Theeyoor Chronicles Read online

  In those days, the main local leader of the Marxist Party was a man known as CTC – C.T. Chandran. He had an overblown sense of self-worth and a habit of addressing everyone casually and without respect – ‘eda’ and ‘poda’ and so on. He treated his political opponents with extreme scorn and condescension, attitudes he also reserved for the police. He had no qualms in proclaiming through a loudspeaker set up in front of the police station: ‘Sub-inspector, circle inspector or the superintendent of the police force – I don’t care! I’ll cut off anyone’s balls if needed.’ He was arrested and tortured during the Emergency, and had spent seven months in jail. The Party was indebted to him for these glorious services, but more importantly, they owed their eternal gratitude to him because CTC was the main reason why the Naxalite movement, at its height in 1969–70, failed to find purchase among the youth of Theeyoor. He had no understanding of political philosophy, but his fearless manner and the ability to make crisp comebacks that silenced his opponents came to the aid of the Party in those days.

  At the time Ramachandran frequented the Marxist Party office, CTC was over fifty years of age, but his diction and demeanour were those of a much younger man. He was adept at pulling the required strings with the Party’s elected representatives in the Legislative Assembly and other leaders to get things done for those he favoured, and in putting his detractors in their place, and it was this that made people flock to him, fondly calling him ‘Chandretta’ – big brother Chandran – despite his pomposity. Most of these were young men nurturing dreams of a fruitful political future. Ramachandran did not entertain such dreams, but he was among those who flocked around CTC, eventually becoming one of the three young men who were closest to him.

  Ramachandran had always been of a sturdy disposition. Life with CTC, where there was plenty to eat, strengthened and developed his physique. Copying his beloved leader, he had learned to go about with his chest puffed up, arms swinging, and speaking and grunting at people in an authoritarian manner. He also copied CTC’s habit of stopping every now and then to raise his head and look around. CTC, meanwhile, watched these changes in Ramachandran with interest. He was pleased that a young man from a wealthy family had made him his role model, and now he had the additional pleasure of having someone constantly with him like a bodyguard.

  Ramachandran’s mother, Sulochana, had by then become a bitter woman. The quarrelsome nature that she had developed as a result of her husband’s sexual incursions had by now expanded not only towards her own family but to everyone else. Any hope that Ramachandran had of a tender word or gesture from his mother had long been dead, and he barely even went home any more, spending his time, instead, at the offices of the Marxist Party and Theeyoor Brothers, or at CTC’s house. In these places, he did not feel like an outsider. Appanu Nambiar also seldom went home. He had abandoned his dalliance with Prema a long time ago. (She, too, had gotten over her intense desire for sex.) He had no interest in politics or public service, and with time on his hands, he turned his attention to buying and selling property, and a small ‘blade’ business – lending money at extortionist interest rates. Initially, these were convenient excuses for staying away from home, but when the first couple of transactions brought more financial returns than he had hoped for, he got truly interested. He spent most of his time after school meeting with people and taking care of his accounts, and the work gave him a real respite from the headaches that awaited him at home.

  It was around this time that a man from Tirunelveli named Pichayya came to Theeyoor, and started a flower-selling business. When he and a young lad who was his assistant had appeared in Theeyoorangadi dressed in tatters, everyone took them to be ragpickers from Tamil Nadu. A tiny room that belonged to a pappadam seller, Chetty, was lying vacant near the bus stand. Pichayya rented it. Every night, the young lad went to the wholesale flower markets in Mangalapuram, and returned by the afternoon train the next day. Until then, Theeyoorians had not considered flowers to be something that could be traded, that had commercial value. Pichayya’s trade flourished and he became a man of considerable means right before the eyes of the other traders in Theeyoorangadi. But the real reason for his prosperity was not the flower trade. He too had a blade business that he conducted on the side. He lent small amounts of money for a week at a time – 50 or 100 rupees – to small-scale fish sellers and other small-time merchants in the market who needed ready cash to buy stock, and charged an interest of 25 per cent. Within a year and a half, he had stopped lending small amounts and started dealing in thousands, even tens of thousands, of rupees. The interest rate also underwent a change and became 50 per cent, and the time limit for paying the money back was a year. However, he continued lending small amounts to people he knew really well and who were in dire need, but woe be to him who did not return double the amount within thirty days.

