Ch. 11 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA – CLOSING BELL - Palghat Tales

 

I      Swamiji looked stern. “What have I taught you Vaithy? Have I not taught you anything? Non-violence is for sanyasis. Do you not remember the story about Gandhiji ? This was exactly what Gandhiji said in our time: “You allowed your women to be dishonoured by the police; you must use even your teeth to protect your honour.” These are the words of Gandhiji, who was a votary of non-violence from every point of view; but he knew that cowardice, and non-violence cannot go together. Humanity has this weakness. Sometimes they can be excellent people, very peaceful; sometimes they become aggressive, wicked, violent.”

 

Swami Ranganathananda

“Keep these emotions and feelings inside, just calm them down a little. Then you can see things clearly; otherwise, it will be like life in Delhi when there is a dust storm. They call it 'Aandhi' (आंधी); you can't see anything. The whole sky is full of dust. Similarly, emotions and feelings without any control, become like 'Aandhi' for the mind. When they settle down, you can see things clearly. So, in the burst of emotion, in the burst of feeling, don't do anything; don't say anything. Whatever you do at that time will not be correct. Feeling should be controlled by thinking.”

Vaithy, listened, face down. He had first met Swami Ranganathananda when he was Secretary at the Ramakrishna Mission in Calcutta. Now, he was President of the Mission, responsible for its activities all over the world. For Vaithy, he was teacher and spiritual guide. He had come to Belur, to seek his advice and the teacher was being direct, as always. In the end, Vaithy knew what he had to do.

II     The night manager recognized him when he checked in at the Connemara. He was led into his room, overlooking the garden and room-service brought his supper while he rang Thangam, to tell her he had arrived.

Bharathiyar Memorial

As always, he arose early and after his prayers, headed to the Parthasarathy Temple. The crowd was thin and he felt distracted, his mind elsewhere. As he came out, he remembered his days as a student, living in Triplicane. The sights were familiar, as he walked towards the house where the poet Bharathiyaar once lived. It was now a museum. He wandered through the by-lanes, trying to remember the way to the mansion in which he had once shared a room as a student. He found it at last, and walked in. He climbed the worn, wooden staircase and paused before the familiar door on the second floor. It was locked, but he tried to imagine the room as it had been.  He imagined the easy laughter, the calendars on the walls, the camaraderie within.

A little before noon, he joined the patient crowd outside the door of ‘Kasivinayaga Mess’, bought his token, and greeted the owner K. Vasudevan . Then, he sat down with the forty or so others around him and ate a hearty lunch of rice rich with ghee and daal; sambaar, rasam, koottu, poriyal, vathalkolambu, pickles, buttermilk, curd and appalam. He relished every morsel, and it reminded him of the days when he would eat in ‘Patti Amma’s Mess’. Those homely meals were the only comfort in an otherwise spartan, student existence.

 

Kasivinayaga Mess, Akbar Sahab St., Triplicane

Returning to his hotel, he dialled the number to Chuppam’s in-laws. Her father-in-law answered the ‘phone and was taken aback when Vaithy asked him if he could drop in. Would five o’clock be convenient? He arrived at the house on Bradis Kesil Road five minutes early, waited outside and rang the bell precisely at five, walked in and said “No” to coffee, “I just had coffee, before I left”, his voice curt. When did he arrive? Last night, the hotel was comfortable. No, he didn’t want to cause any inconvenience. No, he didn’t want to bother them, the hotel had a car. Adayar was not far. How were they doing? No, really, he didn’t want coffee, a glass of water perhaps.

Eventually, Dr. Gopalakrishnan broke the awkward silence. “We are so sorry. My wife has not been eating or sleeping properly for several weeks now. He is our only son, and she blames herself. It is not her fault. I was not at home enough when our son was growing up, not there to discipline him. He grew up getting everything he wanted. I became a good surgeon, but a bad father. We miss the children terribly. The house is empty without them. I have suspended him from hospital duty. I wanted to come to Calcutta, but what face could I show to Chuppam? Only you can speak to her. You have my word. I am giving you my word. As a father.”

