This is an English translation of “Oru Innaattu Mannar”, a short story written by Nanjil Nadan. Translated into English by
Saravanan Karmegam.
***
No one knew what his name was.
Everyone, from children to elders, called him “Vaithiyar.”1 If the voter list is scrutinized, perhaps we
may know his name. He had been voting either in the name of the late Kombaiya
Devar or Nallathambi Konar, who left this country long ago, without obligating
anyone to have the trouble of finding out his name. But it might not be
possible in this village panchayat election. As the contenders Umaiyorubagan,
holding the election symbol of “road roller,’ and Bhoodhalingam Pillai, holding
the election symbol of “pumpkin,” were actually locals, no one dared to use Vaithiyar, who was known to everyone in the village, to cast a fake vote. ‘Vaithiyar’ was deeply
saddened at the fact that he had been neglected completely in the hurly-burly
of elections in the village. He was considerably annoyed that his democratic
right, that he was enjoying till now, had been neglected today.
Both the political parties
were equally disappointed that a vote was being wasted without any use. There
was no one of his age alive in the village that might help out in knowing his
name. Since ‘Vaithiyar’ was the one who shaved off the ‘first hair’ of most of
the locally influential community men running the village affair after their
birth, it was improbable that they knew his name.
Even the questions asked
lightheartedly out of sheer curiosity to know his name had only invited a
standard, nonchalant reply from him: “What is the use of knowing it ? Are you
going to finalise any purchase of land in my name with that?” Living a life
without even knowing his own name, it didn’t even occur to him that he had a
vote to cast in his original name in the voter list.
There were two unknown names
in the village voters list. Manikkkam, a supporter of “Pumpkin,” was
bewildered while scrutinising the voter list, not knowing who they were. Vaithiyar’s
face came for a second like a flash in his mind. The first name was Pugaiyilai
Pillai. It couldn’t be his name. The second one was Ananja Perumal. Surmising
that this name might belong to ‘Vaithiyar,’ he glanced through the age.
Eighty-two. He jerked with excitement!
That village, colloquially
known as Kochanallur and morphologically known as Kochadaiya Nallur, must have
about a hundred houses. Among those hundred houses, there were seven houses
that boasted scrupulous following of universal love for all the living beings
on this earth, collectively known as “Saivaite village” or “Brahmin residence,”
a name drawn either through their own clans or marriage alliances. (Let me
declare in categorical terms that this distinction had been made strictly on
the basis of population, and not based on class distinction.). Since the
farmers were of the unanimous opinion that those who wore the ‘sacred thread’
were all ‘Iyers,’ they used to be jealous of the unity among Iyers, having no
hint of how 'united' they were among themselves. Apart from these men, there
were other Hindus subjected to class distinction, such as Nadars, Devars,
Vannars (washermen), and Navithars (barbers), in an apparent display to prove
the unity in the Hindu religion. Other than these people, there were people who
were not very sure whether they were Christians or Hindus or not both. If you
attempt an estimate on the basis of worship of deities, the list will grow
endless with myriad forms of deities—Sudalaimadan, Enapechi, Isaki Amman,
Theradi Madan, Pulai Madan, Muthu Pattan, Kazhu Madan, Vandi Marichan, Mundan,
Mutharamman, Soolaipidari, Sandhanamari, Muppidari, etc.
If you could prove that the
aforesaid gods and goddesses were all Hindu deities by citing the examples of
their glorious deeds in their various avatars, then those people would also be
considered Hindus. On the other hand, if you followed a simple mathematical
formula—A is equal to B, B is equal to C, so A must be equal to C—we could then
establish them worshipping so-and-so gods and goddesses who were essentially
Hindu deities and thus prove those people as Hindus beyond an iota of doubt.
The Englishmen must have termed this land of so many castes, a multitude of
deities, and various languages and cultures as India and its people Hindu,
presumably to avoid all these unwarranted troubles. All the data-based boastful
deliberations of godmen and jagathgurus on the percentage of Hindus in this
country in fact do include these considerable numbers of people as well.
