ஸ்ரீகாந்த் சரத் சந்திர சட்டோபாத்யாய்

:சமூகத்தின் மீது அக்கறை உள்ள அனைவருக்கும் சில பொதுவான சிந்தனைகள் உண்டு.  அவற்றில் ஒன்று சமூகத்தில் பெண்களின் நிலைமை.  இந்த நவீன காலத்தில் அதற்குப் பெண்ணியம் என்று பெயரிட்டுக் கொண்டாலும், நவீனகாலச் சிந்தனைகள் தொடங்கிய, ஜனநாயகச் சிந்தனைகள் மலரத் தொடங்கிய காலத்தில் இருந்தே இது குறித்த கவலைகள் எழுத்தாளர்கள், கலைஞர்கள் சிந்தனையாளர்கள் படைப்பாளிகளுக்கு இருந்தே வந்துள்ளன.

 

        ஒருவகையில் பார்த்தால், நாவல் என்ற வடிவம் தொடங்கும் காலத்தில் இந்தச் சிந்தனைகளை முன்வைத்த ஆங்கிலேயப் பெண் எழுத்தாளர்களின் (உதாரணமாக, Virginia wolf, Bronte sisters),  படைப்புக்களின் பெண்களின் குரல் தனித்து ஒலிக்கத் தொடங்கியது. நாவல் என்ற வடிவம் இந்தியாவில் அறிமுகப் படுத்தப்படும் போதும் இதன் பாதிப்பு இருந்தது. வங்காளத்தில் எழுதப்ப்பட்ட முதல் நாவலின் பெயர் கூட அதனைச் சுட்டும். (துர்கேஷ் நந்தினி - பங்கிம் சந்திர சட்டோபாத்தியாயா). அவரைத் தொடர்ந்து நாவல்களில் யதார்த்த உலகை சித்தரித்த்தும், அதுவும் இடைத்தட்டு, கீழ்த்தட்டு மக்களின், குறிப்பாகப் பெண்களின் நிலையைச் சித்தரித்தவர்களில் சரத் சந்திர சட்டோபாத்தியாயா மிகவும் முக்கியமானவர்.

 

        சரத் சந்திர சட்டோபாத்தியாயாவின் நாவல்களில் பெண்களின் சித்தரிப்பில் உயிர்ப்பும், சத்திய ஆவேசமும் அடிநாதமாக இருக்கும்.  ஆனால் எதுவும் ஓங்கி ஒலிக்காது. அடிநாதம் என்பது கூட நாமாகப் புரிந்து கொள்வது தான்.  ஆனால், கதையின் சித்தரிப்பில் யதார்த்தமே பரவி இருக்கும். பெண்களை இவ்வளவு கனிவோடு சித்தரித்த அவர் வாழ்ந்து இறந்தது, 1938ஆம் ஆண்டு. அவருடைய படைப்புக்களில் மிகச் சிறந்த படைப்பாக்க் கருதப்படுவது, ஸ்ரீகாந்த்.  அவருடைய மற்றக் கதைகளிலும் வங்காளத்தில் பெண்களில் நிலைமை பற்றிய சித்தரிப்புக்கள் யதார்த்தமாக இருந்த போதிலும், ஸ்ரீகாந்த் நாவலில் அது உச்சத்தை அடைந்துவிடுகிறது.  என்னுடைய வங்காளி நண்பரிடம் கேட்டேன் “சரத் சந்திர சட்டோபாத்தியாவின் வாழ்க்கை வரலாறு நூல் ஏதாவது சொல்லுங்கள்” அவர் சொன்னார் ‘நீ ஸ்ரீகாந்த் படித்துவிட்டாய் அல்லவா? அதுதான் அவரது வாழ்க்கை வரலாறு”.  எனக்கு வியப்பு மிகுந்தது.  ஒன்று இப்படி ஒரு நாவலை ஒருவர் அந்தக் காலத்து இந்தியப் பண்பாட்டுச் சூழலில் எழுதியது. இரண்டாவது, அதில் எழுதப்பட்டது அவருடைய சொந்த அனுபவங்களின் பெரும்பகுதியாக இருந்தது.   

 

        சமூக மதிப்புகளைத் தூக்கி வைத்துவிட்டு ஸ்ரீகாந்த் கொண்டிருந்த உறவுகளைப் பற்றி எந்தவிதமான மதிப்புக்குறைந்த வார்த்தைகளும் இன்றி, ஒவ்வொரு பெண்ணுக்கும் கொடுக்க வேண்டிய மரியாதையைக் கொடுத்து, (அவர் கதைகளை எழுதிய காலத்தில் மிக மிக அரிது), முழுவதும் பெண்கள் மீதான அனுதாபத்தின் வெளிப்பாடாகவே இருக்கிறது.

 

        நாவலின் மையப் பாத்திரமான ஸ்ரீகாந்த் தொடர்ந்து நேசிக்கும் ஒரு பெண்ணாக வரும் ராஜலக்ஷ்மி, பெரிய பணக்காரர்கள் வீட்டில் சங்கீதம் பாடி சம்பாதிப்பவள், சமூகத்தின் ஒழுக்க வரையறைகளை மீறி நடப்பவள்.  , அதற்கும் மேலாக அவளது நடவடிக்கைகளை வாசகன் தான் யூகிக்க வேண்டி இருக்கிறது. நாவலில் ஓரிடத்திலேனும் அவள் கொள்ளும் உறவுகள் வெளிப்படையாகப் பேசப்படுவதில்லை.  அவளுடைய கௌரவத்தை நாவல் கேலி செய்வதும் இல்லை.  சரத் சந்திரர் அந்தப் பெண் பாத்திரத்தின் மீது கொண்ட மரியாதையும் அதில் வெளிப்படுகிறது.  அதைப் பற்றி ஸ்ரீகாந்த் உள்ளுக்குள் உணர்ந்தாலும், வருத்த்த்தை வெளிக்காட்டுவதில்லை. அதனாலெல்லாம் அவள் மீது அவன் கொண்ட அன்பைக் குறைத்து விட முடியாது.  இந்த நேசம்தான் காதல் என்ற சொல்லைப் புனிதமாக்குகிறது.  உடல் ரீதியில் அவள் அவனுக்கு அன்னியமானாலும், அவன் கடல்கடந்து பர்மா சென்றாலும் இருவரும் ஒருவரை ஒருவர் மறக்க முடிவதில்லை.  இருவரின் நேசமும் ஒரு அமைதியான ஆற்றைப் போல கதை முழுவதும் ஓடிக்கொண்டே இருக்கிறது.  விவரிக்கப்படாத பகுதிகளில் கூட  மறைமுகமாக அந்தக் காதலின் நிழல் படிந்திருக்கிறது. ஸ்ரீகாந்த் பல பெண்களுடன் பழகுகிறான் – (பழகுதல் என்ற சொல்லின் மிகச் சரியான நல்ல பொருளில்)-.  ஒவ்வொரு பெண்ணும் சமூகத்தால் ஆண்களால் வஞ்சிக்கப்படுவதையும், அவர்கள் தங்களை எந்த அளவுக்குத் தியாகம் செய்து ஒரு ஆணின் துணையைப் பெற வேண்டியிருக்கிறது என்பதையும் அழகிய, அனுதாபமுள்ள ஓவியமாக வரைந்து காட்டுகிறது.  சரத் சந்திர்ர் காட்டும் பெண்ணியம், கூச்சலிடும் பெண்ணியம் அல்ல (கூச்சல் இடுவது தவறானது அல்ல என்ற போதும்).  மனதைத் தொட்டுவிடும் பெண்ணியம்.  தமிழ்நாட்டு எழுத்தாளரான லக்ஷ்மி போன்று ‘கண்ணீர் இழுப்பி’களை சரத் சந்திரர் எழுதவில்லை, நியாயமான ஆனால் கௌரவமான பார்வையில், பெண்களின் அந்தக் காலத்துப் பிரச்சனைகளை முன்வைக்கிறார்.  இதை மறுபடி மறுபடி சொல்ல வேண்டியிருக்கிறது. பெண்களுக்காக ‘இரங்கும்’ பார்வை இருந்தாலும், அது அவமானப்படுத்தும் வகையில் இருப்பதில்லை.   