When Vaithy finally spoke, his voice was steely-edged. “I didn’t come here to bargain for better terms for my daughter. You had fifteen years to correct what was going on under your roof. You let my daughter and your grand-children be abused. I have bought a flat for them, next to ours. There are good schools in Calcutta. I still have the strength to look after my children. Namaskaram. I have to reach T. Nagar before the shops close.”

III   The IPO had been a success and Vaithy was going over the report from the lead managers. The 150,000 shares allotted to him by the board had given him a good nest egg. In the following months, Vaithy and MD’s son worked hard, hiving off divisions and restructuring the firm. The first signs of dissent appeared at a meeting of the board that was called just before the Diwali holidays. MD’s son sent in a letter of absence, along with a dissenting note.  MD was in the chair and placed the note before the meeting. “Under the present circumstances, I feel compelled to draw the attention of the Chair to the board resolution at the last meeting, where it was decided that the future course of action with regard to Points (2) and (6) on the agenda would be discussed no later than July. This has not happened. Dissent is not the same thing as disloyalty. I therefore, think it prudent to place before the board, my viewpoints, in order for discussions, without my presence being a disruptive factor.” MD’s son had thrown down the gauntlet. In the coming months, the debate within the board about the firm’s future would escalate.

The next board meeting was a tumultuous one. Since MD had signalled he wished to step down as Chairman, there had been murmurs amongst the outside directors. They were split between Vaithy and MD’s son. As the day neared, Vaithy made up his mind. When he met MD a few days before the meeting, he shared his decision with him. “It’s time for me to go, we both know that.” MD nodded. He seemed shaken, for the first time. “We both need to go. Hand over the reins. Thank you for everything. Come, we need to get his blessings for the last time.”

They rode to Burrabazar and reached the modest office of Shardaram Narinjandas. MD asked the head clerk inside to fetch the keys to an ancient safe. He opened it, and removed a small, velvet pouch. MD took out a worn, silver coin from it. “When our great-grandfather opened this business in 1862, it was the start of everything we have today. He brought six coins with him after a pilgrimage to Manasarovar. He got them from a baba, who blessed him and told him they would bring good fortune. Our family has four coins left. Two are with our uncle. Here, take this coin. A small token, KV. For all the good things you have done for the family. Keep it. For good luck.”

Sardaram Narinjandas, Burrabazar

Guests at MD's farewell party

MD's son greeting a guest at his father's farewell party

Royal Calcutta Turf Club, founded 1847

IV        A month later, the farewell party at the RCTC was a glittering event. It was attended by MD’s friends from business and social circles. The Mayor dropped by. A smattering of celebrities, diplomats and bureaucrats. Singers and poets. Mrs. MD’s favourite designer. MD looked happy and relaxed for the first time. His son stood back and watched, as his parents were traced on canvas by a young artist. Everyone present enjoyed the lavish spread. The great chef Adarsh Khosla outshone himself with his fusion cuisine. Smoked Collared Greens. Ginger Infused Gobi Masala. Anari Baingan. Roasted Potato Dumplings with Red Cheese Sauce. Goji Berry Pulao. Peshawri Naan. Rose crust pedas. Crème brûlée rice kheer. Pear Tatin. Sandesh. Kesari Kulfi withTal Mishri.

Sri Kailasa temple, Manambadi, Thanjavur

They went out into the lawn and MD lit a cigar. “What will you do now, KV? Thangam told me you have found a temple. Is it really a thousand years old?” “Yes, I found some papers in our old house in the village. My great-great grandfather came from a village near Kumbakonam. There is a Shiva temple there. Built by Rajendra Chola himself. The inscriptions prove it. I saw it in a dream. When I went there, I knew it was the same temple. I am going to contact the ASI. The shivalingam is intact, but the gopuram is in ruins. Imagine! A thousand years old and no one cares! MD, we are a nation of ignorant people! No sense of heritage. I know what I must do with the money from the IPO. Shiva is calling me.”