Even though Kochanallur could
boast of all these qualities of Ramrajya, the election for village Panchayat
president couldn’t be underrated. Cutthroat competition. The only comforting
aspect of this election was that both the contestants belonged to the farmer
community, from the same caste, and, very particularly, they were
brothers-in-law. This ensured the absence of caste clashes despite a stiff
competition between them. The entire village faced a dilemma to align itself on
either side of the parties. Other than those hundred households, were found a
Teppakulam with greenish layers of mosses, a Sathan temple on its embankment,
some assorted places of worship, a dilapidated mandapam, a
water point that functioned illegally there after seven o'clock, a dry ginger
tea shop, a grocery shop that sold anything ranging from betel leaves to Tom
Tom tonic at double its price, seven or eight coconut groves around, and twenty
threshing fields and agricultural lands around it. It was good to see those
plants and assets having no voting rights, lest they would have also faced the
same embarrassment of being dependent on these two men like others in the
village.
The guesswork and conventional
estimate of vote share and who would get what were all that had occupied
everyone’s mind. The “Pumpkin” candidate’s sister had come from Nankuneri a
week ago, as she had a vote in this village. Would the ‘road roller’ candidate
remain quiet after this news? A telegram was sent to his brother, who was
working in Puliyankudi. He was instructed to come alone, not with his wife. She
was Pumpkin’s sister. (The symbol refers to the candidate, and is used for
convenience). What if she cast her vote in favour of Pumpkin notwithstanding
the political standing of her husband? What is the use of a single vote that is
added up to either side? Wasn’t it better if both of them didn’t turn up for
casting their votes?
The observers guessed that the
winning margin wouldn’t be more than ten votes, no matter who would win. The
secretarial offices they opened on account of attending to election-related
works were always filled with men. The expenses on betel leaves, beedi, dry
ginger tea, vada, and cards shot up exponentially in geometric proportion as
the date of the election was nearing. It was feared that the restiveness of
having to face the election the next day might first grow into a fever and then
into pneumonia. It was at that historical moment that Manikkam sped away from
Pumpkin’s secretarial office.
As his face turned brighter as
if he had tasted the success, he was propelled by an extraordinary thirst to
prove the superlative historical truth beyond any doubt that Ananja Perumal was
none other than ‘Vaithiyar.’ He knew where ‘Vaithiyar’ would be by now.
While Manikkam sped fast
towards the Sathan temple, he was alerted by his intuition. ‘If I go by this
straight route, the opponent party members might develop a suspicion as to why
I have opted for this route. That too, when we have the election tomorrow, the
suspicion would grow stronger. Any probe or investigation by the spies of the
road roller in the event of me falling in their eyes will spoil everything.
What if the opponent party men try their hand to win over the voter I have
found with all my hard work squeezing out my brain?”
Patting himself for his
intelligent idea that occurred at an opportune time, Manikkam took a roundabout
way to Sathan temple. He went to the coconut nursery, going past the school and
fence, walked on the ridges, and climbed on the wooden gate on the way, and
then reached the temple from its rear. A shade of unease started building up in
him as he grew uncertain whether he would be able to meet ‘Vaithiyar’ alone.
He came to the façade of the
temple. Not a sparrow was seen around, as it was a cold month. That man
sleeping like a bundle of dirty clothes, curling his body, almost cuddling
along the wall in the northeastern corner, must be ‘Vaithiyar,’ he thought.
With his eyes growing dim and his hands growing shaky, his shaving caused
bruises along the ears as he lost control, Vaithiyar was thus reduced to this
corner after he lost his job.
As it was past nine, he must
have slept. Occasional coughs to prove his presence. Manikkam went near to the
corner, stood there a while, and looked around. There was no one around. Who
would come to this trivial corner when the entire village is reeling under the
bustle of election fever?
He called out to Vaithiyar
softly.
“Vaithiyar…hei….Vaithiyar”
No reply. Manikam’s words
didn’t fall into his ears as he was sleeping, covering his ears. Manikkam shook
that ‘human bundle.’ Showing no sign of urgency or excitement, Vaithiyar got up
and stared at Manikkkam insouciantly.
“Why, is someone in the
house…?”
Manikkam knew what that had
meant. Had it been some other time, his reply would have been different. But
today he was aware of the weight of one vote. He replied calmly.
“Nothing like that. I wanted
to ask you something."
Terror settled in Vaithiyar's
heart. Someone wakes him up in the dead of the night to ask him about
something… It means…
“Is your name Ananja Perumal?”
Vaithiyar’s face brightened up with amazement. “Ah…what sort of rubbish is
this? Just to know this, you are holding my throat now. Aren’t you?”
