This is an English translation of “Marainthu
Thiriyum kizhavan”, ((மறைந்து திரியும் கிழவன்), a short story written by Sureshkumara Indrajit. Translated into
English by Saravanan Karmegam.
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I was on my way to meet Virumandi on my
scooter, with the registration number TCX 6838. Coconut groves and open paddy
fields, one after another, were seen on both sides of the road. Virumandi was
my friend. The coconut groves owned by the Virumandi Thevar family were
standing on the banks of the river. They had a beautiful house in the middle of
the coconut grove. Most likely, only Virumandi would live there. His family
members were living in the village. There was a toddy shop a kilometre away
from the coconut grove house. We could relish the Airai fish curry there.
Bathing in the river for a long time, and then consuming the toddy kept in
Virumandi’s coconut grove house before relishing the meals along with airai
fish curry and returning home, were nothing less than a blissful experience.
Someone standing on the road was waving his
hands, obviously with the intention of stopping the vehicle. Only after I went
near him, did I understand it was Indrajit. I stopped my scooter. Indrajit told
me that his motorcycle stopped as it broke down when he was returning after
meeting Virumandi. ‘Good heavens, you have come now. Let me go with your
scooter to bring a mechanic,” he said.
“Till then, I should guard your motorcycle. Is
it?” I asked him.
“No one can steal it anyway. The problem is
too big for it. You don’t have to wait here. Yonder, can you see a dilapidated
house? Have a stroll up there. You will have your time nicely spent,” Indrajit
said, as his mouth still emitting the stench of toddy.
“Why should I go there?” I asked.
“You will know it yourself if you go there” he
said and picked up my scooter. When he started the scooter, I remembered
something and asked him whether Virumandi was at the coconut grove house.
Indrajit left after informing me that Virumandi was manuring the coconut trees.
I looked around the open fields. That dilapidated house was seen at a little
distance. I was perplexed as to why he had asked me to visit that house.
Finally, I made up my mind to go there. I had to walk across the coconut grove
and the patch of fields filled with grown paddy. I began to walk. While walking
on the ridges of the fields after crossing the coconut grove, the steps became
a little unsteady. There found two big tamarind trees and a dilapidated house
on a patch of land that looked like an open ground. No sign of any human
activity.
I entered the house with a sense of alertness
as I kept my eyes on that ruined house. I climbed onto the broken walls and
peeked into the interior room. A beam was found fallen across. I stood stunned
at seeing the window of the interior room. An old man was standing there,
holding the window grills as his eyes were fixed somewhere. Those fixed eyes
turned and looked at me. I thought he must be a madman. Standing on the heaps
of bricks lying at the doorway of the room, the old man looked at me. His dirty
appearance testified that it had been days since he had bathed last. His eyes
were rolling amid the thick white beard, moustache and hair on his head.
The old man, looking at me, asked, ‘Who are
you?”
I told him my name.
“Are you a White Man's spy?” Tell me the
truth. Who are you?” the old man said.
I couldn’t understand his words. “Which White
Man?” I asked.
“Don’t you know the White Man? Are you one
among the traitors who accepted the White Man?” the old man questioned.
“Aren’t you aware that the white man had
already left?” I asked him.
He glanced at me intently for a while. “Some
are saying it. But it is difficult to believe. I have been roaming like this,
fearing I will be tortured again with a burning rod the moment I come out,
believing it. I know very well how crooked and merciless those white men were.
That is why I am hesitating to come out”
“How long have you been in hiding?” I asked
him.
“Those ten days are still capable of giving me
the feel of ten years.” the old man said.
“What do you mean by ten days?” I asked.
“Those ten days were an eon. I was caught on
August 18, 1942 and spent those ten days as if ten years. This long period is
still getting longer, like those ten days, as if those ten days had become
longer. One must know I had the pain of being in hell in those ten days. I lost
my friends in that torture. See…these scars of burning.” he opened his shirt
and showed me his chest and back. The burnt scars all over, crisscrossed,
looked indeed terrible.
I asked the old man to sit down. “Don’t be
afraid of me. I am your friend. You can come out now. No white man is here.
This is the truth,” I said.
“If no white man is here, doesn’t it mean that
Subash Chandra Bose is here? He escaped the house arrest on January 26, 1941.
Has he come now? I can come out only if you can produce a letter from him. I
had met him in Tripura Congress summit. Bose was angry and sad that day. I was
raging with anger. He spoke in a tone to assuage my worries.” the old man said.
I thought first whether I should tell him
about the death of Bose, but didn’t tell him about it to change the course of
the conversation. “Which party were you working for?” I asked him.
“Sangarayya, Perumal and I joined in an
underground movement headed by Narayanan as important members. You might have
heard its name,” the old man replied and lowered his voice when he uttered
secretively, “Yuva Bharat”. I pretended as though I had heard its name as I
held the responsibility of listening to his secret.
“Kudiram Bose had a special place in my heart.
We were attracted by Jatin Bose, who died after a fast of sixty-four days, and
Surya Sen, who pillaged the Chittagong armoury. The reason why I am telling you
all these is that during those ten days that had become an eon, many might have
forgotten or known little about these people. Many would have been busy with
idlis, how to get them all the time. They wouldn’t remember anything other than
this. What do you know about Yuva Bharat?” the old man questioned me.