வேலுச்சாமியின் கோயில்

        வேலுச்சாமி மரத்தடியில் அப்போதுதான் உட்கார்ந்தான்.  வெய்யில் தாழ ஆரம்பித்து விட்டது. இன்னும் கொஞ்ச நேரத்தைக் கடத்தி விட்டால், பொழுது சாய்ந்துவிடும்.  காட்டிலிருந்து ஊர்வரை ஆடுகளை ஓட்டிச் சென்று பட்டிகளில் அடைப்பதற்குள் நன்றாக இருட்டி விடும்.  இன்னைக்கு சொல்லும்ப்ப்டியாக எதுவும் நடக்கவில்லை.  ஒரு கொம்புவளைந்த வெள்ளாடு இட்து கால் கெந்திக் கெந்தி நடக்கிறது.  ’கழுத எங்க இடிச்சதோ தெரியல’.  இந்த மந்தையில் மொத்தம் நூற்றிச்சொச்சம ஆடுகள் இருந்தன.  கஞ்சி குடித்த கலையைத்தைத் திறந்து பார்த்தான்.  அதில் ஒன்றும் இல்லை என்று தெரியும் ஆனாலும் பார்த்தான்.  மதியம் நல்ல பசி. ஞாபகம் வந்த்து விரலை உள்ளே விட்டு வழித்து நக்கிவிட்டான்.  புளிச்ச மோர் விட்ட கம்பங்கஞ்சி ருசியாக இருந்தது.  ஆடுகள் இடம்நகராமல் அங்கேயே நின்று கொண்டு மேய்ந்தன. அதுகளுக்கும் தெரியும். போக வேண்டிய நேரம் வந்தாச்சு. 

        சட்டென்று கிழக்கில் புழுதி கிளப்பிக் கொண்டு ஏதோ வண்டி வருவது போலிருந்தது. விரட்டிக் கொண்டு வந்தான்.  யாரென்று தெரியவில்லை.  வில்வண்டிதான்.  ”எதுக்கு இந்த வேகாத வெய்யில்ல விரட்டிக்கிட்டு வாரான்?”  எழுந்து நின்றான். வண்டிப்பாதையில் இருந்து ஒரு நடை தள்ளித்தான் ஆடுகள் மேய்ந்து கொண்டிருந்தன. அவனிருந்த மரத்தடியும் பாதையில் இருந்து தள்ளியே இருந்த்து.  வில்வண்டியின் வேகத்துடனே செம்மண் புழுதியும் கூடவே வந்து கொண்டிருந்தது.  உள் மனத்தில் ஏதோ உறுத்தியது.  வண்டி பாதையில் தன்னைக் கடந்து போய்விடும் என்று நினைத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தான்.  வரவர வண்டியின் வேகம் குறைந்து, இவனிடத்திற்கு நேராக வந்ததும் நின்று விட்டது.  வண்டியில் இருந்து நாலைந்து வேட்டி, துண்டு போட்ட நாலு பேர் இறங்கினார்கள்.  ஒருத்தனுக்கும் பெரிய மீசை. நல்ல தாட்டியம். கம்பீரமாக இருந்தாலும் சட்டைத் துண்டேல்லாம் புழுதி படர்ந்திருந்தது.  கூட இருந்தவர்களில் இருவர் ஒல்லியாக இருந்தார்கள்.  இன்னொருத்தன் நடுத்தரமாக குண்டா இருந்தான்.  அவன் கையில் வீச்சரிவாள் இருந்தது. மற்றவர்கள் கையிலும் ஏதாவதொரு ஆயுதம் இருந்ததை அப்போதுதான் பார்த்தான்.  ’என்ன சிக்கலோ? எவன் மண்டையப் பிளக்க வாரானுகளோ?’ என்று நினைத்துக் கொண்டே வேலுச்சாமி அவர்களைப் பார்த்தான்.  பெரிய மீசைக்காரன் அவனைக் கைகாட்டி அசைத்து வரச்சொன்னான்.  கையில் இருக்கும் ஆயுதங்களைப் பார்த்த்து “ என்ன சாமி வேண்டும்? என்று மெனக்கட்டு மரியாதை போட்டுக் கேட்டான்.  “வால மயிராண்டி, வந்து பதில் சொல்லு” என்று நடுத்தரமான ஆள் கூப்பாடு போட்டான்.  மரியாதைக் குறைவாக்க் கூப்பிட்டதற்குக் கோபம் வந்தாலும், அவர்களிடம் அரிவாள், வேல்கம்பு இவற்றைப் பார்த்த்தால், அடங்கித்தான் பேச வேண்டியிருந்த்து.  அவர்களை நோக்கி நடந்தான்.  ‘வெரசா வாலே’  என்று அவர்களில் ஒருத்தன் மீண்டும் கூப்பாடு போட்டான்.  ஏதாவது பண்ணையாராகத்தான் இருக்க வேண்டும். இல்லை என்றால் இந்த மாதிரிப் பேச மாட்டான். இடத்தூர்க்காரனாகத்தான் இருக்க வேண்டும்.  இரண்டு பேர் கையாள் வேற கூட்டிக்கிட்டு வரானே? வேகமாக நடப்பது போல் பாவலாக் காட்டினான்.  அடிக்க கிடிக்க வந்திட்டான்ங்கன்னா? என்று மனதில் ஒருபுறம் ஓடிக் கொண்டிருந்த்து.  சண்டியர்கள் என்ன செய்வார்கள் என்பது தெரியாது. 