  Pichayya had made these changes to his transactions after returning from a brief trip home to Tirunelveli. He came back with three new associates – strapping, strong-muscled men. Before going to Tirunelveli, Pichayya had, through Appanu Nambiar, settled on a price for the purchase of a house and an eleven-cent piece of land in Kundungal, a place a bit further inland from Theeyoor Meleyangadi. He completed the purchase as soon as he got back to Theeyoor. He handed over the flower stall to one of his new associates – he and the young lad were to live in the shop premises – and moved into the newly purchased house in Kundungal with the other two associates.

  Every evening, Pichayya would bathe, dress in a fresh silk jubbah and a mundu with a woven gold border, and pace slowly in the front yard of the house. The bulge of his belt, packed with the money to be transacted on the day, could be seen through his jubbah. His burly associates would be on the veranda, playing a game of carrom. When those who needed to borrow money arrived, Pichayya would accompany them on to the veranda. Upon receiving a signed blank cheque – there would be no compromise on this – Pichayya would hand over the amount requested, deducting the interest for the first month, in an envelope. The date on which the whole amount was to be repaid would be written on the envelope.

  No matter how urgent the need, Pichayya lent money only if the request was made at least ten days in advance. Those ten days were when he did his due diligence and made extensive inquiries about whom he was lending money to. Full-time political activists, drunkards and those who had a bad reputation regarding the repayment of previous loans could not expect a single paisa from Pichayya. Such people were sent back on some pretext as soon as they entered his yard. His favourite clients were those with no affiliation to any political party, and those who valued their personal reputation above all else.

  Pichayya knew that Appanu Nambiar dallied, in addition to his property business, in small-time moneylending, and that he was the only other person involved in this business in all of Theeyoor. He had been trying to convince Appanu Nambiar that they should pool their resources and go into business together. But Nambiar had been reluctant, that is, until an unexpected setback in a transaction brought him to Pichayya. They talked at length, honestly and openly, and when their conversation ended, they had decided to become business partners.

  Soon after that, one day, on the way to the school, Appanu Nambiar sat down by the roadside feeling faint and with a searing pain in his chest. He took himself to the primary health centre, where he was told that his blood pressure was high and that an ECG was called for. At the hospital in Payyannur, they kept him for five days, and in those days it was his colleagues from the school and Pichayya who stood by him. His wife and son did not visit him even once. He left the hospital with the realization that his heart was weak, and that he had to make some changes to his hectic lifestyle and sleep patterns. Death was not something that he had allowed his mind to dwell upon until then, but now he brooded on it all the time. At the hospital, he’d had a recurring dream: he was in a bullock cart going slowly uphill through a dense cloud of dust, and his parents, dead now for over forty years, were hugging him and weeping. And eve
ry time he woke up, he could not believe that it was just a dream. Back at home, the dream continued to upset him, and he began to believe that it was a sign that his death was imminent. The thought that, if he were to die suddenly, Pichayya would make off with a large chunk of his fortune troubled him, and when that thought became a constant flame burning in his mind, he climbed up the stairs to the Marxist Party office in Theeyoor Meleyangadi. Ramachandran was drinking tea and chatting with his comrades. Appanu Nambiar called him outside. And on that day, father and son, who had been reluctant even to look at each other for over two years, walked together to the top of Theevappara, trying, haltingly, to hold a conversation.

  2.

  Sitting in a quiet corner on Theevappara, Appanu Nambiar talked at length with his son. He told him about the state of his health, and that if he died the money he had made painstakingly, foregoing essentials and working himself to the bone, would be taken away by strangers. Political activism won’t bring personal wealth, he told his son, and it was time he found a way to stand on his own two feet. Appanu Nambiar asked his son to take over his place in the business with Pichayya. Ramachandran was only too familiar with the consequences of not having a personal income, and was happy to accept his father’s proposal.

