are very particular about their rank and status."

“If then, you can talk to him yourself.”

“It is true that I am a colonel. But a general entertains another general. A colonel prefers another colonel. Besides, our general doesn’t like me. So there would be some unnecessary disputes. If Netaji passes such an order himself, the matter would be different altogether. In that case, you can inquire about it directly.”

“Seeking your pardon again, does Netaji know about it?”

“Enough of seeking repeated pardons. Please stop it. When Netaji was out of station, this letter came and was handed over to someone. But they forgot to deliver it to Netaji on his arrival. When he learnt about this letter, he ordered them to bring it. It was later understood that it was missing. Netaji categorically ordered that the letter must reach his hands no matter what it would cost. Surprisingly, this order was given not to our general but to me. See the travesty of royal justice….”

The colonel, who bore the resemblance of a stone in despair for a second, waved both his hands helplessly.

Pandian laughed.

“Don’t laugh, my dear man... Don’t laugh. My heart had already sunk in despair."

“Who do you suspect?”

“I don’t suspect anyone. Let’s not talk about this woeful topic for now and talk about something happier instead. Mmmmm... Do you know one beauty known as Mrs. Vilasini? She is the younger sister of one of the most influential leaders of the freedom movement, Mr. B.S. Menon, Bottathu Sankunni Menon.”

“Heard about her.”

“What have you heard about?”

“That, she is a whore…”

“Heiii...thchchchhch...too much of a harsh usage of language for such a beautiful woman. Very harsh. You must learn to use refined usage of words while talking about women of high status. She is a very pretty woman... golden complexioned... well-endowed parts that could make men numb."

Colonel’s eyes seemed to float in the world of dreams.

“Our General is one of her customers.”

“Customers! This word is also very brutish. It is alright. Anyway, the cost of his affair is very pricey. Many bales of rice for a single night! Thank God that the rice godown is not under me. We can try out Mrs. Vilasini to get some information.”

“If needed, we can use force. Can’t we?”

“It’s dangerous. She has a good number of well-wishers.”

“Trying a honey trap?”

“No use. I heard that she wouldn’t prefer dark men. Only White... brown and yellow... ha…ha…ha…hah…hah.”…hah.”

A dramatic burst of laughter filled in the room.

“Are Chinese men standing in the queue of yellow complexioned men?”

“Not likely. She won’t try her legs if the depth is perceivably dangerous."

“Thanks. Can I interrogate Mrs. Vilasini? ...seeking your pardon... I am just asking this as you have permitted me to question her.”

“Ask her as many questions as you like. What I need is Aungsan’s letter."

“Or my death. Is it? Pandian smiled at the colonel.

“Not exactly. But there will be a punishment for failure. Everything has its price, my dear man. If victory has its price, failure too has its price. Let’s put this talk aside. I repeat once again. You can ask her as many questions as you like. What I need is Aungsan’s letter.”

“I will bring it for sure.”

“Very good… Belief is the first step to success."

“Who are Vilasini’s prominent visitors in the yellow category that need to be placed under close observation?”

“Japanese army Major Sadavo Yamasaki. His principle of life is damn simple: The moment suspicion arises, award death with a bullet. Hahahahaha... a very tough customer."

“I don’t know him.”

“I’ll give you his photos.”

“Let’s suppose that some misunderstanding cropped up with Vilasini and she files a complaint. What would be the next course of action?”

“You’ll land in trouble. A very big trouble. She has a good number of powerful people. Please restrain yourself as much as you can from employing force."

“With Major Yamasakki too?”

 

“You can’t handle the Japanese army Major Sadavo Yamasakki if you are not fully confident with your work. Dealing with him means either victory or death. You haven’t seen Aungsan’s signature. Have you? I’ll show you that.”

He leaned over on his right, pulled the drawer, took some photographs and paper, and kept them on the table.

“Have it registered in your mind.”

Pandian looked at the signature intently, kept it in his memory, collected those photographs, and gave them back to the colonel. The colonel locked them inside the drawer.

“Yamasakki had lived in Rangoon. So he knows about Aungsan."

The colonel pressed the calling bell. He asked the attendant boy to bring coffee, lit a new cigarette with the old one, clenching it between his lips, and puffed on it, looking up at the ceiling. He then turned to Pandian and extended his hand with the cigarette box. Pandian pulled a cigarette from it and lit it. Rings of cigarette smoke were coming out of his mouth. Pandian was trying to dig out whether the colonel’s words of mockery had something hidden inside—was it just acting? Or was it just his nature of speaking? If acting, was it just to entertain me or just being deceptive? Talking comically to see one’s depth of things….”

Coffee came, and they poured it into glasses and drank it.

“Mhmmm... Mhmmm...” The colonel leaned back and stretched out his legs fully. “So, what we have inferred with the available information is….”

“The letter is lost. Honourable Mrs. Vilasini could have stolen it from our Napoleon either at the behest of Yamasakki or to get financial favours from the major with that letter. Or she could have trapped our ‘Napoleon’ in some way and asked him to hand over that letter to Yamasakki. Or the letter could have been lost somewhere inadvertently. Now, the Japanese are damn tired. So, let things go as they are destined to be.”

“Great inferences anyway. What is Aungsan doing now?” asked Pandian.

“Ah... it is top secret. How did you know it?”

“This is London calling in the….”

“What! Radio in the cells! ...”

“One of my friends who used to listen to BBC news unfailingly has been sending me messages daily.”

“You had indulged in the act of treason, bypassing the tight security against the rules of prison. You will be tried separately for this crime. Let’s not discuss it now. If that letter happens to fall into the hands of the Japanese, suspicion would naturally fall upon Netaji.”

“So we have to seize that letter at the earliest. Right?”

“That is it. My good opinion about Tamils keeps growing every second. Only your dark complexion seems to be unpalatable to me and Vilasini. Hahahahah….”

“The black and white are the only natural colours. Others are just adulterated ones."

“Hahahahaha... adulterated! adulterated! Hahahaha...” Colonel burst out into laughter. Do you mean my brownish complexion? Mind you, you are also not a purebred Black person. Then what next?”

“Any idea to lure Vilasini?”

“Champagne or original foreign liquor will do the wonder. She is very fond of it. But they are rare now, not easily available.”

“We can procure it. But it will be pricey. In case it is not available, we can make a duplicate of it. There are lots of Chinese experts who are good at it."

“Mind another important thing. How much do you know about women? Vilasini is an experienced lady in seducing many men. To seduce her, one needs to have vast experience in the art of seducing so many women. Do you have any such experience?”

“I guess I do have.”

“But you look so young.”

“I started having such experiences at a young age.”

“Fantastic... It’ll be useful for this task. It is alright. Now answer this riddle. An innocent man marries an educated lady who had gained numerous university degrees. Every time he returns home from the office, he sees his wife either roaming on the beach or in some market area with her pet dog. She is so audacious that she says she doesn’t know cooking, and her physical appearance would ruin if she gets children. Now, what would be your course of action to seduce such a woman?”

The colonel leaned forward as if showing interest to listen to his reply.

“It is very easy. Very, very easy. First, you must take off your shirt and vest so that the hair on your chest is visible. Then you should grasp the hair bun of your wife, untie it, and give two tight slaps on her cheek—Guderian style of treatment. Then two tight kicks on her butt—Rokossovsky style of treatment. As a final blow, a kick when she falls off. Then what? She would know how to cook; she would know how to ask what you want—is it buttermilk, or stew made with pulses or dried vegetables or mutton or chicken or fish… Other than these endearments, she would know how to ask you if you need hot water or a massage before you go to the office. Then finally, the hero and the heroine would live with one soul in two bodies, getting children every year and living forever. The end... the end... the end...

The colonel couldn’t control himself, laughing his heart out and shaking the entire room.

“You are such a rogue doctor. Extremely a roguish doctor. It is dangerous to get a sick woman admitted under your care."

“Rogue treatment for immediately visible results. Perhaps you may find the results in the medicine itself. If not treated, money will be returned for sure. PS: There is no requirement of being disciplined during medication… mmm… the truth behind this complex problem."

“Yes… I understand. It may be a conspiracy of northerners. You have a sharp intellect."

He took out a letter from his shirt pocket and gave it to Pandian.

Pandian read it. The letter had been written in such a language that only some trained persons would understand it.

“You first pay attention to Vilasini. The matter related to Yamasakki is very complicated. I’ll discuss this matter with Netaji. We shouldn’t get into conflict with him without a categorical and direct order."

“O.K.”

“You can come and directly collect the cash you need.”

“O.K.”

“There is no scarcity of cash in Security Services. Only the men with guts are fewer in number. Another thing… Yamasaki has disappeared. Investigation is on."

“Photo?”

“Yes... it’s here. He pulled out a table drawer and stretched out a small picture. “Keep it with you. He is an experienced hand in Kota Baling training schools and was a close confidant of General Doi Hara. Keep all these in mind.”

“Seeking your pardon, why don’t you try your hand with Vilasini?”

“I tried twice but failed. Her body is something that makes men besotted. The moment you go near her, you forget your duty. That said, on what basis would I approach her? Only if some violence is used can one do something with her. Do you think one can go near her that easily?”

“I will try. She may spill the beans if I get her to hang from the ceiling with a couple of bashes. But it is you who is insisting on handling her softly as if to beg a peacock to spare some feathers."

“I don’t mean that. I am just telling you to be careful. Vilasini’s brother is one of our most respected leaders and a schoolmate of Netaji. Very close and trustworthy friend of his. I think I don’t have to elaborate on it more. Sometimes the tricks you employed in Kota Baling will land you in trouble.”

“Yes…”

“If you want to meet me, you are most welcome anytime. Keep this paper with you."

The colonel gave him a piece of a card with his seal. He then opened the drawer and took out a brown envelope stuffed with some dollar notes.

“Take it. I don’t need the details of the accurate expenditure of this amount. Just send the total expenses for a particular period of time. However, not indulging in spendthrift ways is a good habit, though."

“Thanks, Colonel Sahib.” He rose.

“Any arms?”

The colonel opened the drawer on the left, pulled out a green colour paper drawn with violet patterns, put it in an envelope, and gave it to him.

“You may go now.”

They shook their hands.

Pandian turned and walked on, paying him regards.

                                                             ***

Note:

1.      Colonel General Heinz Guderian was an unparalleled German army officer known for his lightning war tactics. He was a brave general who led the panzer column which literally decimated the French army. Military experts had unanimously opined that 338 thousand soldiers of Allied Nations couldn’t have boarded ships and escaped their deaths if Hitler, who grew enormously uneasy with the speed of Guderian, hadn’t ordered to stop the latter’s onward march.

 

                   Chapter 24: Vilasini 

It was a big room in the front. The radio sitting on a Chinese table on the northeastern side stopped playing the Japanese music and started narrating news stories as usual. The sunlight entering the room through the three rectangular windows was wavering due to the moving shadows of plants after its passage through the plants in the garden below.

Vilasini was sitting on a sofa, leaning against its rolled velvet arms. A single rose with two leaves was tucked in her freshly bathed, dried hair nestled in near her right earlobe. She didn’t wear saffron vermilion that could have otherwise looked like a wart on her golden forehead. The lips with an elegant application of lipstick were found slightly parted, showing off her pearly-like teeth. 

She pulled the three-legged, cushion-topped stool, placed it under her leg for support, and picked the blue, velvet-covered arm, cuddled it along her breasts, and mumbled inaudibly, “Mm... it seems the rest of my life would be spent only like this.” The velvet roll got crushed against her breast. ‘These brutes…just looking like pigs, buffalos, and hippos, know only loutish fucking, biting, and ejaculating. No one is different anyway, be it the one who married me, or the one who brings men to me, or the ones who eat me up like leeches, those lawyers, doctors, engineers, and captains, and major generals—all they know is only hard fucks, bites, and ejaculation—just like pigs, buffalos, and hippos’.

The stupor caused by the coziness of velvet roll and springing of fantasy filled in her veins and made her vivacious. Her eyes were semi-closed, looking up, and she moaned very gently, “Mhmmm…mhmmm…”

Born near Palakkad in Kerala, Vilasini had never experienced the woes of life till she went to Chennai for her studies. Only after that did she face the agony and disappointments that flooded her life, leaving her body and heart in persistent distress. The sari shop owner, Ananda Krishnan Iyer, who had an illicit relation with her mother, Ammani, took good care of his concubine’s children as well. He sent Ammani’s children abroad for higher studies the way he did for his own children. Only Vilasini, the youngest daughter, was caught in the vortex of life as she was married to a lawyer, namely Padmanabhan, while studying in Chennai. If it hadn’t happened, Iyer would have sent her also abroad for studies.