        அவன் அருகில் வரும் வரைக்கும் காத்திருக்க பொறுமை இல்லாமல், ‘இங்கிட்டு ஒரு பொண்ணும் பையனும் போறதப் பாத்தியா?” என்று கையாள் ஒருவன் கேட்டான்.  ”இன்னைக்கு ஒருத்தரையும் பாக்கல்லையே?”  ”அப்ப நேத்துப் பாத்தியா?” ”ஆமாஞ்சாமி நேத்து, ஒரு இளவட்டப் பயலும், ஒரு சின்னப் பொண்ணும் அந்தால அந்த கருங்குளம் கம்மாய்க் கரைக்குக் கீழ்ப்பக்கமாப் போய்க்கிட்டிருந்தாக”  

“ஏல தேவிடியா மகனே, சரியாச் சொல்லு, ஏதாவது தப்பாச் சொன்ன இங்கெயே மண்டை பிளந்திறும்” இப்போது பெரிய மீசைக்காரன் தான் பேசினான்.  அவர்தான் பண்ணையோ? கெட்ட வார்த்தைகளில் திட்டியதைக் கவனத்தில் கொள்ளாமல், “இல்லை சாமியோ, கீழ்ப்பக்கம்தான் போனாக.  கோடித்துணி போட்டிருந்தாக.  நான் இங்கே இருந்துதான் பார்த்தேன்.  “பிறகு இந்தப் பக்கம் வரலை. அந்தால போய்ட்டாங்கன்னு நினைக்கேன். குளத்துக்கு கிழக்க, ஊர்ல கேட்டுப் பாருங்க”. ”குறிமட்டும் தப்பாச் சொன்ன நாளப் பின்ன இங்கிட்டு நடமாட முடியாது.  கால எடுத்துருவோம்” பெரிய மீசை அரிவாளைக்காட்டி மிரட்டி விட்டு, வண்டியில் ஏறி விட்டது.  வில்வண்டி கருங்குளம் கம்மாய்க் கரையப் பக்கம் வெகு வேகமாய்ப் போனது. 

        வேலுச்சாமிக்கு ஞாபகம் வந்தது.  நேற்றுச் சீக்கிரமே வந்து விட்டான். வெய்யில் ஏறுவ்தற்கு முன்னால் இங்கே இருந்த போதுதான் ஒரு இளவட்டப் பையன், ஒரு பெண்ணை இழுத்துக் கொண்டு இந்த மரத்தடிக்கே வந்தான்.  “எங்களை இவுக அப்பா ஜமீன் வெள்ளைத்துரை விரட்டிக் கிட்டு வாராக.  பிடி பட்டொம் செத்தோம். என்ற ஓடி வந்த களைப்பில் உட்கார்ந்தார்கள்.  பையன் அரும்பு மீசையுடன் இருந்த இளவட்டம்.  களையாகத்தான் இருந்தான். பொண்ணும் அழகுதான். பத்துப் பதினேழு வயதிருக்கும்.  கழுதக, ஒண்ணு மேல ஒண்டு பாசமாகி, சேர்ந்துக் கிடலாம்ன்னு நினைச்சிருக்கும். “ நீங்க ரெண்டு பேரும் யாரு? உங்க ஜமீன் ஐயா எங்கிட்ட வந்து வழி கேட்டு, சொல்லாட்டி என்னை வெட்டிப் போட்டுருவாகளே”

”இவபேரு இசக்கி. இவதான் புத்தூர் ஜமீந்தாரோட மூத்த மக. நானு அவங்க கொலந்தான். ஆனான் வீட்ல வேல பாக்கே.  எங்க ரெண்டுபேருக்கும் பிடிச்சிப் போச்சு.  அதான் ஓடியாந்திட்டோம்.  அவுக அப்பன் விரட்டி வருவான். அதுக்குள்ள தப்பிக்கணும்.” 

”இந்தப் பக்கம் வந்தீங்கண்ணா எப்படியும் தெரிஞ்சு போகும்.  அந்தால மேக்க போங்க.  மூணு நாலுமைலு நடந்தா அங்கிட்டு கோவில்பட்டி ரோடு வரும்.  உச்சி வெய்யிலுக்குள்ள போனா ஒரு பஸ்ஸுவரும். அதில ஏறிக் கோவில்பட்டி போயிருங்க.  அதுக்கப்புறம் உங்க பொழப்பு.”

அவர்கள் அவன் சொன்னதை நம்பி மேற்குப் பக்கம் போய்விட்டார்கள்.   தேடி வந்தவர்களை வேலுச்சாமி கிழக்குப் பக்கம் அனுப்பிவிட்டான்.  வண்டியில் வந்திருந்தால் தட்த்தை வைத்துக் கண்டு பிடித்திருப்பார்கள். நல்ல வேளை நடந்து வந்தார்கள்.  செம்மண் பாதையில், காத்து அடிக்கிற வேகத்தில கால்த்தடம் கூட இருக்காது.  யாரும் மீண்டும் வந்ததில்லை.  

வேலுச்சாமியின் பிழைப்பு அப்படி.  இப்படி இரண்டு மூன்று தடவைகள் நிகழ்ந்திருக்கின்றன. ஆனால் ஒவ்வொரு முறையும் இரண்டு மூன்று மாதங்களுக்குள் எங்கிருந்தாவது செய்தி கிடைத்துவிடும்.  ஓடிப்போனவர்கள் மாட்டிக் கொண்டார்கள்.  இரண்டு பையன்கள் கொலை செய்யப்பட்டார்கள்.  மூன்றாவதில் பையன் பெண் இருவருமே வெட்டிக் கொலை செய்யப்பட்டார்கள்.  வேலுச்சாமிக்கு கொஞ்சநாட்கள மனக்கலக்கமாக இருக்கும். அதற்கு அப்புறம்தான் யார்வந்து கேட்டாலும் வழியை மாற்றிச் சொல்லி விடுவது என்று முடிவு கட்டினான்.  ஆனாலும் உள்ளுக்குள் ஒரு பயம் இருந்து கொண்டே இருக்கும்.  “ஏண்டா வழிய மாத்திச் சொன்னே என்று எவனாவது அரிவாளைத் தூக்கிக் கொண்டு வந்தால், தலை போய்விடும்”.  புள்ளைகளைக் கண்டு பிடிச்ச உடனே அவர்கள் மீதிருக்கும் கோபத்தில், அப்பனுக்கும் ஆத்தாளுக்கும் மத்தவுகளுக்கும் வேறொண்ணும் நினைவிருக்காது. 

இப்ப்ப் போன குடும்பம் ராசா குடும்பம் (அதாவது ஜமீன் குடும்பம்).  துப்பாக்கி எல்லாம் வச்சிருப்பாங்க.  அன்று யோசித்துக் கொண்டே இருந்ததில், மந்தையை பட்டிகளுக்குள் அடைத்து, கஞ்சியைக் குடித்துவிட்டுப் படுக்கும் போதுதான் தன்னினைவு வந்தது. அவ்வளவு நேரமும் அவர்களைப் பற்றித்தான் நினைத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தான். சின்னப் புள்ளைக செஞ்சது தப்பா? அல்லது அப்பனும் ஆத்தாளும் செய்றது தப்பா? என்று அவனுக்குப் புரியவில்லை. 