Main shrine, Shiva Temple, Manambadi village

-          The End

Text by Shankar A. Narayan. Photo credits: Ramakrishna Mission; Srinivasan Sampathkumar, Pushpa Iyengar, Biswarup Ganguly, BCCI, Sundeep Bhutoria, Krishnendu Das and Arunkumar Marimuthu.

Ch. 10 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA – BUILDING BLOCKS - Palghat Tales

Thangam's 60th birthday

I             Thangam’s 60th birthday was celebrated that year. All the children and grand-children would be present together in the village. Aachu mama was happy and tired at the same time. He seemed less active than before, and Nambisan’s daughter had to walk with him. His steps were less steady and he repeated himself. He asked Thangam several times, whether she was coming back soon. A few months later, Aachu mama would pass away, peacefully in his sleep.

Aachu Mama

Vaithy at home in the village

It would be Vaithy’s last chance to spend time in his child-hood home.  It had been a difficult decision to tear down the old house, filled with memories, but in the end, it had to be done. In its place, he decided to build a modest house, in a mix of the old and the new, a style sported by so many houses in the area.

 

Vaithy's child-hood home

When Thangam met Kaberi  BoseTuttell for the first time, it was at a Rotary function in Pittsburgh with Kannan. Born in Calcutta, she had migrated, married and worked as a teacher, Now widowed, she was active in her local circles. She told Thangam about her recent visits to Calcutta, and how she wanted to do more in her chosen field. They stayed in touch, and on her next visit, she and Thangam compared notes and found they had common goals. Thangam told her about the progress with the school at Shiuli and she agreed to move to Calcutta and help.

The ground-breaking ceremony had taken place almost two years ago. Since then, progress had been slow. Initially, Vaithy had thought it was just a matter of putting up the building, but it turned out to be otherwise. Thangam had found two very enthusiastic assistants. Atanu and Sutapa Roy, were then working as school-teachers in Calcutta and were employed as the first full-time workers at SEWA. Along with them, Thangam and Kaberi had started the process of making the rounds of the architect, the village panchayat office, the block office and the zilla parishad to get the necessary permissions. There were endless waits, repeated visits, followed by more visits. Weeds took over the foundations, while they waited for the necessary permissions. The architect they had hired gave up his commission. He would wait no longer.

II     Vaithy was a great believer in fate. He met Christopher Benninger at a talk given by the famed architect at the Bengal Club. Benninger had given up his tenured post at Harvard and settled in India. Since then, he had made a name for himself in urban development and signature structures, under the tutelage of his mentor B.V. Joshi. He had formulated concepts for affordable housing in several Indian cities, and had been overseeing the development of ‘bastis’ for the CMDA in Calcutta. Several SOS Children’s Villages bore his distinctive style.

When the talk was over, Vaithy approached Benninger and told him about the school project. Could he trouble him for some ideas? Perhaps he had some low-cost solutions that would be suitable for the project? The previous architect had told him that the site had an extremely high water-table, being next to a river, and the soil was very porous. Benninger was interested. He was free the next day. Could they visit the site? He didn’t like the hustle and bustle of cities anyway. A trip to the countryside would be welcome.

Christopher Benninger

Benninger was delighted with what he saw. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a site like this? It’s perfect for a school. The river provides natural air-conditioning. The plot is already fully planted with trees, so there is plenty of shade. I can see it. No high rises. A series of low class-rooms connected by walkways. Flower beds, lawns and fruit trees and open playgrounds. I have a young associate. I’ll send her over to make some drawings. She is better than me. Let me get back to Pune and I’ll get her to call you. You need a decent contractor. Someone who uses local materials.”