The tender heat that spread across her body from the velvet roll burnt her like fire. ‘O God! Would there be a man like this? What sort of a habit was that?’ She tightened up her already closed eyelids more and emitted a sharp breath.  ‘I was ruined because of my husband and then was roaming aimlessly in Merina Beach, Esplanade, Egmore, and Adaiyar. It was at that time Tiruchur Pattan met me. Why did it happen? It was my fate. That Brahmin fellow had a peculiar problem: he grew bored with the decent-looking women and got addicted to dirty women roaming on the streets with untidy hair. He boarded the ship for Burma. A great patriot! I don’t have children even to cry my death. Is it that my womb had closed its entry as I got aborted twice before the marriage? No…not likely. Parvathi and Sujatha are still giving birth to healthy children. Hmm... Hmm... Is it my destiny that I must live with these beasts till my death? Those pigs, buffalos, and hippos—loutish fuck, bites, and ejaculating… Cheee...beasts. Pigs, buffaloes, and hippos. Saraswati was with me, and now she's also gone…’ 

The house was near perfect for her comfortable stay. It was built for the company managers of Khatri-Spenser. There was a big garden around the house. It had so many rooms with rare paintings hanging on walls, decking it. Persian carpets were spread on the floor. The things in the house were in fact brought from abroad. All these were just the remaining things after the Japanese had left after their loot.

“Ailon! Please get me some coffee.” 

A melodious voice passed the order musically.

“Yeah, ma’am.” 

She opened a casket made of tortoise shell, took out a cigarette, lit it, and blew it in rings. Then blew it out through her nostrils. “I have to bear this stinking cigarette till the war is over. Is it a cigarette? Useless piece of shit! Once the war is over, I can get British cigarettes, Gerick, Champagne, Cherry, and Shadow and get rid of these shitty things. I can get married to a good man and settle in Penang. It is a good place to live in. I can’t wrestle with these pigs, buffaloes, and hippos anymore. Phew... What the fuck kind of a cigarette is this?’

She rose, took out the cigarette from her mouth with her finger, and crushed it in an ashtray. Wearing an embroidered slipper, she went in front of a mirror and had a look at herself—a polished body with refined curves seemingly made of gold was standing in front of the mirror. She parted her rosy lips and noticed the row of her white teeth and adjusted the lock of hair strands falling on her forehead. The left hand gently stroked her neck and cheeks. ‘Can I hug you tightly and kiss you? My sweet Vilasini!’ She felt like laughing uncontrollably. Falling in love with her image seen in the mirror, she stood in front of it smiling and turned, walked toward the sofa, and lounged on it. She drank coffee kept on the table. The calling bell rang. ‘Who’s that animal at this time? Whichever it is, it is likely to be the usual beast anyway. Is it that beast, Major General? Or any other pig, buffalo, or hippo? No matter what that animal is, I am going to have a tough time anyway. Lousy, wretched bastards! Lousy scums! I am going to be mad soon. Mad... Very soon mad... 

She glanced at the piece of paper that Ailon gave her.

“Captain K R Vijayan, INA” 

“How does he look?”

“Dark. But very handsome.”

She instructed her to close the radio and raced to the mirror. Her left hand pulled the sari covering her breasts a bit down. Her right hand set right the rose that had been tucked, blossomed in her thick hair. ‘Who’s that man? Why has he come here? The name sounds Malayali. Has the general sent him here? He may be a friend of that captain holding the charge of cargo procurement’.

Sitting on a chair lying on the south side of the table, she instructed her maid to allow him to come in.

A well-built Tamil man in grey trousers and a white shirt came in. His gait and appearance heralded something: he must be an important person. ‘Is he just an ordinary captain? Or someone very important? A sword-like body. Limbs, chest, and waist looked like they were chiseled with precision.’

She couldn’t remove her admiring look from him. ‘Mhmmm…mhmm."

Pandian slowly inched towards the window in the south. She was sitting in the rightmost corner. ‘First, Pandian should display an enormous appreciation of seeing an unparalleled beauty. Then he should praise her to her face. Despite these tricks, if she doesn’t fall on track, he should employ harsh methods of cavemen….’

Pandian, with his inquisitive eyes, not seeing anyone around, went near the silk-curtained entrance that led to the inner hall.

“Hello.” She was standing there as all her gorgeous parts shook.

He turned his head as if visibly stunned. His lips parted a bit and closed, and saliva went down his throat. His eyes didn’t blink a second and were watching her intently. He felt that his head was still alive, sitting on his torso. He greeted her with his folded hands that raised above his head involuntarily.

“Mm…mm… a blockage in the throat pit… ‘Namaskaram."

“Namaskaram... Please have a seat."

Her head leaned left slightly. ‘How many men she had seen! But there was no one who had become as stunned and speechless as he! He must be an amateur boy despite having grown up into a man. I have to teach him everything, holding him on my lap like a baby.’

Pandian stood astonished with his eyes that tried their best not to throw a glance at her.

“Please have a seat.”

She pointed to a chair and smiled, brimming with shyness.

“Let me stand here. You please have a seat."

“Why do you look at me like that? Hmm?”

She threw a question at him in chaste Tamil without the tinge of a Malayalam accent and smiled at him seductively with her pouty lips.

“I don’t mean…”

“Do I look like a demon? Mmhm... Please have a seat."

“Mmhm... I am...” Pandian sat down.

Ailon sat in front of Pandian.

“Yeah, ma’am.”

“Please get us cakes and coffee.”

“O.K., ma’am,” the maid left them.

“You are in Singapore. Aren’t you? But I haven’t met you."

“I have been travelling all over Southeast Asia.”

His eyes grew calmer, and crawled through the area below her neck. At times, it noticed her legs and hands that were resting on her lap.

Vilasini’s face became red. When her eyes met with his, she looked down, unable to face a man’s sharp, appreciative, groping eyes. ‘What a look! What a look! What a body!’

The maid brought a coffee mug, silver tumblers, cakes in a glass bowl, and sliced fruits on a wooden tray and kept it beside the table.

“Have a coffee.” She poured coffee in a glass and gave it to him.

He received it, smiled at her without parting his lips, and narrowed his eyebrows and eyes, looking up.

The dazzling parts of the woman sitting in front of him were swelling up on seeing him.

“Your Tamil culture has taught you to ogle at a woman in her privacy like this. Hasn’t it?” She bobbed her head, faking anger.

“Please pardon me.” He placed the tumbler on the table and rose.

“Why? What happened? Please sit down.”

“I don’t feel alright now. It all appears to be a dream. I fear I may speak something unwarranted."

“Please be seated. I too feel that I am not alright; she twisted her neck with a jerk. Her eyes were half-closed. “You can speak anything unwarranted. I’ll do my part too. Is that ok?”

“If something slips out of my mouth, you shouldn’t be angry.” Pandian said, sat down.

“You may speak anything. I won’t stop you. How would that be if you keep ogling without telling me the purpose of your visit here? What do I look like? Do I look like a woman or a demon?”

“I won’t tell you. You may get angry with me if I do," said Pandian as his hands were busy fidgeting with his shirt collar.

“No problem. One should open up one’s heart. It is what a man is expected of."

“You are not just a woman. You are an angel. I have heard that there are a lot of beautiful women in Kerala. But I have never seen such a beautiful woman like you.” He spread his hands and said, “O.K. Let me take leave. I am not feeling well.

“No… It is just a plain deceptive talk. Am I looking that beautiful? Your words are nothing but flattery. Now tell me the purpose of your visit. Which camp are you from?”

“Army Headquarters. I have come here for an important task.”

He rummaged through the papers in his bag. A cap of a wine bottle popped up.

“Is it for you?” she asked him.

“No. It is for someone in the higher office. I purchased it in Hong Kong.” He raised his head and said, “I came here for another work. After seeing you, I was besotted and just gone out of my mind,” he openly told her with his entrancing eyes showing up his intentions. “May I ask you for a boon?”

“Boon? I am not a saint. Am I?” She pulled the hem of her sari tightly to cover her assets, blushing at his remarks, and turned her head in and called out to her maid. “Ailon”

“Yeah, ma’am.”

“It gets late. Please get us some bread soon.”

“Yeah…ma’am.”

The maid went out, closing the entrance door. Pandian rose casually, went near to Vilasini, grasped her right hand with his left, and snapped it gently.

“Aiyaiyo… What’s this? Leave my hands…umm…mhaah…mmmhahhh…”

His steely hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her.

“Amm…mhaah…mmmhahhh… Not here... um... mmm... mmmh... there.”

He carried her inside.

….

“What! You mean I had stolen it. Don’t you? That scoundrel knows nothing beyond rolling on the bed like a buffalo and biting me. Hell with his military job! That pig never takes a bath. You know that? His body stinks. He used to keep lots of cash in his pocket. That was why I put my hands into it but found only some paper bundles. I just stole it thinking that there must be some cash in it. Even if I rob him of his money, would that be wrong anyway? He isn’t getting his salary out of hard work. Is he?”

“The maid is coming. That’s the creaking sound of a door."

“Let her come. I have seen you somewhere. Where? Huumm”

She bit the nape of his neck.

“Aiyo….it pains me, dear. My dear Vilasini. You have stolen my heart. My love”

“No… You are lying... Look into my eyes and say it."

“My dearest Vilasini… I am ready to even give my life for you. It has reached Netaji’s ears that you hold all these letters in your possession. He has ordered to get you arrested to retrieve those letters from you. But as luck would have it, the case has been handed over to me. So you don’t worry about it. I can get your name removed from the list of prime suspects.” He hugged her tightly and placed strong kisses on her neck. “You have given Yamasaki an important letter, though unknowingly. Now get that letter back from him by hook or crook."

“I didn’t give him that. Did I? He just opened the paper bundle in the almirah and picked a couple of papers from it. How can I ask him now? He will kill me for sure. If this matter is leaked, it won’t die with me, and my brother’s name will also be dragged into it and spoilt. Now what would I do?”

She hugged his neck and cried.

“My dear Vilasini, don’t be afraid. As long as I am with you, I will never allow any harm to reach either you or your brother. I have planned to divert the course of this investigation in a different direction. The soldiers who have come with me are now standing guard outside. I have to invent some new story that could convincingly trick them. …mmm”

“My love! My soul! You must save me from all these.”

“Don’t fear. You aren’t facing any danger. I have to pick up some petty guys and sort out this matter…. O.K. When will Yamasaki come back?”

“How would I know? He comes whenever he wants. Donkey”

“When does he usually visit your place?”

“There is no fixed time for him. Last time, he cried under inebriation, hugging my legs that he wouldn’t be able to survive without me, and bit me hard all over my body. Merciless brute”

“It is likely that he might have gone to Rangoon?”

“He muttered ‘Sumathra, ‘Medan, and ‘Sabhanu Yoshi' in his language when he was under the influence of alcohol.”

“Let that rotten soul get lost. If he comes back, you must inform me immediately. You must write, ‘Achuthan is suffering from fever. Come immediately’ in a letter and get it mailed in the green colour post box kept outside Gadde Building. My address is Captain Vijayan, R 090, Gadde Building-28. If only I meet him to discuss this issue, I can get you rid of this mess. Will you write to me?”

“Aiyo… Why should we get into trouble with him? He is a Japanese army man.

“I don’t mind who he is. If he comes my way creating trouble for me, he will be finished for sure. Will you write to me when he comes to meet you again?”

“Yes. I’ll do.

“It gets late. It will be an uneasy situation if the guards standing outside come inside, sensing any possible danger. Can I take leave now?”

“Mhmm…mhmm…mhmmm… When will you be back here again?”

“Tomorrow night”

“No…don’t. Come during the day at this hour. This is the right time.”

She hugged his neck with her hands tightly and showered kisses on his face and bade him goodbye.

He went out, turned left, and walked down the street. ‘Very dangerous animal… Alluring body. She must be older than me by six or seven years. How come one could walk down to a whore’s house with secret letters addressed to the chief in the government in pockets? Were they brought at the behest of Yamasaki? Or did he order them to be brought to him on the basis of information he received in this regard? The relationship between Vilasini and the Japanese army seems no ordinary one. It has been there since the beginning... It was the Japanese army that gave her this big house. She would go to any extent in order to retain the comfort of this house. She can get me to the throne just to butcher me into pieces if it is needed. Very dangerous animal she is… unlikely triumvirate: Japanese army-Vilasini-General.’

                                                                      ***

 

                                                        Chapter 25: Netaji 

It was the third day since Pandian had brought the bundle of letters from Vilasini. It was early morning. The army car carrying Pandian strode through pavements and shortcuts and reached the entrance of Gadde Bungalow.

The room door had been kept open. With a peculiar Napoleonic gait, Colonel Kalik Usman was busy walking across the room holding his hands back.

Pandian entered the room and greeted the colonel.

“Netaji has come. We have to meet him. Come with me.”

He went out. Pandian followed him.

They went upstairs and walked on. They kept walking, mumbling some code words to the soldiers who stopped them on their way, and reached the room.

Colonel sent out his card in. The next moment they got the call to go in.

They entered the room and stood stiff after greeting. The eyes were hurt in the glaring light.

“Kalik Usman. You may have a seat.”

Colonel sat down.

“You may proceed.”

“I gave Lieutenant Pandian the task of tracing out the letters. We couldn’t trace out Aungsan’s letter. We got other letters instead.” The colonel took out a long green cover from his shirt pocket and kept it on the table.