மூணு நாலு மாசம் கழித்துத் தகவல் கிடைத்தது.  தேடிவந்தவங்க புத்தூர் ஜமீன் ஆளுகதான்.  பையனையும் புள்ளையையும் வெட்டிக் கொன்னுட்டாங்களாம்.  இது மாதிரி முன்னால் நடந்திருந்தாலும், வேலுச்சாமிக்கு அந்தப் பெண்ணின் முகம் ஞாபகம் வந்து கொண்டே இருந்த்து.  சின்னப் பிள்ளை. அதைப் போய் வெட்டியிருக்கானே அவுக அப்பன்.  வெளங்குமா? அது தெய்வம் மாதிரி. அந்தப் பிள்ளையின் முகம் அடிக்கடி கனவில் வந்து கொண்டே இருந்தது. ஒருவாரம் கழித்துக் காய்ச்சல் வந்தது. வேலுச் சாமிக்குச் சந்தேகம்.  அந்தப் சின்னப் பிள்ளைதான் ஏதோ வந்து தொந்தரவு பண்ணுகிறது.  மனைவியிடம் மட்டும் சொன்னார்.  “உன்னை சாமியா நினைச்சுக் கும்பிடுதோம்மா. என்னை ஒண்ணும் பண்ணீராத. ஒரு சேவலறுத்து, எங்களால ஏண்ட அளவு பூசை போடுதோம்.  உடம்பை மட்டும் சரியாக்கிரு.  கண்டிப்பாச் செய்தோம்” என்று ரெண்டு பேரும் வேண்டிக்கிட்ட மூணாம் நாளு காய்ச்சல் விட்டது.

வேலுச்சாமிக்கு உடம்பு தேறியதும் ஆட்டு மந்தைய மேய்க்கிற இடத்தில ஒரு கல்ல நட்டு, சின்னப் புள்ளைய நெனச்சிக்கிட்டே சேவலறுத்து, பூசை போட்டனர்.  வருசா வருசம் பூசை போடுதோம்னு வேண்டிக்கிட்டு வந்தார்கள். சாமி சில செஞ்சு, பூசை போடற அளவுக்கு வசதி இல்லாததனால, ஒரு மண்ணையும் சாணியையும் கரைத்துப் பூடம் கட்டி வைத்தார்கள். வேலுச்சாமி வருசா வருசம் அங்க கோழி வெட்டி பூசை போட்டு, தன் குடும்பத்துக்கு ஏதும் கேடு வந்துவிடக் கூடாதென்று வேண்டிக் கொள்வார்.  இசக்கி என்ற பெயர் யாருக்கும் தெரியாத்தால் அது விக்கிரகம் வைத்துச் சாமியாகவில்லை. எதற்காகப் பூடம் இருக்கிறது என்று யாருக்கும் தெரியவில்லை. வருசா வருசம் கொடை கொண்டாட வேண்டும் என்பது பரம்பரைப் பழக்கமாகி விட்டது. இன்னும் நடந்து கொண்டுதான் இருக்கிறது. 

தொலைக்காட்சி

 

       தற்போதெல்லாம், பிரதமராகத் தகுதி உடையவர், நரென்ந்திர மோதியா அல்லது ராகுல் காந்தியா என்ற பிரச்சனை ஊடகங்களில், முக்கியமாக ஆங்கில ஊடகங்களில், அதிலும் குறிப்பாகதொலைக்காட்சி ஊடகங்களில் தலையாய செய்தியாக, விவாதமாக ஆகிவிட்ட்து.

       

        இந்த ஆங்கில ஊடகங்களைப் பார்ப்பவர்கள், இந்தியாவைப் பொறுத்தவரை மத்திய உயர்ந்த வகுப்பைச் சேர்ந்தவர்கள்.   நகரங்களில் வாழ்பவர்கள், எந்த மாநிலத்தில் வாழ்ந்தாலும், அந்த மக்களுடைய பண்பாட்டின் கூறுகளில் இருந்து விலகி, உயர்ந்து நிற்பவர்கள்.  சுதந்திரத்திற்குப் பிறகு வெகு வேகமாக வளர்ந்து வந்த இந்த வகுப்பினருக்கு இந்தியா என்ற கருது கோள் மிகவும் விருப்பமானத்7.  இந்தக் கருது கோள் மூலம் அவர்கள் அடைந்த பலன்கள் மிகப்பல>  படித்துவிட்டாலும் தங்களுடைய மாநிலத்தில் குறைந்த வருமானத்தில் இருக்க வேண்டிய கட்டாயம் இல்லை. 

 

        தமிழ்நாட்டில்பிறந்தாலும், இந்தியா என்ற பரந்த நாட்டில் எந்த நகரத்தில் இருந்தாலும் பொருளீட்ட வழி இருக்கிறது.  எந்த மண்ணோடும் (மாநிலத்தின் நிகழ்காலத்தோடும்) நேரடியான அரசியல் பொருளாதார பண்பாட்டுத் தொடர்புகளால் நேரடியான பாதிப்புக் கிடையாது.   இவர்கள் இந்தியா என்ற கனவுத் தோணியில் மிதப்பவர்கள். 

       

        இந்த வகுப்பினருக்கு தங்கள் பிரச்சனைகள்தான் இந்தியாவின் மிகப்பெரிய பிரச்சனைகள்.   உதாரணமாக, விமான நிலையங்களில் கண்ணாடி சரியில்லை, அமெரிக்காவில் இருப்பது போன்ற சாலைகள் இல்லை, ரயில் பெட்டிகள் அழகாக இல்லை, பஸ்கள் சொகுசாக இல்லை. பேரங்காடிகள்(மால்கள்) நிறைய இல்லை.

 

        ஒரு நகரத்தின் முனிசிபல் அரசியல், அல்லது மாநிலத்தின் முதல்வராக யாரிருப்பார் என்பது பற்றி இவர்களுக்கும் இந்த ஊடங்கங்களுக்கும் எப்போதாவது தான் கவலை ஏற்படும்.  இந்த வகுப்பினரும், மற்றப் பெருநகரங்களில் வாழும் இவர்களது தோழர்களூம் நோக்கும் பொதுப் பிரச்சனை, அதிலும் எந்த அரசியல் நடவடிக்கையிலும் இறங்காமல் வாய்வீச்சிலேயே காலந்தள்ளும் பிரச்சனைகள் சில.  மோடியா அல்லது ராகுலா, காங்கிரஸா பி.ஜே.பியா, நீயா நானா, அமெரிக்காவா ரஷ்யாவா? தினமும் நிறைவேறும் நாடகத்தைத் தவிர வேறு பிரச்சனைகள் கிடையாது. இதுவே தமிழ் ஊடகங்களில் கருணாநிதியா, ஜயாவா, ஸ்டாலினா அழகிரியா என்று இடம்பிடிக்கும்.  அரசியல் என்பதை இப்படிச் சில தனி நபர்களின் பிரச்சனைகளாகச் சுருக்குவதில் ஊடகங்களுக்குப் பெரும் வசதி உண்டு. இப்படி எல்லா விஷயங்களையும் எளிய கதாநாயகன் வில்லன், இன்னும் சொல்லப் போனால், (இராமாயாணமாக, அதாவது,) இராமன், இராவணன் என்ற இரட்டை நிலையில் பார்ப்பது வசதியாக இருக்கும்.  இப்படித் தெருச்சண்டையைப் போல் மாற்றினால் தான் காட்சிப் பொருளாக( Spectacle) மாற்ற முடிகிறது.  சிக்கல்களை விவாதிக்க ஆரம்பித்தால், நேயர்கள் புரிந்து கொள்ளத் தடுமாறுவார்கள். அவர்கள் புரிந்து கொள்ளும் வித்த்தில், அதாவது தெருச்சண்டை வடிவத்தில் கொடுப்பதே ஊடகங்களூக்கு நல்லது. பார்ப்பவர்கள் எண்ணிக்கை பெருகும் வருமானம் பெருகும்.  இந்தப் பின்னணியில் தான் அரசியல் செய்திகள், விவாதங்கள் அளிக்கப் படுகின்றன.