A few weeks later, when  Thangam answered the ‘phone, the voice asked if it was Venkitachalam’s mother. “Collector wants to speak, please hold.” She waited, and then a flustered male voice came on the line. “Hallo? Mrs. Baidyanath? I am Sinha, R.K. Sinha. Yes, yes, your son and I are batch-mates. Yes. Very brilliant, your son. Very brilliant. Yes, same batch. I have been posted here as Collector last month only. I spoke to Benkat, he told me about the school. You are facing problem? No more problem madam. Yes, yes. I will ask for the file. No problem. I will take care personally. From today. Yes, yes. At your service. All permissions, all clearance, my responsibility. Yes, yes. What? No, no, no. You don’t have to come. I will send my man. You go ahead with construction. Block office, panchayat, nobody will do anything. No, no no. Yes, you have pen? My name R… R.K. Sinha. Yes. You please take my direct line. Call me anytime. Day or night. At your service. Yes, yes, yes. I will take care. No problem. If anybody ask, you please take my name.”

R.K. Sinha, District Collector

III   R.K. Sinha kept his word and more than that. Within a few weeks the panchayat had sent over clear title to the land and a “No Objection” certificate. The BDO personally visited the area and ordered the PWD officials to start work on a metalled road to the proposed school, giving it easy access to the village and train station. Drainage, water and electricity connections, even street lighting appeared like magic. A contractor approached Thangam at the site, brandishing a letter of introduction from the Collectorate, offering to undertake the construction on a cost-only basis. She was taken aback, but he was convincing. He showed her photos of other buildings he had completed.

When the school opened, in the first year it had 32 students in two classes. All of them were children of farm-workers and daily-wage earners. Atanu and Sutapa Roy worked tirelessly to convince the villagers to send their children to the school. At first, it was an uphill task, but the lure of two square meals a day was a powerful tool. It persuaded the first set of parents to enrol their children. Within a year, there would be 90 students and in two years, their numbers would rise to 226. 

Atanu and Sutapa Roy

The school’s  philosophy was simple. Impart education in the vernacular, with a stress on building character and self-sufficiency. The school was as much a bridge to a brighter future for the boys and girls who attended it, as it was an outreach to the community. As the number of students grew, so did the staff. Among them, was Rehana, the girl Vaithy had brought home from the pavement many years ago. She joined the school as a teacher, and vindicated Thangam’s faith in her own vision.

Rehana with students

As the school grew, Thangam and Kaberi Bose Tuttel devised new plans for its future. They held fund-raisers in Delhi, Bangalore and Pittsburgh, and found new suporters for their cause. MD donated a collection of paintings that were auctioned, fetching a tidy sum for the Trust. Kaberi used her network to the hilt, bringing in much needed expertise and funds. Students from Pittsburgh began to trickle in, spending summers in Shiuli, teaching and helping improve the facilities. Even more important, they would spread the word when they returned, and more of their peers would find their way to the quaint village the following summer.

Kaberi Bose Tuttel

Three years after the school was opened, a vocational school and day care centre were opened. The new school offered women training in tailoring, arts and crafts and aquaculture. Upon completion of their courses, women were encouraged to start small businesses with micro credits. Within a few years, the women of Shiuli began to harvest the fruits of their empowerment.

IV   All the while, Vaithy was keeping a punishing schedule. Driven by MD’s son, who had joined him, they set about growing the firm. They travelled to Tokyo and Munich, to sign partnership agreements, laying the foundation for a new business foray. Overseas offices were opened in Lagos, Jebel Ali and Jeddah followed by Frankfurt and Port Louis. The firm’s expansion had been driven by a mix of ambition and pragmatism, but now its sights were firmly set on the future.

One morning, Vaithy was preparing to leave for the office when he felt panicky and called out to Nandu. Within a few minutes, he felt dizzy and lay down, while he tried to clutch at a glass of water. It slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor and shattered. Hearing the noise, Thangam came rushing into the room, and saw Vaithy clutching his chest, gasping for breath. That evening, he would wake up from the sedation in hospital. The doctor was surprised he had not felt it before. This could not possibly be his first heart attack. The test results were clear.

Chuppam was by his bed-side when he was discharged and came home. “Appa, I have something to tell you. Can I stay here? With you? I don’t want to go home.”  Vaithy looked at Thangam.”Not going back? What about the children? Are they having vacations?” Then came the tears and the welter of words from Chuppam.