Netaji opened the cover and read each letter—letters he wrote from Rangoon about the ongoing war, private communications received from the president of the Philippines, Jose Laurel, and letters written by the prime minister of Siam…

“Aungsan’s letter?”

“Lieutenant Pandian… You can explain it now," he turned to Pandian.

“Sir, that letter could have fallen into the hands of Japanese army Major Sadavo Yamasaki. He is not present in Singapore now. Perhaps he may be living in the Sabang region in Sumatra.

“Sabang? How sure are you about it?”

“I guessed it from the words of the woman who had all these letters in her custody.”

“Who’s that woman?”

“She is a whore. Sister of Barrister Sankunni Menon”

Netaji’s facial expression changed suddenly. Pandian couldn’t assess if it was due to an unexpected shock or just plain anger at him for his impudent words.

“How come these letters reached her hands?”

“General Shivnath Rai”

“How did Aungsan’s letter fall into Japanese army hands?”

“Vilasini”

Netaji leaned back on his chair and deeply tried to read Pandian’s face.

“Lieutenant, are you the one from ‘Jarang’ camp?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I could recollect your face.”

A dead silence followed for seconds. Netaji’s eyes remained closed. The colonel was sitting on the edge of his chair, blinking at the table spread while Pandian was standing like an iron statue.

Netaji opened his eyes, looked at Pandian, and told him, “Yamasaki might have gone to Sumatra. A meeting of the Japanese Army officials has been scheduled at Sabang. I am not aware of the date. The general Yoshinaka is going to attend that meeting… Will you be able to bring that letter?”

“I believe I can, sir.”

“Are you aware of the Japanese army’s conduct rules?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You get into this task solely on the basis of your individual skills. If you are caught, I will be left helpless. The Japanese Army is an independent organization. Even Terauchi¹ doesn’t wield authority over them. Now, you can understand. Do you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since a dangerous task is given to you, you better be aware of the reasons behind it. The defeat of the Japanese Army is imminent. All I want is to save my people without inviting any trouble. If that letter reaches the higher authorities in the Japanese Army, they would get angry with me and torment our men. Do you understand it now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just because it is a dangerous task, we can’t afford to neglect that task. Someone has to assume that responsibility and complete it anyway."

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever been to Sumatra?”

“Before the war started, I was there.”

“Oh!...you were born there. Weren’t you?”

“I was born in Tamil Nadu, sir.”

“What were you doing in Sumatra?”

“I was working in a shop in Medan city, sir.”

Those tiny, sharp eyes seen behind the thick frames of spectacles poised on the handsome, yellowish face were piercing the heart of the one standing in front through his eyes.

“Good. The order would be passed to equip you with sufficient cash you need. No matter how much it is. No help other than this is possible now. You consult Colonel Kalik Usman on this and settle it yourself.”

“Order, Sir”

“I believe in your skills.”

“I am humbled, sir.”

“You may leave now, Kalik Usman.”

“Sir,” the colonel’s body stiffened.

Pandian paid his regards and went out.

As soon as they returned to the Security Services Office, they were deeply examining the issues of Yamasaki and retrieval of the letter.

“In the given situation, it isn’t probable that Yamasakki would go to Sabang by air. He would first go to Medan by ship and then leave for Sabang from there by car. So, it is advisable to go to Medan first and then to Sabang. We aren’t left with any plan other than killing him to retrieve that letter.”

It was decided that Pandian had to leave for Medan along with Sub Officer Natarajan (son of Kirunkakottai Mangaibagan Asari) and Havidar Karuppaiya (younger brother of Nattarkulam Posalan, alias Poi Sollaan (the one who never tells lies)). He was authorized to take independent decisions to execute the most viable plan according to the prevailing situation on the ground.

A special travel permit bearing fake names, distinct insignia, and a signature that could be altered as and when needed was obtained from the Japanese general, convincing him with a justification that those three men were going to Sumatra to garner intensive support for the Indian Independence Association. The permit read:

“After due consideration of prevailing situations, all emergency travel requirements ought to be extended to these three men whenever they want to move around Malaya-Sumatra regions for a period of three months from today.” 

                                                                         ***

Note:

1.    Field Marshal Hisaichi Terauchi. He was the Southern Zonal chief of the Japanese army.

 

                                                      Chapter 26: Mukhtar 

Belawan harbour remained calm without much bustle. Other than Japanese men, only a handful of collies from Java were seen loitering. The Chinese men who used to be extremely busy with their blue attire and iron hooks dangling from their waists were not seen anywhere around. Two small ships were anchored along the bridge. A dim silhouette of a ship, which might be a cruiser, was seen static at a distance. Wooden ships with their sails were swinging in their anchors at the river estuary in the west.

The bus, which was on its way to Medan city, halted in front of the railway station. People got into it. On the right was a row of Malay women’s ‘Pechanga Reng’ shops. The coolies were sitting on the floor and eating. The bus was trudging with a cracking sound of a big-sized tin box, spitting out dark kerosene smoke. Among the passengers were five Tamil men working in tea estates. The one who was sitting just opposite to Natarajan looked up at Pandian’s face frequently, looking visibly apprehensive as if he had seen Pandian earlier and was biting his nails, probably with the doubt as to whether his apprehension was correct.

The bus went past coconut groves, banana orchards, and Nippa bushes. The aroma of human presence stemming from the marshy land lying behind those groves was strong enough to pierce one’s nostrils. It is Labuvan village. The business centres of Chettiars were first established in that village before the Chettiars shifted their business bases to Medan city. Pulubrayan, Kulukur villages, and a slaughterhouse on the left with its foul and vile odour in the air—Ketri Kadankiyan, who was notoriously popular among pawn shoppers of Moski Straat for his typical ways of convincing them with his excuses in getting his interest payment postponed for the debts he borrowed, was working in that area before the war started. On the right, there ran a road leading to a camp where the prisoners of war were kept—the border of Medan City. The Peppeyam petrol pump stood with a barren look. The bus stopped at the post office, Tana Labang, and railway station. They engaged two chariots and drove to the Pandung hotel.

Pandian went out of the hotel in the afternoon and met Chinan Singh, the local chairman of the Indian Independence Association; Secretary Sablani; and special agent Rajalingam. Then he walked a brief distance in Jalan Raja and called out to a ‘Sado’ chariot and instructed the driver to go to Kempongdara. The cart ran smoothly on the road, which still hadn’t lost its shiny surface. The streets seemed to have lost their sheen. One could find everywhere only people with torn shirts, pants, and lower garments. Not a single car was found on the streets. The movement of Japanese men was much more scanty than expected. An old Japanese army officer was on his way on his bicycle. His presence didn’t intimidate anyone. No one took notice of him either. What a transformative change! ‘Mice will get bold if tigers fall sick.’

“Stop here.”

He got out of the vehicle, gave the driver money, and walked on.

Athappu’s house in the middle of the banana grove was found open. The person sitting on a waist-high, three-legged bamboo stool in front of it, drinking coffee, threw a stern look at Pandian.

“Hello… Mukhtar… Do you identify me? Pawn Shop Pandian”

“Aaa…aa, sir… clerk, sir. Welcome…welcome…”

Muthu, alias Mukhtar, rose from his seat and greeted Pandian in chaste Malay with his gleeful face and wide-open hands. “Welcome, sir... Welcome. Let your visit be a memorable one. Please have a seat. You have gotten a bit fat. Your face has also changed.”

Pandian gestured towards the backyard and bobbed his head as if inquiring about something and sat on a stool kept along the wall facing the street.

“They have gone out and will be back late,” Mukhtar said and sat down.

“My new name is Kanthapillai Arulambalam, an officer in the headquarters of the Indian Independence Association.”

“When did you come, sir?”

“Friday. Did you hear my name properly?”

“Kantpiley Arulambalaam,” Mukhtar told, scratching his head and faking a smile in his eyes. He was one of the tax collectors who used to arrange coolies for contractors and well-known delinquents in the areas around Medan city. He was half-Tamil due to his mixed parentage with his father, a Tamil man.

“I hope you keep fine, Mukhtar.”

“I am fine. Everything is fine, sir."

He went in and brought a washed porcelain cup, kept it on the table, poured some coffee from the jug, and extended it to Pandian.

“Have it, sir.”

“Thank you.” Pandian drank it.

Pandian explained meticulously the purpose of his visit to Sumatra as he was closely studying Mukhtar’s mind through his changing facial expressions. He then took out a small notebook from his pant pocket, opened its cover, and gently pulled out a paper sticking to its rear side with his nails. The picture of the Japanese army officer was kept upside down. He gave it to Mukhtar.

“Here he is. Have a good look at it."

Mukhtar received it in his left hand, briefly browsed it with an indifferent glance, and returned it to Pandian, who in turn burnt it fully in fire, crushed its ash under his heavy boots, and blew it off from the floor.

“He is in Medan.” He closed his eyes, wrinkled his forehead, and leaned his head backward.

He then took two full stacks of currency notes from his inner shirt pocket and threw them on the table with a mild thud.

“Mukhtar, it is my humble gift for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He went in, tucking those currency note stacks in his waist belt, and brought a big liquor bottle and two glasses. Sitting comfortably, he opened its lid with a graceful turn, filled the glasses with liquor, and closed it.

“Have it, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Pandian brought the glass near his mouth. The sharp stench pierced his nostrils and made its way up to his brain. ‘What a fucking stuff! No point in refusing it anyway.’ He drank it.

Mukhtar emptied the whole glass in a single attempt and kept the empty glass on the table. His eyes shrunk, narrowed their lids, and there spread a grin of super confidence across his face as if the entire world was not worth a dust for him.

“I am thinking, sir… I am thinking, Mukhtar said as his right-pointing finger was tapping his forehead. “I am thinking, sir.”

“Yeah... it is an important matter that needs a well-planned execution.”

Pandian lighted a cigarette. He felt his senses going awry. The liquor seemed extremely heavy. It would be dangerous if doses got higher.

“Sir, please have more.” Mukhtar tilted the jug and tried filling the glasses.

“No... No... it’s enough.” Pandian covered the glass mouth with his right palm.

Mukhtar raised the liquor bottle above his head as if he had developed a temporary distaste for glasses, tilted his head a bit backward, and poured the fluid directly into his mouth, looking up. Pandian was examining the surroundings with his corner eyes as he was busy smoking his cigarette.

Mukhtar’s closed eyes opened. Keeping the bottle on the table, he opened a small palm-sized tin casket and took out a dried leaf and some powder, rolled the leaf into a small tube, stuffed the powder into it, and lit its tip with fire and deeply puffed it on. His eyes were still fixed on the remaining liquor that looked dull and dark green at the bottom of the bottle.

“We can do it, sir; we can finish off the job.”

“Mm.”

“Boleniyave is staying in Dilton sir’s house. Adjacent houses are empty. Fatima has been visiting him for the last two days."

“The one who was living in Calcutta Straat. Is that old lady Fatima?”

“Exactly. She is the one. The Japanese army guys don’t prefer young girls. Do you know why?”

“Why is that? Tell me."

“I am only supplying them liquor. Liquor is extremely high in demand, and even generals don’t get liquor these days. He drinks all night and bites her legs like a dog."

“Fatima’s legs?”

“Yes, sir... Hers are very beautiful legs. Her age is visible only above her neck. No one would identify that if she came with make-up."

“Mm.”

“The shopkeeper in Hindu Straat also had something with her….”

“How is the place of execution?”

“Finishing him off is an easy task. The spot doesn’t have its usual robust security cover. Patrolling is just for the name's sake. But the assignment is extremely dangerous that one has to pledge his life to get it executed. After all, it is the Japanese Army.”

“The task must be completed at any cost.”

“We can complete it. As they are down with defeat, they lack courage and pride now. Everyone is madly after women and liquor. This issue related to the letter is a new trouble anyway. You may have to be involved in this task personally.”

“Yes. It is right.

“Fatima would go there tomorrow as well. So, he might be home. Let me get it confirmed tomorrow with some more inquiry. I have two men from Padang working there. Let me take them into my confidence.”

“No… Don’t do that.”

“They are trustworthy.”

“No…not needed.”

“O.K. Sir. I have a doubt. I can ask if you don’t take me wrong. Let us suppose that I work for the Japanese army and inform them about you and this plan. What would then happen?”

“You don’t have to worry about it. We have made all the necessary arrangements to deal with such situations.”

“Mhh... ah... What arrangements?”

“We have already collected sufficient evidence to prove you are a traitor, a spy working for the enemy. Those proofs are available in Kempongdara itself. Any tinge of suspicion on you would be enough to finish you off.”

“Spy? I…?”

“It is no one’s concern whether you are a traitor or not. Who will Captain Kobayashi listen to? Chinan Singh or Kempongdara Mukhtar? You are already familiar with the Japanese army by frequenting their office. Your name still appears in the list of suspicious men. Apart from this, you supply liquor and women to Japanese army men. You are aware of the punishment for this crime. Aren’t you?”