 

        தெருச்சண்டை ஊடகங்கள் என்று இவற்றைச் சொல்லாமா?

 

 

Creator’s Silence

     It was a pleasant morning in the Jungle. Thick canopy of trees covered the whole area. Beyond the forest, there was a rivulet on the banks of which a cluster of thatched huts looked like moles in the green body of the jungle.  Valmiki, the great poet finished his morning ablutions and came out of his thatched hut in the jungle. He looked at the trees at the entrance as if expecting someone. Birds were chirping, squirrels were running on the branches of the trees. The cacophony of sound made by birds, animals and insects was so loud that nothing else was audible.  Morning Sun was rising in the east. His red and yellow rays coming through the trees and bushes were radiating warmth in the cool ambience of the place. Dew drops on the leaves of grass were shining in the sunlight that would swallow them in a matter of minutes without trace.  This was their offering to the Sun God, who gives everything on earth. Dew drops could show within them, though only for a few minutes, the mighty Sun that was so big and powerful. Like the Child Krishna, who showed the Universe in his mouth.  

     It was a peaceful place, suitable for educating pupil without any outside disturbances or distractions. Only male students were attending the Gurukul. Valmiki had sent his disciples on a tour of begging, to the villages and towns nearby.  The cereals and raw materials collected would then be cooked for the Rishi and his disciples staying at the Ashram for education. This was the custom passed on from generations of Gurus. This is part of practicing simple life. Begging makes a man humble and erases his vanity. Valmiki and his disciples lived by the grace of god and patronage of the people of the villages nearby.

     Valmiki had chosen this ascetic life when he was very young. Born in tribal community, he grew up as an illiterate boy. Though he had a few material things, he was free and happy with what he had.  He knew everything about the jungle, animals, plants and seasons. Once a seeker of knowledge came and stayed in the jungle for meditation. Valmiki remembered his name, Narada. He did meditation for many years. Taking pity on Narada, meditating for such a long time without food, people helped him to survive in the jungle as is their wont. On completing the meditation Narada was very happy that he had acquired what he had sought. He also felt obliged to the people of the jungle and Valmiki who had served him well. Observing that Valmiki was curious beyond his age and very intelligent, he taught him alphabets and inspired him to record his knowledge on the jungle, plants and animals and the tribal customs, songs and stories. Valmiki was exceptional. After teaching Valmiki some literature and grammer, Narada left the place. He knew that Valmiki would be one of his best students and blessed him for achieving excellence. Only in his laters years Valmiki realized that he had been a student of Narada, the veena bearing great worshipper of Vishnu.

     Valmiki was learned scholar, but still a tribal at heart. He wanted things to be simple. He took the food cooked for his students.  His only goal was attaining more Knowledge and more wisdom and for attaining his goals he was ready to sacrifice anything. He was respected by kings and emperors and worshipped by his disciples and ordinary folks.

     Once Prince Rama visited him and requested him if he could have the fortune of his counsel in the affairs of the state and that Valmiki’s knowledge and education, intelligence and wisdom might not flower fully in the jungle. He would be happy if he had to handle many challenges in running the affairs of the state. He assured Valmiki that he would be given exalted position in the Durbar.

     But Valmiki refused his offer. He said “I would be drawn into the worldly affairs and pleasures and would forget my goal. Wisdom and Knowledge come from studying and observing and that it is all hard work. It is not a boon granted by Gods. Poverty and not plenty, provides the inspiration for thirst for knowledge. Wealth compels the people to enjoy the pleasures of life and to forget the reality of life. I would continue to live in this jungle for myself and for the sake of my students. Gaining and spreading knowledge are the vocations I had chosen for this life. Kings and elite could avail of the services of many wise and intelligent men. There are wise men who exchange their knowledge for money and power. Those intelligent men who enjoy good life could only remain with the kings and advise them. I am not one of them.  Knowledge is an ornament in the chest of the rich and powerful, but a weapon in the hands of seeker who establishes new paths of knowledge.  I want to educate those who could not otherwise get educated. They would be seekers of knowledge. If I involve myself in running the country, I would be surrounded by self-seekers and those who have ambitions of power and money.  If you want to do something for me, please arrange to build huts for myself and my students”. The hutments in the jungle were built with the money and material provided by the Prince Rama.   

     The king had sanctioned annual grant of money and material for the maintenance of the Ashram. But the expenditure on the students and seekers of knowledge arriving in the ashram far exceeded the grants given by Rama and Valmiki was not the person who begged the kings. He could beg before people of the nearby towns who for him could do anything. He belonged to them.

    Over the years, Valmiki had heard about emperor Rama and his glorious rule in the country. Every sage, citizen and even enemies were praising and appreciating the good work he had been doing. Valmiki could not believe that such a ruler could exist and enforce his dharma. He had the opinion that future generations would hardly believe that such an emperor ever existed on this earth.  Valmiki was inspired by the merciful Lord of the Rama Rajya. Spontaneously he started composing story of the emperor in verses.  It was as if a spring of poetry has suddenly burst and filled his existence and an epic was born. It was an epic born of a love of the hero. It was to show that ordinary human beings trapped in the worldly affairs could achieve greatness. It is not necessary to renource the world.

     Since hero of his epic was still alive, he had to foresee the events that would happen in the life and times of Rama. He had started the epic and incorporated the events that had happened and he went on narrating the story as it happened and he could foresee the events that would happen. He had completed the epic inspite of the fact that events narrated in the epic had not happened till he finished the epic. He had initially reckoned that the epic could be finished within a few years. It had become his all consuming passion. It took away the best years of his life. Now he was 90 years old, but was very healthy and satisfied. His students reported that every educated person in the society had read some part of the epic or heard it being recited with reverence. However, even Valmiki could not have prepared himself for the event which challenged his understanding of the life. It was a woman whom he considered as the epitome of virtue, who threw the challenge.

     On a day he was exhausted and was taking rest. He had a strange premonition that something  was amiss. As he had reached such an advanced age when nothing other than death mattered, he did not bother to find out what it was. If he had desired, he would have found out as to what was coming as he had the potence to know past, present and future.   However he decided to confront the reality as it came. He knew that challenge lies in not knowing the future and still facing it as a surprise rather than knowing everything that would come and then shaping it as per his convenience. There was no thrill in it.  