“Is it your name? Tell me.”
“Who’s told you all these? I
forgot it long ago. What is the need for it now?”
“Save your breath now. Your
name is in the voters list. I will come with a car tomorrow and take you along
with me. You will get coffee and meals. If the men of the road roller ask you
anything, just tell them no. You get me?”
The very thought that he was
one of the many uncrowned princes of this secular democratic socialist republic
and he also had the right to vote brought him a new vigour. His dull shoulders
grew a little stronger with this sense of pride.
“Why should I bother telling
them? That day, road roller’s men came to me and told me, - It is alright
anyway that you had been casting your vote in the name of a dead person and an
absconder till date. But if you come this time to vote at the insistence of
anyone, you will then understand what it means. We will hand you over to the
police—that is why I keep myself away from all these. They are brothers-in-law,
and they may fight today. Tomorrow they will make up as a pair and go to the
market holding their hands. I just keep myself aloof without getting into
unnecessary problems. Now my name is in the list of voters. I am not even aware
of it this long!”
“Even now no one knows about
it. I only found it out. Your name must have been there earlier too. But who
else other than me would look that closely? Leave it. I will tell them to buy
you a new dhoti and a shirt. You must come with me in the morning, eat idlis,
put on your new clothes, and then cast your vote. I will teach you everything.
You shouldn’t be friendly with anyone. Is that okay?”
“Will I say anything to anyone
after this? That too, after you told this much?”
Manikkam walked to the
Pumpkin’s house with his chest swelled with pride at the assurance from Vaithiyar.
The ambience there looked
resplendent, like a royal court. Pumpkin was sitting in the centre as the most
prominent figure there. All the benches and chairs of that house were found
scattered all around. The queue of men who wanted to show their allegiance. A
couple of plates full of betel leaves. Cauldrons boiling dry ginger tea. The
men who developed sore throats due to recurrent yells of slogans along the
streets around those hundred houses were speaking among themselves in
distorted, hoarse voices. The preparations for the next day's coffee were on.
There was a steady simmer as
the cauldron making idlis was placed on mammoth stoves. Since pumpkin was the
election symbol, lots of pumpkin were neatly cut into pieces and heaped on a
palm leaf for making sambar. The bundles of banana leaves were occupying most
of the available spaces. Clanking of utensils. Five bags of pumpkin to be
distributed in case of winning in the election were kept stacked up against the
wall.
It was said that the road
roller also had bought two bags of pumpkins to break them by tossing them on
the streets, hoping with certainty that Pumpkin would lose in the election.
There was a huge demand for pumpkin in the Kanagamoolam market. A big landlord
in that area seemed to have planned to cultivate pumpkins across Melaichi Konam
village, having in mind the next election and the need to cater to the demand
for pumpkins.
Seven or eight bull drawn
carts and two rented cars were kept ready to go to the polling booth tomorrow.
Needless to say, that road roller must have also arranged similar preparations.
They faced only one discomfort—they wouldn’t be able to make sambar with a road
roller the way their opponent party was making sambar with pumpkin. One of the
intelligent chaps among them offered a suggestion that the road roller, which
is known otherwise as ‘urulai’ in Tamil, which means potato too. So, it was
decided that they could make sambar with it.
The most notable aspect of
this election was the total number of voters, which stood at two hundred and
seventy. Even if the voter turnout was a hundred percent, they could all be
transported with sixteen bull-drawn carts and four rented cars. Not only that,
the government elementary school where the election was held was not even half
a furlong from any corner of the village by walk. But would it be right to make
the uncrowned princes of this republic walk all the way to the booth?
The next day, it dawned with a
full festive mood. Urgency and anxiety were vying with each other. The
people were so restless that they would have pulled the sun out of its place
with a rope had it not risen in time, like deliberately ripening the fruit by
beating it when it takes more time to ripen.
Pumpkin’s son and
daughter-in-law went out to bring the villagers at six o'clock. Following them,
Road Roller’s son and daughter-in-law did the same. All the preparations were
in full swing for morning coffee. Manikkam had kept ‘Vaithiyar’ in a safe place
in the early morning. He made him have a bath in the well, had him put on his
new dhoti and shirt, and decked him out with vibhooti. Vaithiyar was so
delighted and thought he could receive such a treatment if the elections were
held every month.