“Hi! Hiiii...Sir... You aren’t angry, I guess. Are you? I just asked you to know how alert you are. Please don’t get me wrong. I get into this dangerous task only for your sake, your friendship, not for money. I can earn a lot more than this in a matter of seconds.”

“Once you return to Singapore after the job is done, I’ll ensure arranging more money for you.”

“Thank you, sir. I give a damn about money. Friendship is important for me. I can earn money at any time, but it is very difficult to get friends like you.”

“It is alright. Leave it. Can I acquire Tommy guns and grenades?”

“No…not possible.”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I can arrange it no matter how much it costs.”

“Actually, we can’t buy anything from Japanese soldiers, though we can sell. Strictly at the rate they would fix”

“Any possibility of looting?”

“Impossible. It is possible if we dare to kill.”

“It is not required. Unnecessary invitation to troubles”

“Yes… we have to manage with the available horses to run the chariot. Or else…?”

“We better go back to our village. Right?”

“Sir… I hope you aren’t annoyed with it.”

“No…never…” Pandian laughed heartily.

“Come at nine tomorrow. We can finalize everything.”

“Please be careful; no one should know about it.”

“It is my responsibility. If you happen to meet anyone unknown when you come here, just entertain them with cursory inquiries about timber. I do timber business too.”

“I should have a better understanding about the locations of the bedroom, bathroom, bags, and places where boxes are kept. Is that O.K.? Let me take leave.” He rose and walked on.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.

Mukhtar followed Pandian, holding one tip of his lungi that was sliding off his waist with his left hand, till the entrance of the grove to send him off.

Walking south, Pandian stopped a "Sado" chariot coming behind and boarded it. The cart strode with its usual jerks. He stretched out his legs and leaned back.

Bolenia, where the Dutch nobles were once living with clean grass beds, spotlessly clean streets, and well-decked houses, was now lying dilapidated. The velvet grass beds that once had the dark green colour of riverside seedlings were now missing. The rows of dandelion plants that used to blossom with flowers resembling the hue of the moon were absent. Nut grasses grown up to the chest level and thick undergrowth of some unknown wild bushes were only seen all around.

The chariot took a turn to the north from Sultan Mamun Al Rashid Way. It went past Dilton’s house. ‘Poor fellow! He must be toiling in the prisoner camp. Quite possible that he may be dead’. A silhouette of a Japanese man’s profile was visible through the window. ‘Is it he? Yes. It is he. There, seen his green Duror car. Morris car… Adjacent bungalows stood deserted. Wild bushes and vines were found so thickly grown that they stood obstructing the path. ‘Ahh... it was extremely painful to see the condition of that bungalow where the owner of Havya Company once lived. Here stood Dilton’s house—a comfortable place to execute the task discreetly. What about sniffer dogs?’

The chariot turned back and sped away.

When Pandian went the next morning, Mukhtar was drinking liquor, facing the wall.

“Hello, Mukhtar.”

Pandian examined that half-Tamil man. ‘A drinker left in isolation poses real danger.’ 

“Hello, sir... Please be seated. He dragged a chair and rose.

“Your wife?” Pandian asked, sitting by the window.

“I have sent her out,” he said.

He emptied the liquor glass he was holding in his hand, went in, and brought another glass, kept it on the table, and poured in some liquor from the bottle.

‘Have it, sir.” He held out the glass to Pandian.

“Thank you. But I won’t drink in the morning.”

“What? You don’t drink in the morning? It is not right... sir... It isn’t right. You must have a peck of liquor when you see the sun every morning. You will never have a headache, fever, or pain in your hands and legs. What, you think, is the medicine of white men? It is nothing but this liquor. They just neutralize its pungency and add some colourants before sending it here. Please have at least half a glass… Sir”

“No… please.”

“It is O.K. mmhhha… Sir, the time isn’t ripe enough. We can’t execute it in the house. Time is not ripe, sir… not ripe”

“Why?”

“He is leaving for Sabang this evening.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Fatima told. He had told her not to come tonight. He would inform her when he would return."

Pandian took out his cigarette box and stretched it to Mukhtar.

“Thank you, sir. I don’t need it now. I will have a throatache. I have my leaf roll and tobacco powder I made.

Mukhtar opened his tin casket, rolled the leaf, and stuffed tobacco powder into it. Pandian was still smoking.

“What else had he told her?”

“He blathered something in Bahasa under inebriation. Vomited the whole day and tortured her, biting all over her body. This went on for three whole days… Hiiiii…iii…. This is the condition of all drunken pigs, sir. Almost every Japanese person is drunk these days. Along with their defeat in war, they had lost their pride too. Ready to go anywhere if offered liquor and fornicating with any woman they happened to meet on their way… hiiiii…iiii” Mukhtar laughed. He emptied the glass, lit his tobacco roll, and puffed it on deeply. “Phoooooo”

“O.K. then what next?”

“No way other than waylaying and finishing him off.”

“Motor traffic on the western roads?”

“Roads will be empty after five.”

“Men's movement?”

“Virtually none. It will be perilous only when seen by the Japanese. Others pose no danger. So, no worries.”

“Any suitable place?”

“Will be available after a distance of four miles”

“If he escapes?”

“You are aware of Kampong Bishop. Aren’t you? A man called Kalungkichil is living in a tree shed in the forest south of the town. Do meet him and just tell my name. Rest will be taken care of."

Pandian took out the cigarette butt from his lips, crushed it in the ashtray, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it. Mukhtar picked a leaf from his casket and gently rubbed it on his palm to make a fresh tobacco roll.

“I need three iron rods shielded in rubber. It should be handy.”

“You will get it by afternoon in your hotel. But would three sticks be enough for a tiger hunt, sir?”
Pandian pulled out his pistol from his waist belt.

The half-Tamil was stunned at seeing the pistol and swiftly gestured to Pandian to hide it under his dress immediately.

Pistol disappeared.

“I want to get this task over without much of a fanfare.”

“You brought it from Singapore? Didn’t they check you in on the ship? Are you the only representative of the Indian Independence Association engaged in this covert action of killing a Japanese army man? You just asked me for three simple rods for such a huge task. Didn’t you?”

“An army has come with me. I have dispatched a person up to Kuala Simpong. But he has been terminated.” He threw a hard punch on the table once and rose and bid goodbye to Mukhtar.

“Mukhtar. I don’t think we’ll meet again. Once the job is over, I will ensure you get more payment."

“Thank you, sir. Before leaving, do pray to goddess Mariayammal. It is the Japanese army you are going to take on. Within a second you intercept, just shoot him dead. Japanese army... It would be better to tell the hotel attendant that you are going to attend a liquor party and return late.”

“O.K. Mukhtar”

“O.K. Sir. Be safe.”

“You too, be safe.”

                                                                      ***                                                                 

                                                   Chapter 27: Yamasaki 

The Japanese army major Sadavo Yamasaki’s green Morris car, a duror with a descending hood, entered Belawan Road from Kesawan. Thana Labang was on its east. The flower plants decked with lights in different colours were waving their branches in the wind. Sirissa trees were standing on the edges of greenish grass beds, and flowers from crimson white Kapok trees were shedding and flying in the air. It was a road where tamarind trees were found standing in rows. To the west of the walking platform were found mammoth buildings: Peppayam, Hundal Company, Javanue Bank, Bin-Jay Way, and the diversion towards Kotharaja. His car took a turn to the left and picked up speed.

Yamasaki lit cigarettes one after another in sequence without a gap, puffed at them, tugging at them from the clench of his teeth well before a quarter of their size was burnt, and kept throwing away their butts. His eyes were fixed on the road, and his mind was fully occupied with Japan. ‘Ojima and Okinawa are fortified interior military bases. Will our holy land of Yamato City become the birthplace of the United States’ Statue of Liberty? No…never. It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. They can decimate and burn the cities of Tokyo, Kobe, and Osaka. They can easily massacre those ‘white-clad eunuchs’1. But it is not that easy to fight and kill those fifty lakh soldiers of Tenno Heikka. We, fifty lakh soldiers, are ready to sacrifice our lives for our motherland’.

His mouth puffed at cigarettes, flipping it between lips… 'sssssssss.' The Navy and Air Force have betrayed us and got perished too. These admirals and commodores are just the children of the merchant class.¹  They can never be brave. Can they? They don’t know anything about war tactics. The navy had its demise when Admiral Yamamoto died. The legends of Admiral Siyuchi Nakumo’s striking forces and Commander Mitchuvo Puchida’s Sea Hawks have just become memories now. Just old memories. Burma and the Philippines are almost gone out of hand. Petrol supply from these countries has stopped. If no solution to this issue is found at the earliest... it must be a rumor that the British forces are going to land in Sumatra. It must just be a rumour anyway. Where will they land from? Long-range airstrikes from military bases may get intense soon.’

His eyes were cruising on both sides of the road. Be it grass beds around, or Buddha, or trees, or wild creepers, all looked mesmerizingly beautiful under the crimson light of the afternoon. His left hand stroked the nape of his neck while his mouth still emitted smoke. ‘sssssss.’ ‘If the general gets this letter, he will be extremely happy.’

Three persons came running to him, pointing to the forest area lying in the north. “Indo-Thamiro-Coorie²…kairi³-shirt Thamiro,” the corporal driver shrieked at seeing them. The major asked him to slow down the speed of the vehicle in a lowered voice.

The car reduced its speed and rolled along slowly. The Tamil men approached the major near. “Stop the car,” the major bellowed. The car stopped.

Pandian approached Major Yamasaki and went closer to him from the left. Natarajan and Karuppaiya were on the other side. All three shouted at a high pitch, their eyes and bodies emitting unusual fear, “Aircraft, parachute soldiers, army equipment…”

Yamasaki’s sharp eyes first glanced at Pandian penetratingly and then assessed the other two as well. His left hand took the cigarette out of his mouth and flipped it away.

“Maanaa”

“Sana, masta”

They pointed to the northeastern side.

“Sho desh yo” The major mumbled, throwing his eyes in that direction, turning suddenly to Pandian and gesturing to him with his head to stand near the driver. His right hand picked up the telescope that was dangling on his neck. The driver’s hand slowly slid off his thighs and groped his tiny Tommy gun lying on the seat next to him—his usual gesture of precaution under such circumstances.

Pandian turned west as if going near to the driver but turned, in fraction of a second, to where he was and pounced upon him with the rubber-shielded iron rods. Natarajan didn’t waste a second and did the same. Thuddddd... thuddddd... thuddddd. A perfect sequence of smacks. Everything was over in seconds.

Karuppaiya opened the car door and finished off the remaining likely doubts of existence inside. Pandian and Natarajan closed the water tank’s lid where they were hiding. Karuppaiya threw out Yamasaki’s body under the rear seat and the driver’s body under the front seat and sat in the driver’s seat holding its steering wheel. The other two jumped into the car and closed its doors.

Morris rolled along slowly.

“Drive slow. There will be a river bridge on the way. Let me know when you reach there, Pandian told him as he was busy rummaging through the leather bag. “Watch out for men and vehicles on the way.”

“Mmm.”

Natarajan, sitting in the rear seat, was watchful of the road through the mica window. After a thorough digging in the leather bag, Pandian started checking Major Yamasaki’s shirt pockets.

“It’s here." He took out a yellow paper kept in an oily cloth cover, kept it in his vest pocket, and turned to Natarajan.

“Go to the front side and tie up all floating stuff together.”

The new driver was driving the car towards the west. The other two tore open the seat cover, made a rope out of it, and completed the task of tying up the floating stuff together. The bridge came into their view in the front.

“Stop the car by the roadside near the bridge.”

The Morris stopped at the edge of the road near the bridge. The shrubbery from Kabhan Jahe hills came floating in the fresh flood.

“A car is coming behind,” Karuppaiya announced with his winking eyes.

“An uninvited event anyway. Sudden appearance of enemy”

Natarajan shrieked as if he were very happy at seeing the car and jumped off to the rear side. He and Pandian looked at the new entrant intently through the mica window. It was a car in an undiscernible colour. Sedan. Coming in at lethargic speed. Natarajan held the Japanese army telescope against his eyes and watched on attentively.

“It must be a Japanese man going for harvest.”

“Move aside.”

Both of them pulled themselves away from the window and sat down along the sides of the car.

“Karuppaiya”

“Mmm.”

Pandian gestured to him, signaling to use the machine gun to get ready for any eventuality.

“The moment I touch your shoulder, press the trigger.”

“Mmm.”

Karuppaiya held the Tommy machine gun ready, checked its trigger, and aligned it in a comfortable position in the car. The other two collected the pistols from the corpses and held them ready for action.

The Chevrolet car arrived with a senile grunt and halted with a big heave of a sigh. The Japanese yells of calling out to their friends were heard. Pandian’s hand touched Karuppaiya’s shoulder. In fraction of a second, the Tommy gun spewed out the rounds of its burst fire. ‘Trrrrr…trrrrr.’ Pandian and Natarajan aimed at the men one after another and finished them off. Karuppaiya rose from his seat, balanced himself with his right leg on the seat, lowered the Tommy gun, and pressed its trigger again for an additional burst of rounds. ‘Trrrrr’

“Enough… enough.”