     There was a call at the entrance of the Ashram. Someone has turned up in the middle of the day and called him. It was an odd hour for someone to visit him, between noon and evening. At first he ignored that call presuming that to be a delusion. But the he heard calls three more times and he had to get up. The sun’s rays were turning yellowish and the shadows of the hut and the trees were growing longer and longer. Even his pet animals, Deers, Cows and Dogs were quiet.  He slowly walked with the support of his stick and crossed the front space to the open the wooden gates. The visitors were cultured; they waited for him to open the gates. He could see a woman and two young boys standing in front of the gate. They were not from the nearby places.  The woman looked very tired and he guessed that they were exhausted because of the long journey. Their soft cotton dresses indicated that they were from a rich family and their distress showed in their faces. Dishelved hair of the woman and the agony in her face seemed inappropriate to the beautiful face.

     They fell at his feet and and cried. Valmiki softly told them to get up and once they did, he embraced them like a father. The woman sobbed like a small girl. After few minutes he asked them who they were. She told him in very low tones that she was Sita, Rama’s wife. He could not recognize them. His memory was failing. She again reminded that she was the wife of emperor Rama of his epic and the two boys were her sons. Valmiki hesitated for a moment and thought whether this could be real or he was in the middle of a bad dream. But Sita said again “Sir, I am Sita, wife of Rama, cohart of the great Rama of the epic Ramayana that you created. You created an epic from our life, your epic in turn has created our life. Our life has become miserable. Only you can save and protect us”.  Valmiki still failed to understand as to what she was talking. Women in distress could be speaking in clear terms and men, even Valmiki could not understand. There was an invisible screen that separates their understanding of life.   He was shocked. His guests were royals and they had come to him in this condition. He welcomed them into his hutments. He noticed that in the middle of such a pain there was some relief in Sita’s eyes.

      He asked them “Did you mean to say that you have come all the way from Ayodhya without any escorts?”

     Sita replied “Yes we have travelled alone, in Carts. In many stretches we had to walk. My sons are the only escorts and defendents. I have them for protection and they have only me for their love and care. We do not understand that what fate has in store for us. It might not be good anymore. My god, my husband has failed me. You had the prescience about the events in our life and incorporated it in your epic. Could you not foresee this? If you have, please tell me what have we done to deserve this? Also guide us to do the right thing. My husband, the virutuous, had to thorw me out not only from the palace but also the country.”

     He consoled them that he would take of their life and would educate the boys further. “You are my daughter and you would get anything you want here. Don’t worry about anything. I am here. Your boys can join the others in this Ashram and they can study further. Relax and take rest for you have travelled a long distance from your home. Were there not robbers, animals on the way? You should not have come alone. It took me a while to recognize you. Robbers and animals would not know that you were from a royal family”. His words calmed Sita a bit. She thought that there was no difference between a royal family and others in treating women of their households. There was nothing royal about their suffering.

     Valmiki knew that Sita’s sorrow was caused by unnecessary doubts and gossip. But why was Rama carried away by these? He could not think about Rama in such a low esteem. Probably Sita had not informed the King where they were heading. But why the king had not taken care of them or sent some escorts. He could not understand.

     The sage was not convinced that the epic he had composed with the blessing of god could be changed by him now when the events have gone beyond his power.  He felt very sad that Rama had done this to them. He had portrayed him as a paragon of virtue and She an example for generations of women. Is it the fate of future women too? He said “You look tired and harassed, mentally and physically. You take rest at the hut. I would arrange something for your food. We will talk in the morning”.

     Sita, on finding that there was no one in the place told him amid tears that she would take care of cooking and he should show the kitchen for her to prepare food. Valmiki said “If you are hungry prepare food and eat and then take rest. Give me something. Let us talk about your life in the morning. I would take care of you and relieve you of your suffering. This is my promise”. He could not visualize Rama’s life without Sita. Had his creativity failed?  

     Sita and her sons had a hearty meal after many days and felt as if they were staying at her father’s place.  They felt very relieved at the hospitality extended by Valmiki. She was living in grief like a fish in the water. She did not know how to get out of it. It was clear that her reputation had been spoiled irreparably and there was no way of redeeming it. After being banished by Rama, no one would hear her.  It would be her word against the words and reputation of the greatest king, Rama. How could she tell the saint that Rama had doubted her loyalty and virtue and told her to leave him and Ayodhya. This order was passed purportedly in order to save the reputation of the King. She wondered if rumours could shake the emperor and his reputation. If mere presence in Ravana’s palace garden waiting for Rama to rescue her could create this doubt and end in such a sentence, what about Rama who was enticed and liked by many woman in Ayodhya and other places?

     Instead of doubting her, he could have poisoned all of them silently without anyone knowing. That would have been more honourable.  Nobody could have questioned the affairs of the emperor. She had to be humiliated in public in order to retain unblemished glory of the king.  He had done this to a woman who suffered in waiting for years in the Garden of Ashokavan, within the fortress of Ravan’s palace.  Sita could not sleep properly from the day King conveyed this through his emissaries. She even doubted whether king had actually passed the orders. He refused to meet her. There was a wall made of falsehood, reputation, politics and subjugation. Why only she should be held responsible for what has happened.

      She had started her journey in search of Valmiki who had created her in the epic.  At the least he would save her reputation. She watched her sons in the middle of the night. They were pretending as if they were sleeping. They were worried about their mother. She tried to go out of the hut in the night. Both the boys got up and called her ”Oh mother, where are you going?”. She, without answering, returned to her bed. Three of them could not sleep for the rest of the night. On the morning, Lava asked his mother “Have you lost hope, mother? You had told us that Rishi Valmiki would be our savior. Why could not we wait to hear what the sage says? We could think of the next step after discussing with him”. Sita did not reply. Tears flowed from her eyes. She could tell her owes only to someone elder to her in age. Lava and Kusa were brought up as children of the king. They did not know the world and its ways. Even she knew only Rama and he ditched her.    

     Kusa, asked his mother “You said that this was the author of our story, Ramayan. How could Ramayan be our story? It was about our father. We had all but small roles to play in the Epic. There are thosands of characters who had contributed to the greatness of the emperor and his achievements. We cannot claim sole credit for it. Why Mother, you were created? Is it only to bring glory to the emperor? Were we few of the bricks that built the great reputation of Rama? Having built the reputation, there is no need for us and now that we have been reduced to this, would not this affect the edifice?”

     Lava, said ”Emperor Rama, for now that I do not consider him our father, could not have achieved many things without the contribution of many people. Even as we were not solely responsible for his achievements, had we not played our role? When he could patronize and reward the squirrels that helped him build the bridge to Lanka and even the people who, remaining within the palace, had started the rumours about our mother, could he not tolerate our presence in the capital. Exile is more dishonourable than the punishment of death. Whole of the country would be talking about our sin and shame.” They had been discussing this endlessly for many days. They could not be consoled by any reasoning.