Thangam had noticed the swelling on her arms previously, but had thought it was a rash. This time, when Vaithy was in hospital, mother and daughter had spent time alone, and Chuppam had confided in her. “He has been using all kinds of drugs to keep himself awake. I think it started when he was a resident. He used to do it to keep him awake, sometimes he had shifts that lasted twelve to eighteen hours. When we were newly married, I noticed that something was wrong. He had mood swings. He has a terrible temper. He has hit me. Many times. I asked him about it, but he kept refusing to talk to me. He works very hard. Sometimes he does six operations in a day. He is a very good surgeon. Once he comes home, he is a changed person. The children are afraid of him. I found out he uses steroids, and it only makes him more aggressive. I have told Appa, but he refuses to believe me. He treats his son like a prince. It has been hell for fifteen years.”

Vaithy listened as Chuppam sat by his bed and lightened her burden. He felt the anger swell within him. “My child, all this time, and I never knew.” He turned to Thangam. “You knew, and didn’t tell me? We need to show our face to our son-in-law.” His voice turned cold. “Don’t fret child, Appa is here.” He raised his hand, and wiped the tears streaming down his daughter’s cheeks.

Text by Shankar A. Narayan. Photo credits: Manoj P and Suman Ganguli.

Ch. 9 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA - DARK SHADOWS - Palghat Tales

I             “My dear Appa,

 It has been a very hectic month. There have been casualties coming in regularly, civvies and uniforms. We have put up extra tents. The Colonel has cancelled all leave and the nurses are doing a tremendous job, hats off to them! You must have read the latest in the papers, but don’t believe everything you read, our boys are giving as good as they get. The food is much better than it was when I arrived. I am getting a lot of valuable experience, glad that I volunteered for this posting. Please tell Amma that I will try to call when I can. I spoke to Gowri, she told me you had called her. She is feeling morning sickness but that is normal. I may not get leave, so it is fine that Amma is travelling to Delhi next month. Thanks for making the visit to Hanuman mandir for me. I have to stop now. Will write again soon. 

Yours respectfully, 

Papa”

 

Dorai and Manas

It was late in the evening when his secretary, Basu shuffled into his room and told him a man was insisting on meeting him. He wouldn’t say who he was, just that he had “something important to discuss about a personal matter”. Should he send him in? He had tried to tell him Vaithy was busy, but the man was adamant, and had been waiting since four o’clock. The staff had left and he was still waiting. Vaithy told Basu to let him in.

Gangaram Agrawal, alias Bhaiji

The man introduced himself as Bhaiji. “Please ring Lalbazar, Party office, anywhere, they know me:” So what did he want? “I am a social worker. I give protection. You are an important person.” Vaithy looked puzzled. “Why am I am important? What do you mean by protection?” Bhaiji leaned back, smiled and swallowed paan masala from a tiny silver spoon, before he continued. “We know about your account in the bank, we know about Mrs. Chater. She was giving us donations for many years. She used to be under our protection. We don’t want you to lose that protection. Please do not get me wrong. I am being friendly. Please think about it. I will come back next week.”

When Vaithy spoke to MD, things became clearer. MD knew the man by reputation. Bhaiji was a notorious enforcer. Extortion, racketeering, gambling – he was known to be a kingpin of them all, and his political clout was legendary. He had links to the underworld in Bombay. For decades, businessmen and traders had been forced to pay him off to avoid trouble. He was untouchable. MD was clear about what needed to be done. First, Vaithy had to find a safe house. Next, he had to get some muscle. “I think you should go home and pack for a few days. I’ll tell Biren to drive you. I have a place where you will be safe. Tell Thangam you are going on a business trip. There is no need to worry her. But first, we will pay a visit to Daw’s. There is something you should have. Let me make a call.” He picked up the phone and dialled. “Daw babu? I need to come around. Yes. Now. You will be in the shop?”