Natarajan got out of the car, thoroughly checked the Chevrolet, collected the Tommy guns lying inside it, and closed its doors tightly. They rolled those two cars down to the river and pushed them into it.

“Throw away those Tommy guns too into the river.” Natarajan and Karuppaiya threw away their Tommy guns.

“Arigato…Yamasaki-san, sayonara”⁴ - Natarajan raised his right hand, waved it across, and spoke theatrically, looking at the river.

“Enough… Let’s leave.”

They walked east. The darkness was descending. Shrill chirpings of beetles on both sides of the road. A swarm of mosquitoes was tasting their blood, biting their bodies indiscriminately.

The road ran straight.

“Kufoon Dipur—This is the name of a tobacco estate. A relative of Maruthamuthu, a local tax collector, is dead. Severe fever. He must be seven or eight years old. A big scar on his forehead. Pandian was speaking in a lowered voice as he was walking right. “We went there to attend a funeral. Our motorcar broke down on the way. Now we are on the way to Pulubrayan. This is the story you have to tell till we reach Thana Labang. After that, everything will be as per the instructions I already gave you.”

Everyone was walking in silence.

The road to Belawan lay ahead. They turned right, towards Kesawan.

**

Soon after he reached Singapore, Pandian had his bath, completed his meals, and went out to meet Colonel Kalik Usman. He couldn’t control his overwhelming happiness built in him. He had journeyed to Sumatra by a Japanese ship, ambushed and murdered the Japanese army Major Yamasaki, retrieved a highly confidential letter from him, and returned to Malaya by a Japanese ship itself. Quite a no-mean achievement! It must be his good luck that he was given entry into the cargo ship leaving for Penang by the ship captain at the very moment the captain saw the permit sheet issued by the Malaya general. ‘So without any hassles, I could complete the tasks successfully.’ 

The colonel was on another call. He gestured to Pandian with his left hand to sit on the chair opposite him. Pandian sat down.

The telephone conversation was over.

“I could see the pride dancing across your face. Even if you have failed in bringing the letter, I believe that you must have finished Yamasaki off. Your face says so."

“The Japanese army Major Sadavo Yamasaki is dead. The letter is in the hands of Commando Captain Pramod Chandra Majumdar. Here it is.” Pandian announced it in a theatrical flamboyance.

The colonel received the letter and kept staring at Pandian for some time. He then suddenly rose from his chair and grasped his right with both hands.

“Pan… Don’t forget one thing. Humility is what we must have when we taste success. Vanity just kills our senses. My hearty congratulations.

“Thank you, Colonel, sir. I just acted to suit the momentous occasion we enjoy now.”

“I don’t mean that. I just told it in a lighter vein. You are very young. The things you need to learn and get to know are very huge indeed. That is why I said humility is very important. Come with me...we must meet Netaji. We can discuss the Pandian-Yamasaki encounter later. Your other two men?”

“They are in my room.”

“I hope no hassles, no damages.”

“Yes…nothing.”

“Good”

Both left. They got the call immediately upon producing their visiting cards. Netaji, who was busy writing something, looked up, raising his head. Both gave him a stiff salute. 

“Kalik Usman, have a seat.”

Colonel sat on the chair.

“Did you get the letter?” He turned his eyes to Pandian.

“Yes, sir.” Pandian took out the letter from his shirt pocket and held it out to Netaji.

He received it and read it.

“Any problems?”

“Everything happened as planned, sir.”

“Your men?”

“They are fine, sir.”

“Thanks, Kalik Usman.”

“Sir…” Kalik Usman acknowledged it.

“All these three men should be sent on leave with adequate cash in hand. Do arrange it.

“Sure, sir. I’ll do it.”

“Lieutenant,” Netaji called out to Pandian. He turned his face.

“You have perfectly completed the duty assigned to you. The Indian National Army is proud of you. I’d like to assign you another very important task. You’ll get a call soon. Now you may go.”

Both saluted Netaji and left his room. 

Note: 

1.    Before the war, usually the children of businessmen would join the Navy and the children of farmers in the army.

2.    Coorie… Japanese people pronounce ‘l’ as ‘r,’ and the Chinese pronounce ‘n’ as ‘l.’

3.     Kairi—Japanese pronunciation of Kaili, a Tamil word for lungi, a lower garment worn by South Indians, especially Tamils.

4.      “Mr. Yamasaki, Thank you. See you”

                                                          *** 

                                               Chapter 28: Atom Bomb 

Pandian returned to Singapore after attending to the works related to security services. The situation on the war front was growing grim. Joined by the armies led by Marshal Ivan Konev in the south and Marshal Constantine Rokossovsky in the north, the army led by George Jhukav made its entry into Germany, spread its presence everywhere, and reached the banks of the Oder River.

Strands of three colors—green, yellow, and red—were shot in different directions into the sky above the Jhukav’s headquarters located in a bunker on the edge of the Oder River—a signal that announced that the war on Berlin City had just begun. Columns of tanks, mortars, and warplanes were literally decimating the German forces and its capital. ‘The street fighters’ of Stalingrad Terror Suikko entered nooks and corners and reached the centre of the city. Adolf Hitler and his longtime concubine and one-day wife, Eva Brown committed suicide. The city of Berlin fell at the feet of General Suikko.

The American Air Force, which was on its spree destroying the Japanese cities with surgical precision, dropped an atom bomb on Hiroshima City. Following this, Russia also declared war on Japan. One more atom bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, another Japanese city. Japan surrendered before General McArthur.

A call from Kalik Usman came forth. Pandian reached the Gade building and went upstairs. The owners of this building would return shortly. After that, tricolor flags, majestic portraits of Netaji, the sounds of Indian National Army soldiers’ footsteps, and codeword communication would be completely absent.

“Ah…Pandian…” Colonel rose from his seat and held Pandian’s hands with his. “My work is over. I just have to board the ship. That is it.”

The colonel sat on his chair and gestured to Pandian to take a chair lying in the north to his table. Pandian sat on the chair. The colonel held out a cigarette box to him, and they both puffed at it. The electric fan in the ceiling was running with a creaking noise.

“Netaji has just passed an order to appreciate your service. It has come into effect now.”. Kalik Usman rose from his chair, opened a vault, took out a big green cover sealed with brown wax, placed it on the table, and sat down.

“Money?” Pandian asked.

“Yes. Old dollar notes. They will be legal tender henceforth. I have arranged sufficient old cash for Sub Officer Natarjan and Havildar Karuppaiya through my known sources.”

“Thank you so much, Colonel Sahib. Had it been under the control of our ‘Napoleon,’ he would have hushed up this matter.”

“My dear young man, being honest or fraudulent does depend on the pressure of one’s needs. It is precisely because of this that our old sages preached to reduce your needs. Those who accumulate unnecessary things will have to sell what is most important—honesty, probity, and dignity. Many will be able to get rid of unnecessary problems in life if they cut down their requirements.”

“Yathanin yathanin neenkiyaan nothal athanin athanin ilan.” —‘A man will never suffer from something which he consciously renounces’—Pandian recited an English translation.

“Ah... it is Tirukuraal. I have read it. Tiruvaalluvaar is a man who studied the ups and downs of life well. I am familiar with it only through its translation. I would like to learn Taamil…and then Tirukkuraal. That said, I have another important matter to discuss.”

The colonel opened the drawer, pulled out some stacks of Japanese currency notes, and handed them over to him. Pandian received it.

“Till Mountbatten takes charge, it will remain a money of some value. After that, it will become some pieces of worthless paper. Keep it in your custody and spend it as much as you can at your will.”

“Worth of something depends on the strength of who is behind it. If there is more strength, a paper becomes a currency. If the strength gets weaker, a currency becomes paper. As long as we swayed power, we had been powerful. Sooner our times get bad, we turn into stones and copper.”

“What’s that verse?”

“They are the lines from a Tamil verse. A Tamil poet says even the destiny of gods is decided by their good and bad times.”

“True… Even the gods we have created are being defined by the rules we framed for ourselves... That said, the British forces would reach here in the beginning of next month. It is very certain that I’ll be captured and tried.”

“Isn’t it possible to avert your arrest?”

“Why should I? All my close relatives back home are well placed in top positions. I will be in jail for some time. Only for the name's sake. You know very well what question the god of justice would ask the weaker souls who are charged with crime.”

“Yes. I know. Can you prove you are not guilty that could convince me beyond doubt?”

“What if the charged men are stronger?”

“Are you weaker or stronger?”

“I am the son of Basinpur Nawab. My brother is a secretary in the central government. My maternal uncle is a judge in the High Court.”

“Ah…then your freedom is assured.”

Both of them let out a loud laughter that shook the walls of the room.

“I get late,” the son of Basinpur Nawab rose from his chair. “I have a work of burning some garbage still pending. All are some secret letters I had obtained. They will be burnt in fire soon. Oh! Fire...come to me...” he stretched out his hands wide and uttered with a theatrical ease. “Come to burn the falsehood and meanness.”

“O.K. Let me take leave before the god of fire is invoked." Pandian rose from his chair, packed the green cover and the Japanese currency notes in an old newspaper lying on the table, and said, “Colonel Sir, thank you so much. I would never forget your high-quality humour and extensive knowledge on world affairs.”

“My dear man, I will also never forget you.”

“Let me take leave, Colonel, sir.”

They shook their hands.

“Dear boy, my heartiest blessings”

***

The aircraft in which Netaji was travelling crashed at Taihoku airfield, lying on the eastern side of Saigon airport, and burnt down completely. The fate of that brave, dauntless son of India was sealed with that crash as he was burnt in fire and died.

From the first date of September, the British forces reached the shores of Penang and extended their presence on the other side of the island. That time, Pandian was staying with his friends in Alor Setar city.

The Tamil soldiers who were evacuated from the army camps in Northern Malay regions had reached Penang. Occasional skirmishes between the British soldiers and erstwhile Indian National Army men were reported here and there in Penang.

A news report brought by Palanivel from Penang made Pandian burn with rage. He was informed that one of his Havildars, Sundaram from his unit, had been betraying his friends by receiving bribes.

Pandian decided to leave for Penang the very next day. 

                                                                        ***

                                                      Chapter 29: Sundaram 

Pandian reached the jetty in Penang and left for Jeluthang. The cycle rickshaw he was travelling was speeding through the Beach Street. The yellow rays of the evening sun burnt his face. All the way through were Chinese shops. Soldiers of different races—White, brown, and Black—were found walking and travelling in vans. Some Chinese boys selling cigarettes were beseeching those soldiers to buy from them.

“Johny… Johny, please, one packet.”

At times, anti-fascist guerrillas were found moving around with their olive green uniforms and rifles. The owner of the betel leaves shop, ‘Sweden,’ was speaking in broken Tamil to some men from Chetti Street as his spittle trickled out of his betel-leaf-stained mouth. A couple of Chinese women wearing Pyjama were passing by, making squeaky sounds with their wooden slippers. The Malay women were walking with their high-heeled slippers as softly as swans.

The rickshaw took a turn to Jeluthang Road and sped along. Some military trucks were speeding along with it, and some in the opposite direction. The Australian sepoys standing at the back of the truck bed were yelling, singing songs aloud. Newly deployed jeeps and cars were moving fast and disappearing like beetles. A group of workers working in boats was coming from the left, shouting, and crossed the road. The crowd was dragging a well-fed, fat proprietor with a rope tied around his neck. “Japanese supervisor... Japanese supervisor,” the crowd’s high-pitched shouts of accusations pervaded the air. It was a god-given opportunity to settle one’s scores, be it a Japanese owner or any owner the workers despised.

“Kaminabo”

The rickshaw driver kept moving, ringing the bell throwing abuses simultaneously at pedestrians who crossed his path and car drivers who didn’t pave him the way.  Some prostitutes in colourful silken attire were sitting crosslegged in rickshaws that were coming opposite. They were on their way to the town for selling their flesh- in flesh trade- at Siam Road, Sooliya Street and Love Lane…

The rickshaw took a turn at Bera Road and stopped in front of Manikkam’s house.

“Should I wait, sir?” the rickshaw driver asked.

“No…”

After paying the driver cash, he climbed up the steps. A young Chinese woman standing in the front hall of the third house stared at him, without batting her eyes, as if he were a thief. Another Tamil girl with a tattoo on her forehead, wearing a lungi kimono, sitting on a chair in the front yard of the next house, stood up briskly on seeing him and ran into her house. Kids, in quite a good number, were crying in different tunes in unison at the house of a Chinese child specialist doctor.

“He has gone to Bayan Lepas and will be back only in the early morning,” Manikkam’s cook Muniyappa told.

“Bayan Lepas?”

“Yes... it is true. You are ‘Sarang’ Pandian. Aren’t you?”

“How do you know?”

“Three of you are standing in the portrait.”

“O! O.K. Keep Manikkam alone informed that I came here. If any other person asks you, what will you tell them?”