  The next day, father and son met with Pichayya. Appanu Nambiar had already discussed the matter with him, and a detailed plan had been set in place. Ramachandran’s name would replace Nambiar’s from now on in the business. But for now, only a quarter of Nambiar’s share in the profit would be handed over to Ramachandran, and that too a sum not exceeding 1,000 rupees per month. Any excess amount was to be put back into the business. Appanu Nambiar had withheld these details from Ramachandran when they had talked the previous evening on top of Theevappara, and now it was Pichayya who laid them out. Ramachandran was not pleased, and Pichayya’s mannerisms irritated him, but he kept his counsel and agreed to the terms. He was enthralled by the opportunity that had been presented to him, lifting him out of his current status into one that would allow him to handle large sums of money personally.

  The loan amounts had gone up again after Pichayya joined forces with Appanu Nambiar. They now lent as much as 25,000 rupees to their clients, and their clientele now came not only from Theeyoor but from Payyannur and Thaliparamba. Almost all the traders in Theeyoorangadi had taken loans from Pichayya and signed blank cheques for him at least a couple of times. When he found out these details, Ramachandran experienced a new sense of self-importance.

  Despite joining the blade business, Ramachandran did not abandon politics. He imagined that his association with CTC, and their self-assured parade through the streets of Theeyoor, gave him a respectability among his fellow men, and he was not about to give it up. However, he began to realize that the intensity of his own respect for CTC was diminishing. He had always held a deep scorn for the other members of the Party, especially members from his own age group in the Democratic Youth Federation of India and the Students’ Federation of India, and treated them with an outward show of friendliness even as he nurtured a hatred for them deep inside. Now, having had a couple of drinks with Pichayya’s henchmen and gone to Kuppam to threaten a client who had faltered on repayments, he began to feel that his comrades in the Party were lightweights who held him back.

  The elder members of the Party had disliked Ramachandran and his close relationship with CTC. CTC, despite all his faults, had a long track record of unconditional service to the Party, while Ramachandran was a mere pretender. He had no political pedigree, none of his family members had ever been involved with the Party. Other than shouting some slogans and sticking posters on walls, he knew nothing at all about the Party. They could not abide by the fact that such a person wielded so much influence. They were also troubled by the ethical dilemma of having to protect the son of a man who had a moneylending business. (They were still unaware of Ramachandran’s direct involvement in it.) Finally, when Ramachandran passed some lewd comments on a young woman, Rajani, the daughter of Vayalumkara Krishnan Maniyani, as she was on her way to college, and the incident led to an altercation in the bus where it happened, they had their opportunity to strike.

  CTC and some other members were in the Party office when a comrade, K.C. Kannan, said openly that CTC’s relationship with a scoundrel such as Ramachandran would bring disrepute to the Party. Just as he finished explaining his position, Ramachandran entered the office.

  ‘Eda, I’ve been hearing some troubling things about you,’ CTC said to Ramachandran in a loud voice.

  ‘What troubling things?’ Ramachandran asked. He was not pleased that CTC had chosen to confront him in front of others.

  ‘You want me to spell them out to you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Ramachandran. ‘If you think there’s some problem, better tell it to my face.’

  ‘Poda! Get lost!’ CTC dismissed him.

  Ramachandran could not stomach the insult. He left the office immediately, and went straight to the Congress Party office in Theeyoorangadi. Some of the prominent local leaders – M.K.V. Bhaskaran Nair who was the current local president of Congress (I), Chaminiyan Raghavan, known as C.R. Vayalumkara, who had been an excellent spokesperson for the Congress during the independence struggle, and Chathu from Theeyoor Thekkumbhagam – were present in the office at the time. They were involved in a heated discussion about the altercation with the Marxist Party about the digging of a well near Kundungal. The sudden appearance of Ramachandran in their office perplexed them. However, Bhaskaran Nair had the wherewithal to act quickly to hide their consternation.