     Though, Valmiki was in a separate hut and not listening to their conversations, he could not sleep. He thought about Sita’s fate and the lives of Lava and Kusa. The greatest agony for a wife is husband’s doubt about her loyalty and chastity. At this age he could not recall exact verses or words in which he had described the lives of Rama or his family. Had he done some serious injustice to them? Were there some poison seeds in the character of Rama that he missed them or was it the public opinion. Having renounced the throne once for the sake of his father’s words, couldn’t he do anything for his wife in the face of spreading canards?  He had ended the Ramayana with coronation of Rama. How was it that an event illogical to the spirit of the epic ruin the beauty of life of his characters. Had he in his enthusiasm for telling the story of Rama, forgotten to mention human frailities? If whatever he had composed had become true, could he revise the epic after the lapse of more than twenty years? Would this revision of his epic affect their real life? These were some of the questions that bothered him whole night. Even Valmiki was a human being. He was worried. At this age he had become so weak that he could not even think properly.

     Lava and Kusa were surprised that this great sage and a very humble, learned poet, wise and sympathetic to them, had never thought of anything bad about Rama. They were innocent. Why was the king bent upon punishing them? Could anything that began as a virtue end in such vitriol? If he knew that all that had happened to them would happen, why did not he prevent them from happening? Or why in the first place he should create in his epic such endless suffering for a Lady who was goodness personified?. Was it all simple for the sake of literature? Or Is he the God whose decision, irrespective of reason,  is final? If he can create life out of his literature, surely he must have been the most powerful of the Gods.

     Sita and her sons were satisfied that they had come to the right place. But they were not sure that he would solve all their problems. Perhaps he could re-create situations in the epic in order to make them happy. The changes in real life would definitely follow. While God created them, it was he who essayed their lives. If only he could consider revising the epic and their life, everything could be as in heaven.  They did not know that revising an epic composed by a poet at the height of his creative trance, when all his wisdom and knowledge about the world, Men and women and their characters and his perspective on life, was at work, is not so easy.  The epic was written with his life and blood, virtually. But even though he composed the epic on their life, it is their life which is at stake? Is he not answerable to the fate of his characters Or to the fate of the human beings that are real?

     Valmiki, wondered whether he could revise the epic to accommodate the Sita’s desires and resolve her problems.  How and when he could compose the end of the story of Rama and Sita? He knew that Sita underwent an ordeal of fire to prove her innocence. Still doubts had persisted. Might be that Rama was convinced but he did it for others so that his kingdom could be saved? Is it his throne? Is it a throne of betrayal?  A king whose wife was kidnapped and kept in prison by Ravan and who waged a war and rescued her, killing Ravan, could exile his wife for staying in the very place where she had been kept as prisoner?  Then why did her rescue her? Is it for establishing his courage?. He forgot to think about Lakshman and others.

     Valmiki woke up in the morning.  Sita was missing. Lava and Kusa were searching her and crying. He could not do anything. He saw one of his characters vanish into thin air.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

     As he grew up, M’s interest in studies waned and his passion for things other than academics increased. The authoritarian commands of the teachers and tyranny of the syllabus had made his education a miserable burden that had to be thrown away at the first opportunity.  Fortunately, none prodded him to perform well in studies for there was no one to care for him.  The boys who excelled in studies did it on their own. When he answered many questions by the history teacher in 9^th class, the teacher called him ‘History man’. He had finished reading Tamil, History and Geography books within the few days of obtaining the copies of the books. But he hated even to think anything remotely connected with arithmetic.

     His science teacher quoted from Kamban’s Ramayanam,  the verse describing in many soft sounding words, the beautiful women in disguise Takakai, who tried to seduce Raman (of the Ramayana).      He wanted to read such literature. But teachers would sincerely teach topics in the text books and only some teachers mentioned about other books and literature. He found Ramayanam a bit boring. He could not relate to the incidents nor the royal ways that looked so alien and unreal. Kamban’s poetry was the attraction and not the Ramayanam.   

     It was a practice in the school that whenever, it took time for the teacher to arrive for the class, one of the boys had to read aloud from “My experiements with Truth’. From sixth class to ninth class they had heard every line in the book many times over. He had unconsciously been imbibed with the details of Mahatma Gandhi’s struggle both in his personal life and in politics in South Africa and in India. Gandhi could unhesitatingly, reveal every thought and M felt shameful that he could not do so. His resolutions for speaking truth could only be fulfilled in dreams and not in reality. He identified himself with Gandhi for his handwriting was bad there was nothing else in common. Like Gandhi, he also did not try to improve his handwriting.

    When his science teacher in ninth class asked how many of the boys had read about journey of Kon-tiki, a boat, a norwegean explorer used for crossing pacific ocean in a small traditional boat and reached Polenesian Islands, he held his head high. He had read the book and liked the adventure. First time in his life someone appreciated what he had done. It was not related to academics.  Science teacer looked handsome, taught science very pleasantly and quoted from Tamil literature often and this impressed M a lot. M tried to copy his walks and looks. It was this teacher, Mr. V who imbibed an interest in Literature and Science.
    Mr.V also resided with the boys in the Hostel. He had a very small room which he shared with a Tamil teacher, Mr.L who was also a good teacher. But two good teachers are not necessarily equipped deal with adolescence, as he realized later.

     Mr. V also taught English for 9^th class. He was very particular about his student’s handwriting practice. Everyday every student has to write at least one page. He would check the notebooks of the students at random and punish severely the students who failed to write at least one page. One day, during morning study hour (after morning prayers and before break-fast at 8).  M was pretending to read a text book. He had to do this everyday. He observed that most of the boys’ attention during the 45 minutes study hour was on things other than studies for it was a pleasant time that cannot only be wasted only in textbooks. Teachers on duty ensured that there was absolute silence, an inducement to sleeping. Boys kept incense sticks burning to ward of mosquitos.

     M, one day during study hour was worried whether the grape juice he had kept 10 days ago in a metal tumbler would become wine, as happened in the stories of Sindbad. Though he was tempted to open and see he decided not to open the lid of the glass for the next 20 days.  His scientific research was interrupted by his fellow student, K tapped his shoulder and said that teacher, Mr. V called him immediately. K’s mischievous smile was an ominous sign. He could not guess the reason, for he was not one of the favourites of the teachers. K was close to Mr.L and did many errands for him. The way K shook his head further terrified M. But he could not anticipate what was coming.

     When M entered his room Mr.V did not notice him. But another teacher, Mr. L welcomed him with a sarcastic smile by which he tried to suppres his anger which was visible on his face. He showed a handwriting practice note and asked him whether it was his. Before M could finish saying ‘Yes’,  Mr. L asked him “Whom you have written this letter to?” and showed him a letter  written in pencil. M had written this letter to an imaginary Love. But even if he had posted that letter, he was sure, nothing would have happened. The letter not dropped in the post box, an object of sin, became the invitation for god’s wrath. God questioned him through teacher.  Before he could answer, Mr.L slapped on his left cheek. It was so hard and painful that M’s head whirred and he stumbled for a while. When he regained his posture, Mr.L questioned him “Is there any girl?. He said “No” and it was a half-lie. Telling half-lies would make things bad.   Mr.V then said “I left this job to Mr.L. You could not bear my slap” He stated this with the relish of a prison guard speaking to a man released after his jail term. It was true Mr.V was tall and sturdy. M left the room in tears in his eyes and red imprints of Mr. L’s right hand on his left cheek.