“I’d simply tell them that no such person showed up to his face here and see for yourself I hadn’t moved my ass from this chair.”

“What about your neighbours?”

“Very tight-lipped. That too, if it is our house matter, they will never open their mouth."

“May I take leave now?”

“I’ll make coffee for you. You may leave after having it.”

“I get late. Will meet some other day.”

“See you soon…Should I arrange a rickshaw?”

“Not needed. I can find one in the tri-junction.”

“O.K. Anna. See you soon.”

Pandian boarded a rickshaw standing in front of a coffee shop at the tri-junction and gestured to the driver towards the northeast. The rickshaw rolled away. ‘Where has this bugger gone at this time?’

“Anna…Anna…”

The man sitting in a rickshaw coming in from the opposite side called out to him. Pandian turned casually towards the caller ... it was Natarajan.

He asked the driver to stop the rickshaw and alighted from it.

Natarajan crossed the road and came running to him.

“Settle the amount and come with me.”

Natarajan went back to the rickshaw driver, who was wiping his forehead with his towel, settled the amount, and came to Pandian.

“Where are you going?” asked Pandian.

“To meet Manikkam Annan. That Sundaram fellow... who was in your company in Jarang... It is good that I met you.”

“I have come here just to settle that matter anyway. Maikkam is not at home. He’d come only in the morning. I have to finish that crook Sundaram off by today.”

“It will be difficult to finish him off in Sooliya Street. He is not moving anywhere from there. We need to wipe him out without any trace of evidence. Don’t we?”

“We can. Where is he in Sooliya Street?”

“Jashwant Rai shop upstairs. The room was once occupied by the auditor. Other rooms are lying empty. The iron door of the room is always kept open as it is very old and broken. It can’t be locked.”

“O.K.”

“If we can abduct him and bring him to this side, execution will be a matter of minutes. We’ve also been trying for three days but in vain.”

“We can finish him off at his place itself.”

“Mm…O.K.”

“Weapon?”

“I have kept it in Pattani Road. Yours?”

“I don’t have”

“Arrange some sugar and make powder of it like flour. A glass paper in an attractive colour and a silk thread in a different colour to bind it... Sugar should be of an amount of tooth powder used for a single-time brushing. Bring it in an eye-catching pack.”

“Sugar?”

“Yes?”

“Why sugar?”

“To finish the task without any trace of evidence. Kek Cheng shop upstairs. Even our people shouldn’t know about it.”

“O.K. Give me three quarters of an hour.”

Natarajan engaged a rickshaw and left before Pandian.

Pandian walked down a little distance and got into a rickshaw.

There were many streets on both sides of the road. Gates Street, Java Street, McAlam Street, Theema Street, and Bruskrave Street, where a large number of Chinese people lived. Big buildings owned by the Chinese. Clothes were hanging on bamboo sticks sticking out of those buildings for getting them dried in sunlight. Six roads and six tri-junctions met there. The rickshaw took a turn towards Penang Road and strode through the road where lorries, cars, jeeps, and cycles were haphazardly moving from one side to another. On the right was Maxwell Road. On the corner was the Windsor drama dais in cement colour. Below, on the platforms, were flower shops—Jasmine, Rose, and Patchouli—the streets were impregnated with horn sounds of cars, sweet voices of women, men, and women from different races. Mixed sounds of different languages. Winklok restaurant… Police Headquarters… Juval Mura…

“Stop.”

The rickshaw stopped; Pandian got off and walked east for a short distance, crossed the road, and walked on the pedestrian path in the south. The crowd of pedestrians was slowly moving with its mixed, incessant conversations.

“Roko…Roko…puoothe poognaa rook,” the boys selling foreign-branded cigarettes were roaming, coaxing everyone with their yells. Chocolate tins were placed on paper spreads on platforms along with toothpaste tubes, milk boxes, and soaps—all were the leftovers collected from the soldiers. The relentless screams of street vendors to sell their products were causing an ache in one’s eardrum.

Sundari, the nurse working in Menon’s Clinic, was going in the front with her voluptuous, never-aging body. ‘Has she been blessed with a boon of an ever-youthful body by eating manna? Or is it due to personal attention with copious amounts of makeup on her body? She is a mother of at least six or seven children. Isn’t she? ‘Who’s that tall build walking beside her?’

He entered the Kek Cheng Gede coffee café and climbed up stairs. The tables below were resonating with the mixed noises of various languages and the clinking of cutleries. Pandian settled in the corner of the room in the south and sat there.

“Ah… Manikkam poognar kaavan. Welcome, sir, welcome.”. The shop owner greeted Manikkam’s friend, Pandian.

“Hello Thavakke… How about you?” asked Pandian.

“Good, good,” the shop owner moved to other tables with a smile on his face. The bartender came to him and bent down politely to take his orders. “Coffee, cigarettes, and a magazine,” Pandian ordered.

A family from Yazhpanam was having their meals in the front. Some five or six Chinese men were bargaining for their business, scribbling something on a paper, and drinking tea.

Coffee, cigarettes, and magazines were brought to his table. Pandian drank coffee without milk as he was reading the magazine. ‘I need Manikkam now. Easygoing idiot…’ he thought.

He was reading a government notification regarding the activities undertaken to rejuvenate the resources of Malaya.

“Oh…sir. It’s you. It’s been so long since I last met you. You are in Malacca these days. Aren’t you?” – A young man in a white shirt and sandal pants greeted Pandian with his folded hands. 

“Welcome…welcome… quite an unexpected meeting… Have a seat... I am working in Muvar", Pandian replied to him with his hands folded.

“I hope I ain’t causing you discomfort. Do you have any work this side?” The visitor sat beside him.

“Never…was just whiling away my time. Now I have a good company to spend my time with anyway."

The attender came running to them.

An order for Mikarong, Pechang Papaya, coffee, and juice was placed. Both started eagerly discussing Subbaiya, Muthaiya, and other Sathaiyas. The Chinese men sitting upstairs went out sulking, probably unhappy with the outcome of the bargain. The bargain did seem to be unsuccessful. The Yazhpanam family also left the restaurant.

Natarajan slid his hand into his pant pocket. Pandian gestured to him negatively. The attendant boy brought the ordered items, placed them on the table, and left. They remained silent for some while.

Pandian threw his eyes at the door and extended his hands curtly, received the pistol and paper packet, and slid the pistol into his pant pocket and the paper packet into his shirt pouch. Leaving the Kek Cheng restaurant, they walked east and turned to Sooliya Street. The lamp posts were flickering here and there. A good number of rickshaws were found at the entrance of every hotel transporting men, women, and eunuchs. The sounds of the Mahjong game were coming out of them. The petty shops nestling along the walls were drowned in descending darkness. Some Chinese children were playing in those shops, screeching at each other.

“Anna… Sundari…” Natarajan’s left hand raised skyward, pointing to a window upstairs.

“Let her go to hell… stinking whore”

They saw the lungi shop owner, Vaiyapuri Muthaliyar, walking, looking down as if ruminating on something very seriously.

“That Chinnathambi, who was arrested yesterday, is his son.”

Pandian turned his head and glanced backward. Muthaliyar was walking north with his head still bent down.

“Why is that scoundrel Sundaram doing all this? Did you guys invite his wrath by beating him black and blue for anything?” asked Pandian.

“No… No… Anna. It is just sheer greed for money.” Natarajan flipped his right hand's last finger with his thumb. “He is a glutton devouring biryani every time; Kafur Marakkayar should be begging before him for the variety of cloths he puts on and adding to it, spending on whores… People have seen him laughing with two old slattern hags at Ching Lyong Hotel every night. A class womanizer, he wrinkled his face. “It is all just filthy money.”

“O.K…O.K.” He patted Natarajan’s back reassuringly with his left hand.

Two Tamil men working as clerks, wearing green blazers with a rose tucked in the buttonholes, went past them fast, their heads emitting fragrance.

“Did you ever try to make him understand that he is doing wrong?”

“Shameless bastard! No use in preaching him morals. When Manikkam Anna sent him a person, he refused to meet him.”

“What did Manikkam say?”

“He told he would take a decision on Saturday on this?”

They walked down south.

“Once I hate a lusty ‘loss’”—they turned their head hearing a song sung by a white soldier under inebriation. The soldier smiled at them, holding the hat in his hand.

“Hiiiiiii…My name is Carter. C.A.R.T.E.R. Carter. Carl Lawnbury Carterllllll….corporal…sixth Somerset. Hiiiiiiiiii”

They moved away from him and walked on.

“The flag of Hinomaru is gone. Now Carter flags are flying."

“Chin Peng’s¹ flag may fly soon; who knows?”

“Yes…you are right. Who knows?. Hiiiiii…. My name is Carter. C.A.R.T….hiiii”

“Enough of your rant.”

They walked on silently.

Chellaiya and Abdul Kader were coming towards them in the front, with their eyes fixed on them. Pandian gestured to them as if finger-combing his hair to walk on without paying attention to him. They went past him. There came clanking noises of hammers hitting the tin sheets from the nearby workshops. 

“We can have a coffee at Kader’s shop. We have to get a flask full of coffee also."

They entered the shop and sat by a window. A group of Malay women was gobbling idiyappam with chicken curry.

“As soon as the ship service resumes, my first and foremost priority is to leave for home, Nana,” a voice from the rear announced.

“Even if I starve back home, I will never get to board the ship anymore.” Nana’s voice sounded very firm.

“Get me some coffee in a flask.” Pandian held out a dollar note at the cash counter and told, “We’ll collect the change when we come back with the flask.”

“No need, sir. Please take it."

A coffee-filled flask arrived. He picked it up and left. Their journey continued; they went past Pitt Street. Darkness had fully descended everywhere. Five or six Gujaratis were talking in hushed tones at the entrance of Mangal Das's shop. The bell clanked at the Rani Mariyamman temple. Singer Kittappa’s ‘Androru Naal kutti’ song came floating in the air from Diwan Meera shop. With their characteristic gesticulations, a group of eunuchs was talking aloud at the corner of the King Street.

Jaswant Rai shop. Upstairs looked lit. They climbed up the stairs and found the door half-opened. Natarajan motioned silently that it was a wooden floor. They pushed the door in and made a forceful entry. Sundaram, standing in front of a mirror, was smearing talcum powder on his face.

“Sundaram”

Sundaram raised his head from the mirror and looked up to the caller. His eyes, visibly upset, were fixed on Pandian with a singular focus. He rose, gazing at Pandian. His right hand reflexively went to his forehead, and offered a humble salute to Pandian.

The visitors dragged the chairs and occupied them. The flask had now changed its place from Pandian’s hand to Sundaram’s table.

Sundaram’s eyes were fixed on Pandian, as if its lids had forgotten to bat.

The ‘Jarang’ lieutenant sat on a chair, stretched out his legs comfortably, and held a cigarette emitting smoke in his right hand, with his left hand placed on his thigh and fingers dancing on it.

“Sit down.”

Sundaram shifted his eyes to the table, sat on a chair, nervously hit his elbow, and cautiously massaged it with his fingers. His face and neck were shining with profuse sweat. He turned to Pandian.

“Let me go downstairs to order coffee for you,” said Sundaram.

Pandian’s cigarette smoke-emitting hands pointed to the flask. Natarajan got up, cleared his throat, and sat by a window from where he could have a full view of the front yard of the hotel.

“I have some important work on Penang Road.” Sundaram rose, staring at the wall. “I will be back in ten minutes.”

“Sit down… If you want to go out, it will only be your dead body.”

Sundaram turned to Pandian, hugely struggling to bring his shivering body under control. The Jarang lieutenant was sitting half-folding his left leg and the right stretched out. The cigarette was still emitting smoke in the right hand, and the left-hand fingers sitting on his thigh were cutely dancing. The lamp dangling above the head was swaying gently in the air. The wall clock was ticking, seemingly computing the auspicious time of Sundaram’s death. Sundaram turned to the western side only to see the sub-officer looking sternly, sitting tight-lipped, dangling his legs from the window bed.

Sundaram sat down. Interiors of his palms and thighs grew wet with sweat. Tongue dried up and got his throat choked.

“Your suspicion is baseless,” he tried to mutter, swallowing half of his words. “I have never told Rakbir Lal's matter to anyone.”

“Why did you betray Chinna Thambi?” 

“Day before yesterday it was Arumugam. Before that it was Sivasamy, Veeraiya…” the sub officer intervened.

Jarang Havildar’s entire body was soaked in sweat. His vest became so wet that it got stuck onto his skin. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and neck.

“Sundaram, we have decided to finish you off before eight tonight,” Pandian told nonchalantly as he was imperturbably puffing at his cigarette. “Even if Netaji resurrects and comes alive, he wouldn’t be able to change this decision. Kathiresan is standing at the entrance and Manikkam at the rear door. It is very certain that you will lose your life today. You have ten more minutes now.

He shifted his face from the table and shrieked, “This is not Jarang camp. It is Penang. They won’t leave you.”

“Yes. You are right. It isn’t Jarang Camp.