“If it were an underground movement, how come
I would know about it? I told you already that I have heard its name. Haven’t
I?” I said.
“Let me tell you. Yuva Bharat was started
under Narayana Swamy. He had a good contact with a man known as Ajay Bose from
Bengal. I, along with my friends, Sanagarayya and Perumal met him at a secret
place in Devakottai. He reposed his faith in us. That belief Lived for long-
You know that I was a brave man. My escape from the police battalion and
Solomon Arnold in a dense jungle would be alone enough to speak about my
courage. Wasn’t it? It might sound presumptuous. It was just sheer luck anyway.
The Naganaru bridge was blasted by the bomb we placed. It was Sangarayya who
shot Benjamin, the police superintendent dead. Sangarayya was a member of Yuva
Bharat, and at the same time, he was working for the Congress party too. The
police surrounded us when we assembled in a secret place. Perumal asked us
whether we all could commit suicide. Later, we got ourselves arrested as we
believed that we could instil the thirst for freedom in people through the
court. Do you know when it happened? Gandhi started the Quit India Movement on
August 8. We were arrested on August 18. But neither were we taken to the
police station nor to any courtroom. They tied our hands and eyes first and
then untied them at an undisclosed place. It looked like a jungle. They, then,
chained our legs. The police officer Arnold arrived there from somewhere. On
his arrival, they tied each one of us separately trees. Before tying us, they
removed our clothes. He thrashed Perumal first with a lathi in front of us. We
were silently watching, hearing Perumal screaming out of unbearable pain. As
his hands were tired, Arnold sipped some water and rested. Perumal’s face and
body turned red and were swollen as he was battered. He was mumbling out of
pain. After a brief rest, he started thrashing Sangarayya. I wanted to die
before he turned his attention towards me. But I didn’t die. He came to me only
after taking some rest after he was done with Sangarayya. You cannot even
imagine the degree of that torture. My heart wanted me to die without feeling
any pain. My soul screamed out of pain. Leaving us all in that miserable
condition, Arnold left along with his police battalion. It became nearly
impossible for us even to speak with each other. Hunger was killing us inside.
The throat ached with the tongue dried up. The night became terribly icy.
Insects of various kinds crawled upon our bodies. Our collective prayer was
that we all should die very soon. But what could we do if we were destined to
be whipped with a burning rod? The next day, Arnold came with his battalion.
Puffing on his cigarette casually, he ordered to lit fire and make the iron rod
he brought hot until it turned red in the fire. His actions were neatly planned
and had no signs of uneasiness. His actions were executed neither out of anger
nor impulse. He imperturbably took out the hot iron rod, and gently drew it
across Sangarayya’s body. Lastly, he drove it into his stomach. With an
unbearable, painful scream, Sangarayya’s neck fell lifelessly. I prayed,
quickly, faster, out of my senses, that he should die. Arnold gave the rod back
to heat it again, and rested. Then he rose coolly, picked the rod from the fire
and drove it again and again into Perumal’s stomach. Then he gave the rod back
to heat it again and rested. After a while, he picked the rod again and came to
me. His face bore an indescribable peace.
My soul rose, strangled his throat and then
curled up in the emptiness. I screamed in pain when the rod drew lines on my
body. My entire body was burning. He swung the rod nonchalantly across my body
as if he were drawing lines. My soul cried and squirmed in agony. The drawing
of lines on my body stopped after a while. I opened my eyes. Arnold was
standing there, casually smoking his cigarette. He then threw away the
cigarette bud on the ground, and left the place along with his battalion. I
couldn’t understand why he left me alive. My memory was slipping slowly. The
soul was crying for its death. I saw a policeman standing there in white clad.
I wasn’t sure if he was a policeman or the Jesus Christ descending from the
sky. He untied the ropes and broke the chain around my legs. He had me lie on
his lap and poured some water into my mouth. Tended me with some medicines and
whispered into my ears, “expiation”. He then covered me with a rug before he
flew away and disappeared in the sky. He then appeared again, fed me, and then
disappeared. Again, he appeared and then disappeared, not to return anymore. I
got onto my feet with my wounds. Walked a long distance, begged to keep me
alive and finally reached a government hospital at that new place. No one could
identify me. The white police man or the Jesus Christ from the sky seemed to
have given me that protective cover. I couldn’t see him clearly. “Go in
hiding,” he ordered. That is why I have gone into hiding. I will keep hiding. I
will come out only after the mother of freedom tastes victory.” the old man
completed his speech and threw an empty look.
He then rose, and said, “Don’t tell anyone
what I have said to you. I am going into hiding. Never say this to anyone” and
stared at me tenuously. He then said, “Goodbye” and ran through the fields and
disappeared.
I stood stunned under the illusion of what I
had seen was merely a dream or real. My heart filled with misery. I crossed the
coconut grove and paddy fields as I remained occupied with thinking about it.
My scooter was standing alone on the road. The key was in the scooter. The
scooter was standing with the key as if making one suspicious whether the
entire episode in which Indrajit met me and took my scooter with him was true.
There was no one on the road.
***Ended***