The polling started with
inordinate haste after ten o'clock. The dust was stirred up by the taxis. The
bull-drawn carts brought pots of water, poured it onto the street, and
plastered it. The cars entered the streets, which had never seen even a
bicycle, and brought the voters to the booth. The children were offered coffee,
snacks, taxi ride when they accompanied their parents while polling. Some of
them flatly refused to get into the bullock cart and insisted on a car instead.
How would they afford missing all this luxury if not at the time of election?
Both the contestants were
present in the polling booth. Their representatives were sitting in a row on
either side. The school teachers, as the government employees, were there. Two
policemen with lathis were on their tight vigil, as it was feared that tension
might erupt anytime. They didn’t bring rifles, considering the lathi itself was
too much for those farmers.
When ‘Vaithiyar, alias Ananja
Perumal, got off the car in front of the polling booth, everyone raised their
eyebrows in amazement. In immaculate white, and Vibhuti all over his body
embodying a pure Saivaite, he evinced an extraordinary interest in everyone.
“Son of a dirty bitch… How
dare he come here to cast his fake vote, that too in the local body election?”
The road roller seethed with anger.
Since it was past twelve, the
crowd had started dwindling. When Vaithiyar stood in the queue, there were only
seven or eight people standing in front of him. A couple of men were hesitantly
standing afar, possibly in a dilemma whether to join after him or after their
meals.
After two minutes of waiting, Vaithiyar
went out of the queue and started walking fast. Pumpkin raised his eyebrows
as if to know what had happened to him. The road roller stroked his moustache
and threw an insulting stare at Pumpkin as if showing his resolve not to
allow Vaithiyar to cast his fake vote against him.
Manikkam followed Vaithiyar
who had run away from the queue and caught him in a couple of steps.
“You, old bugger! What the
hell happened to you? Are you running to the cremation ground?”
“Ah…, don’t shout at me. I’ll
be back in a minute.” – His voice carried some urgency.
“I am just asking you the
same. Where the heck are you going? Have you gone mad?”
“Wait… I’ll be back in a
minute.”
“Go anywhere you want, but
only after casting your vote.”
“What sort of unwanted trouble
is this? You have brought me here even before I could wash my face. After that,
I had seven or eight idlis. How would that get digested at this old age? It
will stop in a while. Just leave me a minute so that I can do it.”
Before Vaithiyar arrived there
after attending to his nature call, the polling had been stopped during lunch
break. As it was potentially dangerous to keep Vaithiyar waiting there, they
took him in the car, fed him in the house, brought him again, and made him
stand as the first person to vote. He threw his eyes valiantly around like a
‘Sooran’ in the Sooran festival. The polling resumed after the lunch break. Vaithiyar
entered the polling booth, holding a voter sheet given to him in the name of
Ananja Perumal. The road roller was eagerly waiting for him to teach him a
lesson before he would leave the booth. Vaithiyar gave the sheet to the first
polling officer.
The road roller roared once.
“Hey Vaithiyar, do you have
the vote?”
Vaithiyar gazed at him
doubtfully.
“Yes, I have. See it
yourself.”
Road Roller was astounded
at seeing the sheet Vaithiyar gave him. Pumpkin’s face displayed a
secretive streak of a smile at seeing the shock on the road roller’s face.
“Is your name Ananja Perumal?”
“Yes. Do you think I have come
here to cast my fake vote?”
The road roller was still
suspicious. He then checked the voter list once again. Again he was shocked a
little. In a short while, a grin of contempt spread across his face.
“We all know that you have
been casting your fake vote in the name of those who ran away from this
country. Now you have come here to cast your vote on behalf of a dead person.
Haven’t you?”
“No… My name is Ananja
Perumal. I won’t lie. Will I?”
“Let it be Ananja Perumal or Erinja
Perumal or whatever. But the Ananja Perumal in the list is a woman.”
“What, woman!”
“Then what? Get your eyes wide
open and see yourself. This is the elder sister of our grandpa, Colombo Pillai.
It’s been ten years now since she died. Here, you are standing to cast her
vote! You useless moron! Get out of my sight.”
Not knowing what to do, Vaithiyar
looked at Pumpkin helplessly. Pumpkin threw his furious stare at him as
if sinking his teeth into him and tearing him apart.
***End***
Note:
1. "Vaithiyar" denotes barber in a respectable way.