“I have a work. I’ve got to go.” He took a step ahead.

Pandian got up in no time; the cigarette was shifted to his left hand, his right hand folded in an angle, rose above, and swung with brute force, brushing his chest and returned after potentially damaging vitals on Sundaram’s ear, cheek, and nose.

“Sit down.”

Sundaram sat down, like a machine obeying a force applied upon it. His body was shivering, eyelids batting incessantly, and his right-hand fingers were rubbing his cheeks gently. Sitting on his chair, Pandian sat folding his legs, right upon left. The cigarette from his left hand changed to his right. Natarajan jumped off the window bed, went out, examined stairs and other rooms, and stood at the entrance with one leg in and another on the threshold.

‘Tick…tick…tick…the The wall clock was nearing its prediction. A melody of Sundarambal on the demise of Pandit Motilal Nehru was coming from Diwan Meera shop.

Sundaram stared at them. They were looking at him fixedly, as if having only singular vision. Sundaram wiped his neck and forehead with his kerchief, pathetically staring at them again, keeping the kerchief in his shirt pocket. ‘These men were staring at me with a singular focus. Abdomen grows chill. Bibi and Rumila will be waiting at Ching Lyong. Here two men who are known for their ruthless way of killing are standing before me…’

“I accept what I did is a crime. Please forgive me. Next week I will leave for my village. Let it be a new lease on life I get with your magnanimity to correct myself.”

“Ohooo… If someone wrongs us, we have to do him good in return. Don’t we? It doesn’t actually fit men like us. It fits senile men and Thiruvalluvars”.

“I beg you with my two hands folded. Please do spare my life.”

“Once decided, it is decided anyway. No one can stop your death.”

“Anna... it is my bad time. I did everything out of ignorance...”

“Sundaram, it’s enough that you had been a coward till now. At least at the time of death, be a brave man. Death has its own dignity. When death becomes inevitable, one must be ready to face it with courage rather than crying like a eunuch. How a man died assumes more importance than how he lived. Cowardice is the biggest enemy of Tamil men. We can never allow it. You are going to sacrifice yourself for the sake of other Tamils. You must die. There is no way to escape it. Dying for the sake of others, and that too, being killed by your own friends, is rare of the rarest awards one can get in a lifetime. So, you must be happy and proud like Karna for getting a lifetime chance at such a sacrifice, which no one born on this planet would ever get.”

Pandian’s solemn words of reassurance brought Sundaram a rain of sweat in his feelings and bathed his body. He couldn’t recollect all that Pandian had told him in sequence. But he felt Pandian’s neutral words of reassurance announcing one thing: that they were sitting in that room as the messengers of his unavoidable death and ruthless murderers who had no qualms about killing.

The sub officer was watching them with his narrowed mouth and shrewd hunting eyes, struggling to fathom Pandian’s proclivity to give Sundaram a lecture instead of finishing him off without wasting time. Getting him confused with his lecture may be one of his tricks, but how about killing him? With mere lecture and sugar?

Sundaram’s eyes were fixed on Pandian’s lap. Suddenly his body went limp, trembled violently, and looked up to him—a pistol in Pandian’s right hand. He turned his face to the other side—a pistol in Natarajan’s left hand. Looked at the wall in the front—a wall clock counting his last minutes with its dreaded ticks…only a few more minutes more.

“You can’t escape after killing me. Berkele will hunt you down by tomorrow…”

“O! Berkeley! Major Peter Berkeley. Now you are first.” Pandian rose from his seat and said, “The time is up now. You have two choices: How do you want to face your death? Lying in a pool of blood with your brain burst into pieces? Or solemnly dying by consuming poison?”

“Anna…please spare me.” His helpless voice came out as if cutting through his throat. “Anna… Please consider me your brother.”

“Sundaram, I have come here to kill you. Not to save you. The one who is going to die shouldn’t raise his voice. It will increase the pain of death." Pandian’s voice bore the resemblance of a mother singing her baby a lullaby. I have told you to be brave at least at the time of your death. Haven’t I? If your death gets inevitable….”

“Annaaa… Please spare me. Save me, please."

His feeble voice from his tightened throat pit begged him.

“Reply to what I asked… It’s alright. Let me decide. You will get your brain shot into pieces and die your death with your body wriggling in a pool of blood….”

Sundaram’s body went lifeless. ‘Brain blasted into pieces, body in bog of blood … No... No... I can’t. —Sundaram blabbered, “Poison, peace, courage, death, peace, poison, death, courage, poison, death, poison,” and finally settled with poison.

“Poison”—his frail utterance sounded as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well.

“My dear friend, the poison I have brought is extremely powerful and is usually found with the Japanese generals for their private use. It is a high-quality poison having no taste, odour, colour, and it won’t cause nausea or pain. It is pure white in colour. The sooner it gets down your throat, the sooner you will die immediately. You will have no trouble. High-quality poison. Peaceful death”

Pandian took out a tumbler from the almirah, placed it on the table, and filled it with coffee from his flask.

With his elbows sitting on the table, Sundaram blankly stared at the tumbler. Even if he could escape from these men, Kathiresan and Manikkam would tear him into many pieces. Coffee got poured in... The tumbler was full. The flask sat straight on the table after its task with a mild thud. Sundaram looked up.

Pandian took out a small yellow packet, opened it, and mixed its poisonous white powder with coffee. After mixing it up, he crumpled the paper elegantly and kept it in his shirt pocket along with the coloured thread that was used to bind it.

Sundaram was watching all these events ceremoniously orchestrated in front of his eyes. ‘Why is he putting the paper and thread into his pocket? Not to leave any traces of evidence? Even a bit of its odour will be enough for Berkeley to round them up.

“Do you want to leave any message for anyone back home?”

Sundaram stared at the coffee tumbler and those two men brandishing pistols in their hands simultaneously. His throat pit dried up, eardrums went numb, and eyesight became blurry.

“Any message you want to leave?”

Sundaram picked up the tumbler as if being possessed by some strange spirits and drank it in one gulp. ‘Peaceful death, quality poison, death… No taste, no odour, no colour…quality poison. No nausea or pain…’

“At the end of your day, die a peaceful death, my friend. Your death is a painless, peaceful death that happened at once.”

Sundaram stomped his leg violently on the wooden floor. He kept the tumbler on the table, arching his back forward, and in seconds suddenly fell onto the ground on his back. “Tick…tick…tick…”

Natarajan paced a couple of steps and checked his nostrils with his fingers, touched his body… Sundaram was lying dead as a corpse on the cot.

“Heart attack”

Announcing Sundaram’s death in categorical terms, Pandian poured the remaining coffee in the glass into a flask and filled in the glass again. He took out a flask from the almirah and transferred the coffee from the flask he brought from the shop into it.

“Let us leave...take it,” he held out the pistol.

“Don’t you need it?” Natarajan received it, hid it in his waist belt, and slid another into his pant pocket.

“There will be checking in the jetty area.”

Natarajan collected the flask, kept the door a bit more than half closed, climbed up the stairs, and walked down the street south.

“Anna… What sort of magic is this?”

“I read a similar story in an English magazine when I was studying in school. I just remembered it before executing it."

“It looks like a dream. Will it be effective with everyone?”

“The success of magic tricks depends on the person. He is a coward and a womanizer, as you said.”

“Even if he is a coward…”

“Mind is the basis of everything. If you want to destroy your enemy, you should first get his mind intimidated."

“If he didn’t die in this magic…”

“In the event of the poison trick failing, I had kept another plan ready. It is also equally dangerous."

“What’s it? You may share it with me.”

“I’ll tell you when it is required. They may come to you for an inquiry. You first meet Manikkam and tell him everything. He will take care of the rest. The investigation wouldn’t go beyond a couple of inquiries. No place for charge sheeting as no one would be held responsible for the heart attack. He was suffering from ailments and was essentially a glutton. You just maintain that you don’t know anything of it.”

“I don’t know anything. I just live for my livelihood. Nothing more, Inspector. Be magnanimous and get me a job… I will be grateful forever.

“Yes... it gets late. Give me that flask and leave me now. I’ll stay in Pataworth tonight and leave for Alor Setar tomorrow morning.”

“O.K. It still looks like a dream.”

“What do you learn from this?”

“Mental strength is the basis of all achievements.”

“First, mental strength. Then comes the strength of your actions. Mayilappur Saliyan has also said that the strength of an action is nothing but one’s strength of mind. Let me take leave now."

Pandian turned left and walked on.

***

K.K. Resan, alias Kathiresan, son of Karmega Velar, had stepped into the world of the export-import business in the city of Bangkok with the support of his maternal uncle, who once worked under a businessman who had close ties with the Siamese royal family. In every letter Pandian received every week from Kathiresan, Kathiresan had repeated his requests to pay a visit to Bangkok City. It mentioned that Bangkok was the only city in the world where one could find a prince and a Sanyasi in every household.

Pandian hadn’t visited Bangkok. He decided to go to Bangkok and stay there for ten days.

One morning he boarded the train leaving for the capital of Siam.

Note: 

1.    Chin Peng—The leader of Malaya’s communist party (anti-fascist guerrilla forces)

                                                                   *** 

 

 

                      Chapter 30: Bangkok

 

Bangkok city was in its usual festivity. It was, perhaps, the only city which hadn’t lost its sheen due to war. No one with worn-out clothes, frail and starved bodies, was seen anywhere in the city. Money was being spent like water. One could buy and sell any currency in the black market, be it Swiss Francs, Swedish Krona, or American dollars. Do you need anything else other than these? Grenades, automatic tanks, Jeeps, and motorboats? If you have money—money in hard cash—the cash that creaks at every flip, you can buy anything in no time. It just simply meant for every piece of ready cash, you will literally get everything in hand. No more questions of how and what. Even if you desire to have rare, hidden jewels and cultural artifacts looted from many countries during war, you can bet on us. Or do you want criminals and other articles to be deported to the shops on the banks of the Mom River? Yes, we do have expertise in that too. 

The Menam River is the main ‘road’ of the city. The diversions of the river had a big bazaar, numerous canals, and streets. Shops are floating in boats; people come floating in boats, make their purchases from the floating shops, and return floating. The faces which bear no signs of the woes of life chatter loudly without hiding anything in their hearts.

Cars, jeeps, trams, and rickshaws were moving with their myriad sounds of horns and bells across roads, quaking the town.

British troops, American sailors, Vietnamese communists, Indonesian revolutionaries, and men of Mao Zedong were roaming here and there. Everyone had a huge number of currency stacks under their possession and weapons hidden in their clothes to meet any eventuality in a matter of seconds. The Indonesians were busy sending their country grenades and rifles procured with the money earned by selling rubber, coffee, tea, and pepper—all of which they could manage to smuggle despite the tight vigil of the Dutch navy. The bony Vietnamese men who wouldn’t stand even a strong slap were busy with big-sized commodities. Those who had been ignorant of mortars, bazookas, and jeeps, and those who had been unaware of the movements of Mao’s men, were just roaming on the streets incognito with fear filled in their hearts.

Masanam and Muthaiah, who escaped from Burma, had taken refuge in K.K. Resan’s shop upstairs. Pandian had joined them. Resan suggested that they could open a separate shop for Pandian, Masanam, and Muthaiah. They thus started the “Oriental Trading Company, as he suggested.

Their shop started functioning in a building nestled along the bank of the river. They sold whatever had fallen into their hands—British guns, American dollars, and Indonesian tea were some hot picks. Sometimes their small business could sell out an occasional big catch of materials such as tanks, Jeeps, and motorboats. They could amass huge amounts of money and spend it at their whims. One could find those four lieutenants of the Indian National Army in the crowds that used to visit the fun houses as soon as the sun set, with all their makeup on.

It was a Sunday.

They set off on a trip to go out of the city. Greenery all around…coconut groves and paddy fields. Women sitting in front of their huts, stretching out their legs, chewing betel leaves, and chattering guilelessly. Small boys were playing Raka… Raka game with ball-shaped cane fruits.

The entire city shone like a ball of lights. Crowds of people gathered everywhere. Cars were waiting in front of every restaurant, carrying the fervor of celebration. When they reached their final destination, the Moon Ling hotel, at about half past seven in the evening, their heads whirled with the heaviness of inebriation. Yet, there was an unusual strength in their body and a regal gait in their walk.

The jeeps and cars of British-American officers, Siamese nobles, and Chinese businessmen were parked in rows in the front. The trees were festooned with illuminating, glaring, colourful lights. The jazz music coming from inside made one’s body titillate. The cars were still streaming in and parked in rows. White men and local men got off those cars with women who looked like golden statues and stepped into the building with mouths full of lies and fake smiles.

Those four Tamil men sat on the chairs lying in the south. White men in threes and fours were sitting on chairs in front of them, and women among them added a sheen of lightening with their presence. Beyond them, near the door, was found a Siamese-Chinese couple. Vietnamese were sitting in front of local men. Next to them were sitting two Indonesians.