Nursing Chunder Daw & Co. B.B.D. Bag

Nursing Chunder Daw & Co. has been in business for two hundred years, the oldest arms and ammunition dealers in the city. It now resembled a museum. Muzzle-loading rifles from the days of Plassey. A monogrammed cutlass from Dutch Serampore. A strong-room at the back full of small bore rifles and assorted arms, the owners of which had long ago stopped paying their rentals. Calcutta was once the capital of small arms in India. The trade shifted to Kanpur after the government virtually stopped giving permits after the Naxal troubles in the seventies. MD and Vaithy walked into the shop, where Ashoke Daw, the sixth generation owner was waiting, looking forlorn and haggard. The man nodded at MD, they went inside the strong-room and emerged with a wooden box. Inside it was a .32 revolver and twelve cartridges. MD tucked the box under his arm, paid the rental and they walked out. He handed the box to Vaithy. “Keep this. For your safety. Don’t open it until you reach the safe house. Biren will show you how to load and use it. Take it! Not the time for iffing and butting, please!”

II     Vaithy was at a loss as to what he should tell Thangam when he came home. He did as MD had told him. He was going on a business trip. Something had come up, and he had to rush to Indore. Biren rang the bell at 2.30 a.m. sharp. As usual, Naik Birendra Bahadur Gurung (retd). was not very talkative as he placed the luggage in the boot, silently shutting the passenger door and placing himself in the driver’s seat. They set off, making good speed through the eerily silent roads, as Vaithy dozed off. When he awoke, Biren was shaking him by the shoulder, “Chai shaab”. He got out of the car and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five and they were by a ramshackle, wayside tea-stall. They drove for another hour and stopped. The ferry arrived and they crossed to Sagar Island and reached the Lighthouse keeper’s bungalow a little after 7 a.m. Biren knocked on the door and they were led inside. The keeper introduced himself. “I am Bishnupriyo Das. Please come in, I was waiting for you. Your room is upstairs, there is a bathroom. Please sit. Will you have tea? You can use the telephone downstairs. There is nobody to disturb you here. Please sit, please sit.”

Keeper's bungalow, Sagar Island Lighthouse

After an hour, the telephone rang. It was MD. Was everything all right? There was only one ferry every day, so Biren would stay with him until tomorrow. The light-keeper was a trust-worthy person, so he was safe. How long? Well, that would depend. Anyway, just relax and take it easy. Did he have some books to read? In a day or two, he would bring a visitor. Until then, he should just sit tight. Yes, could he please talk to Biren about the revolver?

That afternoon, they went out with the box into the garden and Biren showed him how to load and unload the revolver. How to cock it, point it and squeeze the trigger. 

III        It was the following weekend when MD brought the visitor. When Vaithy came down the steps, he found a man in a canary yellow shalwar kameez, occupying the entire sofa in one corner of the downstairs room. “This is Daoud Khan”, MD said, his tone casual. “He is going to help us. Fight fire with fire. He wanted to meet you. Tell him about everything.” Vaithy felt hesitant. The man leaned forward, his voice raspy. “Speak. Tell Khan”. He cracked his knuckles. “You trust sahib? Then speak, make Khan your friend”.  MD put his hand on Vaithy’s shoulder. Slowly, he narrated what the man calling himself Bhaiji had told him. When he finished, Daoud Khan spoke almost in a whisper. “Khan is giving his word. In my tribe’s name. This man is now my enemy.” He raised his finger. “Our enemy.”

Daoud Khan, head of the Yusufzai clan in Calcutta

As they stepped out for some fresh air, Vaithy aired his concerns with MD. They were brushed aside. “I know the man, KV, trust me. Daoud Khan has been helping the family since our father’s days. A situation like this is very complex. We cannot take it lightly. We have no choice. Bhaiji is a dangerous man. But even snakes can be made harmless. Leave it to me. Now, before I forget, I have told Thangam you will be away for some time. She has sent some books and some food. Pickles, I think. You like pickles?”

'The Illustrated Weekly of India', 12-18 May, 1985

Three weeks went by and Vaithy was chafing at the isolation. Biren would drive up to him, with files from the office. He brought letters and cheques that needed his signature on them. Snacks and his favourite condiments from Thangam. She knew he liked her freshly ground green-mango-and-ginger chutney. Her fried lotus roots and rice crisps were a comfort. He kept ringing MD for news, who kept telling him to be patient. 