   He later recalled that he had kept this confidential letter, written in Tamil in Roman alphabet inside the empty notebook for maintaining it secret and submitted it instead of similar notebook, by mistake. Name of the girl was real and she came in his day-dreams. He hardly knew her. She was a girl of his age, a neighbor in his hometown, not privy to his confidential dreams.  For years, he dreamed about many girls but never had the courage to give even a hint of his dreams to those whom he dreamed about. His dreams, if recorded on paper, were confined to flames, or if in his mind, died an unnatural death by aphyxiation.
     Boys asked him the reasons for the tears in his eyes and imprints of fingers on the cheek.  He could have announced his achievement like a knight proudly if his love was real or if he had posted the letter and faced any tragic consequence. He could not shamefully declare that he was a coward who expressed his love in dreams and enjoyed the bliss. He remained quiet.

     Chapter 3

     Mahatma Gandhi had inaugurated the boarding school in 1934 when he was on a visit to Coimbatore. Mr.A, who founded the school, was a Gandhian, in thoughts, words and in deeds. M had almost seen him everyday. Founder’s residence occupied the central place in the campus.  He was a bachelor with frugal habits. He wore only white Khadi clothes, a full-sleeved kurtha (called Jibba,  in Tamil and a Dhothi (called vaetti).  M saw him doing vigorous morning walks on the school grounds. He was more than 60 years of age. There was a special soft glow in his skin. In the evenings, he sat in a bamboo chair in the sandy square listening in very low volume to the News in his tiny transistor (of foreign make, – of course a gift from someone). M was surprisied at the low volume, for M, a thirteen year old boy, sitting in front, could not properly hear the voice. Mr.A used an old broad-bodied Chevrolet car of the sixties, presumably presented by some one, whom he could not refuse, for it was the only thing in his life that was not in conformity with his simple life-style.

     On one side of the square in front of the Buddha statue, there was this grey granite-stone building with its high ceiling that looked grand. On the ground floor, one of the rooms was occupied by the founder; another room at the other end was a sick room. One more room in between these rooms was the class room for 9^th Standard. Boys in the 9^th Std were required to attend to Mr.A when he rang the bell for them very rarely.  On the first floor was the Prayer Hall. Mr.A had used his enormous personal wealth and contributions from many others for the fourteen institutions that the school started with one Ramakrishna Paramahansa, Vivekananda and Mahatma Gandhi after the morning prayers held at Six in the morning. He knew Ramakrishna and Vivekananda through one of the disciples of Vivekananda, Shri Shivananda. He spoke intimately about Mahatma Gandhi with whom he had travelled at lot. He was passionate about all the three great men. He was inspired by them. M had on many occasions talked to him, heard him speak to the audience, about the opportunity we have, in this life, to serve the poor and the needy. He wanted each of the students to aspire for excelling in any of their chosen fields and told them that they have enormous potential to achieve great things in life and that they were born for this.  M had seen, observed and interacted with this great man for nearly six years, albeit from a distance. M was moved to tears whenever he heard about Mahatma Gandhi. Only after he grew up, M could realize that Mr.A’s life and words had influenced him in many ways than he could perceive. Mahatma Gandhi’s words had also trickled through Mr.A to him.

     Many years later, M read the autobiography of another Gandhian freedom fighter, Mr.Y, who had described and justified that Mr. A, then a Congress candidate for election in the district, was an ass in that he would carry out his responsibilities entrusted to him dutifully and faithfully. On that day, M decided that he would also become an Ass for it would be an honour to be an Ass like Mr.A, who was a symbol of sacrifice and hardwork.
    M had to get up at Five thirty in the morning, take bath and had to rush to the prayer hall by six. Mornings in the place were very cold for him. He had come from a hot climate. It was difficult for him to take bath in the cold water. Many smart boys occupied the water-taps in which water flow was better. M did not and could not compete with them. He had neither the inclination nor the strength for enterring into altercations with the other boys of his age. He always wanted to avoid fights. He could not also mouth epithets others so easily used.  He was weak and slow in doing everything. As if he was numbed by the circumstances. 

     On Sunday mornings, many boys were busy doing their routine chores like washing clothes. M had a lot of work. Nothing seemed very interesting. He was doing many things simply for the sake of it. He hated washing his dresses.  He could not know or tell why he hated it. He had made up all kinds of excuses like that he had no  detergent soap, had no money for buying soap or that he could do it later. Most of the times he had no money even for a haircut and there were other attractions like eatables. Even if he had asked for it, his parents could not send money immediately. None of the teachers or teacher-in-charge of his class ever asked him about the reasons. They also never spoke to him about his family. He was hesitant to initiate a conversation.  One of the teachers, Mr. Govindasamy, commented many times that his shirt was not very clean and asked why he did not use blue for the white shirts? He also called M the ugly queen-2. M swallowed the insults. After all insults did not harm him physically and those insulting were neither the Rishis and nor their words turn true once mouthed.  There was nobody to whom he could relate to emotionally.   He always felt that there was a lump in his throat that stopped him from speaking his mind.  In all those six years he never had more than three sets of trousers and shirts. It was a luxury to dream of more shirts or trousers. Many times he had to borrow shirts used by his class mates the previous day. They also resented this as the  shirts got dirtier next day and that increased their work. He almost never had a comb and borrowed it most of the time. He also never applied oil to his hair and missed the weekly oil bath.  He had a very small metal trunk, which was always almost empty for he had nothing to keep in it. 

     Sundays were the days when small vendors crept into the campus. Ice-cream seller was the most prominent. Another man always had collected crowds of students around him by telling stories liked by adolescent boys. He also sold some stationery, mostly Ball Point pens that were a craze at that time. M liked having ice-creams and on most of the Sundays he could never fulfill his dream of having an ice-cream stick. There was also a small shop manned by the students that sold many eatables and stationery. M could only visit the shop or the vendor of ice-creams in the hope of someone fulfilling his desire for eatables. He almost never had any cash with him. Students were not allowed to keep cash or dresses other than the uniforms. Many parents who resided in nearby towns visited their sons and brought them eatables and small cash. M’s parents were staying far away. It took at least eight hours travel by bus to come to him. One or two times his father and mother came and went within one hour. It was hard for them to come all the way from more than 500 kilometres just for a visit of a few hours if not minutes. One of his parents would come, very rarely. They would never come to-gether for that would involve more expenditure than they could afford.  He could see his sister or other relations only when he went home on holidays. There was a library in the school.  He started reading books. He read books that were beyond his age.  He read about chemical elements in the books borrowed from the library when in class 8, but when it was included in the syllabus in class 9 he started to look at them indifferently. That, he understood later, is the contribution of the system of education.  He discovered in books companions and friends and guides he lacked in real life. He read poetry, novels, science subjects, travelogues. His curiosity only increased.  He found that books gave him the confidence that he could survive lonely in the crowd with barely anything but doubts and unanswered questions.