A woman in golden colour wearing a half skirt tied in black lace and a silky glass-embedded brazier was singing, entertaining them with her sensuous leaping moves:

“Yai yai yai yaaa

Yaa yaiyaaa

Yayi…yayiiiiiiyayi yayiiii yayi

Yaiyaaa yaaa yayiiii." 

The room was filled with layers of smoke visible through the dim mixture of lights in different colours. The smell of French perfumes was so heavy as if it had struck one in the face. Ogling at the danseuse absorbedly, Muthaiah pulled out a song.

“O virtuous lady!

My lady! My gem!

If you are a chaste woman

Your skirt sliding out…” 

“Shut up. Don’t you see women are there?”

“What? What did you say? Masanam, what did you say? O! Women…Women.

The attender who approached them as stealthily as a cat walking on a cloth slipper bent down a little and asked them their order, covering his mouth with his right hand. Resan listed their requirements. Drinks are listed first.

The danseuse in black attire completed her performance. A mild, Siamese melodious music note emerged from the dais to fill in the interval before the start of the next programme. 

Resan’s frantic eyes were fixed repeatedly on a British captain who was sharing drinks with a Siamese lady sitting in front of him. A woman who was sitting very closely to a man sleeping on a chair at the entrance was staring at Pandian without batting her eyes. Her fronts were shaking, and her left hand fondled her stomach. Pandian turned his head and threw his eyes around.

“Hey…look there.” Masanam nudged Muthiah’s ribs. “Look at that lady fondling her stomach… Pandian is planning to seduce her.”

“Ah…is it? Then Pandian is gone forever. We have to then dispose of him in unaccounted expenditure. What did all our ancient sages preach to us? Don’t look at women, and for God's sake, do not even think of a woman who fondles her stomach. But see...what is Pandian doing? He is ogling at the stomach-fondling woman. So, his future is a sure shot for spoil. He is gone."

Masanam now glanced at the woman caressing her stomach intently.

“Masanam, hei… you useless bloke from Therikkadu¹!”

“What?”

“Why were God Indra and Chandran condemned?”

“Because of women”

“Why did King Ravanan and Kovalan die?”

“Because of women”

“So, my dear Masanam, take my advice very seriously. Don’t ever look at women; it is vile to look at women; listening to the words of women is despicable; having a relationship with women is dangerous. Do you know whose golden words they are?”

“Saint Muthaiah”

“Shut up, man! It is Annai Vayitriya Andama Munivar. Haven’t you read his epic work ‘Idaakini pei en illa kizhaththi’ (Idakini, the demon, is my wife)? You must read it. There is one more reason why one shouldn’t have a relationship with women. It is…”

Before his words spilled out of his mouth, Resan’s booming voice in English suddenly emerged and attracted everyone’s attention in that hall.

“Ah… The Prince Shree Puvongshree, the king of medicine… Here is the Field Marshal Maharaja Shri Shri Vinayanando Pandiya, a valiant Tamil general who is gifted with the acumen of Mon Stain, a supreme commander of the army, navy, and air force; the indomitable spirit of Rokochovsky; and the equanimity of Mont Gomery. He is the direct descendant of the Pandyan kings who once ruled the three worlds and seven seas.”

“Ah…ah…ah…Maharaja Pandiya!” The prince grasped the Tamil Nadu’s supreme commander’s hands and gave out a naughty smile.

“Here sitting is the General Shree Masana Abhayvangse, the general of the famed first army of Tamils, a skillful shooter who can bring down a bird flying above while running. Such a courageous man he is that it is he who had transported a huge number of Tamil goats to the slaughterhouses in Kohima. Here sitting is our General Muthaiahthriji Gurlalmia. He is the legendary commander of the Tamil commando forces. He is the one who had defeated Lord Mountbatten in a running race. Most of the gold mines and mint houses in India belong to his family.”. 

Both acknowledged his pompous introduction with a stiff chest-up in military style.

“I am extremely happy…very happy… I seek your pardon… I have urgent work," the prince scratched his head. The prince must be aged about thirty-five but below seventy-five.

“Revered Prince, let us sit a while for a drink,” Resan told him as he bent a little, keeping his left hand folded on his back. “The Anglo-American generals who rule the herds of Blacks, yellows, and browns are sitting in this noble court. Let us make them understand the happiness of our meeting. Please come... please."

“Sorry… Can’t we make it some other time?” The ageless silhouette of the prince swiftly paced toward the door and disappeared.

Resan, standing, poured the drinks into glasses. Others sat down.

“Gentlemen,” his English oration resumed. “Now we shall pray to God almighty for the supreme health of our honorable King George VI—the officiating monarch of India, the savior of Black people—who sways his reign all over the Great Britain, Northern Ireland, dominion countries, and colonies beyond seas. We, who have taken our births as slaves of the king, now enjoy this drink in the name of our king.”

“Don’t yell out, man!” Pandian admonished him in his mother tongue. “Speak in Tamil.”

“Taamil…do you mean Taaamil?” Resan’s voice rose like thunder as his right hand picked up the tumbler. “Down with Taaamil. Hell with Tamilians. Hail, English… Hail, Englishmen!"

He kept the tumbler down on the table with a thud after emptying it. The glass shook.

The ambience of the hall grew tense, followed by a deep silence. The shopkeeper was standing at the entrance, kneading his palm in uneasiness. Masanam and Muthaiah glanced at Resan impishly and resumed drinking. The Siamese nobles and Chinese traders who had come there along with their women were grossly confused at the developments. The Vietnamese turned to where Resan was standing and talked among themselves in hushed tones.

The music was over.

“It gets late. Let’s make a move.” Pandian rose, circled around Resan’s waist with his left hand, and threw his indifferent glances all around the hall. ‘Anything can happen...everyone is drunk and holding weapons in their hands.’

“You Black fellow! A slave of superstitions! You, the incompetent Tamil who doesn’t know how to respect the prophets! Sit down.”

Pandian sat down. His heart wailed helplessly. ‘This fat bugger is trying to pick fights. We are just four… but these men are many.’

“You Brown men! Yellow men! And Blacks!” Resan’s voice went on louder. “Have you forgotten the curse by the Lord in heaven that all of you will remain doomed as slaves until you change the colour of your skin into white? So, jump into the fire immediately and get your skin white. Or else…”

“Dear prophet, we are highly obliged,” Pandian said, his voice overflowing with devotion. “It has gotten late already. We can leave for offering our prayers to God Almighty before His servants close the temple doors. Please come with me…”

“You, Blackie! Get away from me. First listen to the words of the prophet.”

The locals who had come there with women vacated the hall immediately with their companions. The prostitutes who accompanied white men and other high-class whores were staring at Resan, not batting their eyes, intuitively expecting some untoward incident that was likely to unfold there and with a proclivity to relish a fight scene over there.

The prophet’s oration tore open the silence of the hall once again and grew louder.

“I, Kathiresan, son of the direct descendant of Adam from the Eden garden, Prophet Karmegam, the chief of the potter clan from Kalavazhi Nadu, have come from the Bangokiya, a city close to God’s heart here, and hereby pronounce the words of wisdom. O! Earth! Do hear me. O! Sky! Give me your ears. O! Wind! Listen to me. The God almighty, the savior of everything, had appeared in my dream as a ball of flames and told me, “Kathir…Kathir…why are you here in this desert leaving your core profession of pottery?” I replied, “O! My God! Let your undying mercy live forever on this planet. I am a sinner. Pardon me, and God said that he would surely forgive me. Further, he asked me why I toiled there and sought an immediate reply. I asked him, “O! My savior! My people toil here like worms. Won’t they be redeemed of it?” He replied that our men did sins and are facing troubles in their lives, and nothing could be done about it. The next moment, the ball of flame disappeared, and I stood alone.”

“Hahahahaa….” A young American naval captain, having his drinks while sitting in the northeastern corner of the hall, laughed out loud at Resan’s prophecies and mocked him, yelling out, “You are an unadulterated prophet of the Bible. Prophet of Jews…Prophet of deserts.”.

“You American ignoramus! Aren’t you the one who had humbled the sons of Lord Surya by breaking the atoms and burning them into flames and proved the ancient wisdom of our spiritual masters false? Shut your mouth. Or else you will face the wrath of the prophet and be cursed into a misery of no return.”

“Respected prophet, I have sinned. Please pardon me."

“You are forgiven. Now sit down."

The American had a tough time controlling his laughter and sat down. The English oration of the prophet resumed.

“I, Kathiresan, who has attained the enlightenment of knowing three dimensions of time with the blessings of God Almighty, further pronounce my prophecies: ‘Hei…belittled Tamil land! How pity are you? Thakkolam…you too pitiful. Kadaram, Kombojam, Sambave, Savagam. Malaiyagam, Mavirlingam—you all are pitiful. Aren’t you? You, the deaf, despite having ears! In spite of the prophets admonishing you all for long to change your skin colour into white, why do you still remain careless? If you have white skin, you can well assume rights to destroy nations and cities. No one would question you. You can even kill women and children en masse. No more questions will be asked…”

“Shut up.” A British captain sitting with a Siamese woman shrieked under inebriation.

The heads turned in the direction of the voice. Resan bent a little, in slow motion, picked the bottle from the table, and roared as he poured it out into a tumbler.

“Who’s that philistine obstructing the words of blessing of the prophet? Who’s that? Who? Is it Raffles?²

“No… No… No… It is Montgomery.”

A tall, stout man rose from his chair as his body tottered. His face was red due to excessive drinking. The woman sitting beside him was pulling him to her side, trying to make him sit, but in vain.

The shopkeeper came running from the door. Masanam gestured to him with his hand, intimidating him, to go back to the entrance. The shopkeeper returned helplessly, kneading his palms.

Pandian thought of asking Resan to move on left. But the prophet, to his disappointment, moved a step to the right.

“Who’s that? Montgomery? The general of the much-famed eighth unit of the British army.” He raised his right hand and pointed at him with his forefinger. “So…he is that brave heart who invaded Romalin Africa Core with a fearless heart despite having an army three times more powerful than his enemy… El ala min Braveheart Field Marshal Bernard Mont Gomeriiiiiiii”

“Shut up.”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Mont Gomeriiiiiiiiiii”

The field marshal paced towards him. The prophet stood with his dreamy eyes and disconcerted body.

Before the marshal’s hand reached its target, it got tangled with the prophet’s left hand that rose in lightning speed to obstruct the blow, and at the same time, the prophet’s right hand showered punches in bulk on the marshal’s nape of neck, followed by his left punch, then right, then left…

Field Marshal fell onto the ground on his face.

Some men in the opposite row pulled out their pistols and rose from their seats.

“Let us not play with the pistols, please…” Pandian spoke calmly with his raised right hand holding a pistol. The brand-new automatic Browning pistols they had procured that morning were shining in Masanam’s and Muthaiah’s hands. A dead silence ensued amidst those Vietnamese who were till then drinking with much noise. The pistols were aimed at the opposite rows. Two Indonesians rose from their seats, holding a pistol in their left hand and a Greek knife in right hand.

The prophet drank a glass of whisky and threw his scrutinizing eyes from one end of the hall to another. Placing the glass on the table, Resan resumed his lecture of mockery.

“Where has the British sense of humour, a much-touted one everywhere, gone? Where has your professional probity gone? Do they really belong to white men? If you are defeated in unarmed combat, you will pick up guns, and if you are defeated in a gunfight, then you will pick up an atom bomb. Is this cricket?”

Hands that were holding the pistols were still aiming at their targets. One second, one round… Many were just watching the show as if their lives were limited with a discharge of one round in one second. It was just enough for a round to unleash a deadly commotion there.

“It is utter stupidity. Utterly stupid... A British major from the back row came forward with a heavy stomp on the floor.

“We all have come here to forget our worries. Not to die in a stupid shootout. Keep your weapon in holders."

But the weapons weren’t withdrawn, still pointing at their targets.

“It isn’t a battlefield. It is a fun house. Keep them in your holders"—his voice resonated as a resolute order, a characteristic confidence he had gained over a period of experience in facing high-pressure situations in life.

The weapons disappeared.

“Revered Prophet,” the major went near and told, “It is not the Negev desert. It is Moon Ling restaurant in Bangkok city. Please have some mercy on us and have a seat to get yourself relieved of pain due to standing for long.”

“You, an old Major, let you be prospered. Considering the immediacy of world peace and cordial relationships between the East and West, let me withdraw myself as of now.”

The prophet sat down.

The major, standing closely and looking at Resan, couldn’t control his laughter and laughed out loudly. Following this, the sounds of laughter filled the hall.

The captain lying on the floor somehow managed to get up and blinked vacuously. Another captain went near to him, led him out with his comforting hands circled around his back.

“Waiterrrrr”

***

Days passed.

Pandian announced that he had planned to go home after visiting Sumatra. His friends tried their best to dissuade him but couldn’t succeed in changing his decision. 

                                                                     ****

Note:

1.    A semidesert region in the Tirunelveli district

2.    Sir Stanford Raffles, the founder of Singapore in 1819. He is hailed as Robert Clive of Southeast Asia.