  ‘Oh, Ramachandran, come in, come in,’ he said with a wide smile. ‘Here, have a seat…’

  Ramachandran ignored the proffered seat. He said, ‘Can I have a word,’ to Mavunkal Purushu who was the block president of the Youth Congress, beckoning him outside. Purushu went, albeit reluctantly. Ramachandran had thought long and hard about how to present to the members of the Congress Party the incident where CTC had disrespected him.

  ‘Something has happened,’ Ramachandran told Purushu. ‘I need your help, and I need to know right now whether or not you’ll help me.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’ve been having some trouble with my Party members for a while now. It started with the construction of a sickle-and-hammer statue in front of your office in Chenkara. CTC was the main instigator behind it, and I was really against it and said so openly. Today, we had words. You know Rajani, the daughter of Vayalumkara Krishnan Maniyani?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Well, she and CTC’s nephew Ramesan who works at the milk cooperative have a thing going. I caught them having tea together at Bombay Hotel in Payyannur. And I mentioned it casually to CTC. What did he do? Bit my head off! Told me he’d have me beaten for spreading rumours. I can look after myself, but still, something needs to be done, don’t you think?’

  Purushu was overcome with joy. A man who, until today, had passed him by without even acknowledging his presence had now come asking for his help!

  ‘Go and wait for me at the chai shop down the road,’ he told Ramachandran. ‘I’ll have a chat with the others and then come find you.’

  Sending Ramachandran away with a handshake, Purushu went back to the office and told his friends the story, embellished liberally with his own twists and turns. When he finished, C.R. Vayalumkara asked, ‘If Rajani and Ramesan are an item, what’s it to Ramachandran?’

  The question made everyone laugh, even the usually stern-faced Bhaskaran Nair.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘But we could use him.’

  Purushu fetched Ramachandran, and they sat together and composed a statement. The title – ‘Farewell, barbarians!’ – was Purushu’s contribution. The statement described a long list of problems created by the Marxist Party that made peaceful life impossible for the people of Theeyoor and of Kannur district as a whole. The last paragraph was Ramachandran’s declaration of his decision to sever all links with the Party. Irrev
ocable differences of opinion with the Party’s underhand tactics to influence the purchase of land to dig a well in Kundungal, and his firm opposition to the scheming and plotting that was going on within the Party to harm the Congress Party, which had staunchly taken a righteous path in the matter, were cited as reasons. The statement concluded with this sentence: ‘The Congress movement has a long line of heroic figures – from Mahatmaji to Indiraji – who selflessly dedicated their lives in service of this country, and I wish to join them as a humblest of humble servant following the path of non-violence.’ Ramachandran did not like the phrase ‘humblest of humble’ at all, but he signed the statement regardless. Laddus, sponsored by C.R. Vayalumkara, were distributed to everyone present to commemorate the occasion.

  The day after a thousand copies of the statement were delivered from the printers, the Congress Party organized a public meeting at the jetty near Theeyoorangadi, and Ramachandran was officially given the membership receipt by the Youth Congress district secretary. Two days later, the Marxist Party called a meeting at the exact same spot, with CTC as the main speaker.

  ‘Until yesterday, that silly lad was following me everywhere, and now they hold a meeting to make him a member of their party!’ CTC began his speech. ‘Youth or adult Congress, he won’t change his nature, and you better watch out. Those Congress people think that they have stumbled upon gold bullion. But do you know what they’ve actually picked up? They’ve picked up a turd – a big, fat, sticky turd!’ CTC concluded amidst ear-splitting applause.

  Appanu Nambiar was annoyed. His son had, instead of giving up politics altogether, given up on the Marxist Party and joined the Congress. The Congress was of no use, they were only interested in collecting the membership fee. Nambiar had advised his son to loosen his ties with the Marxist Party slowly and quietly, but instead he had gone and done this foolish thing. The Marxists were the type to hold a grudge and take revenge, no matter how long they had to wait. Those who had business that they would rather keep under wraps were better off not doing anything to upset them. Appanu Nambiar’s anxiety reached new levels thinking about the calamity his son’s actions might unleash.