As the days wore on, he became increasingly restless. The nights seemed to grow longer and he was frequently awake. The slightest noise outside his window would startle him. He became aware of the shadows moving in on him. There was something strange about the walls. They seemed to be closer than before. He began to get hot flashes, his sheets wet with perspiration, his heart pounding. He would wake up, feeling dizzy and groping for the pitcher of water. When Biren arrived the next day, he was curt, then snapped at him for having forgotten to bring along an old issue of The Illustrated Weekly of India.

Two more weeks went by before MD rang and told him that things were back to normal. The next day, he came to fetch him, and Thangam was with him. Together, they stopped at Birla Mandir, on the way back home. Bhaiji had agreed to accept a token, a face-saving gesture. Vaithy was curious. Why was Daoud Khan so keen to help? “Our grand-father used to purchase ‘hing’ from Daoud’s cousins in Afghanistan. Once, he had advanced money for a large consignment, but a tribal feud broke out. There was blood-shed and grand-father’s agents fled to Calcutta. They came to him, empty-handed. Grand-father wrote off the debt and helped them to start again. In return, the tribe swore their loyalty to him. Daoud Khan has kept the pledge to our family. He is the head of his tribe in Calcutta. They are like diamonds. You know, shiny but hard, very hard. He helps us when we need him.” Would the debt be ever paid off? MD shook his head. “Never, never. It is no longer a debt. It is a matter of honour. For him, not us”

IV   It was a rainy day and Thangam and Vaithy were looking at photos of their youngest grand-child. Manas was now a year-old and Dorai had written, asking them to visit him and their daughter-in-law at his posting in Kuttanad. He had been promoted and was well into his term as Collector. The photos were pleasing, but the day would be memorable for entirely different reasons.

Shiuli flowers

After breakfast, they drove to Ballygunge to pick up their lawyer, and then to Shiuli village and were met by the broker. Together, they arrived at the registration office. The owner of the land was waiting. They exchanged various documents for signature. Around 2 p.m., the ‘pattas’  to 102.5 ‘cottahs’ of river-side land had been transferred to the Shiuli Education and Welfare Trust (SEWA).

The next decade would see SEWA transform the lives of thousands of children and rural women in the area.

A month later, Thangam rang MD. Could he please come? Vaithy was in the living room when MD arrived. Vaithy had not attended office the previous few days. His situation had become worse. The racing heartbeat, the sweating and hot flashes. The feeling that the walls were moving. He was jumpy and irritable. The episodes had started soon after he had returned from ‘exile’. They would go away, only to return. Last night, he had frightened Bhagyam. He had got up in the night and started talking to her of throwing himself in the village pond.

Vaithy was perfectly calm when MD arrived. They drank coffee and spoke. Discussed the latest projects. After a while, Vaithy admitted feeling anxious. It had started when he was in Sagar Island. At first, he had tried to ignore it. Thought it was temporary, but it kept coming back. It was strange, it was almost like it was happening to someone else. It was embarrassing.

MD with his daughter. Mrs. MD in the background

“Don’t worry KV. You need rest. Take the week off. I will arrange an appointment. Don’t say no.” MD took them both to the Clinic the following Saturday. First, the doctor spoke to Thangam, and then he spent a good hour with Vaithy. “It’s Post Traumatic Stress. Nothing serious. But we need to treat it. Face it, and it will go away. It will take time. How long, depends on you. First, you need complete rest. Stay away from the office for a few weeks. I will prescribe some sleeping tablets. And some other tablets. For about six weeks. They will have side effects. Maybe some therapy aftwerwards. A change will be good. Is there any place you like? Puri. Gopalpur. You should leave Calcutta for a few days.”

MD made sure the arrangments were made and they left for Puri the following Monday. Vaithy was relieved as he and Thangam entered the sanctum for the Lord’s darshan. They stayed for two weeks. He could not remember the last time they had spent so much time alone together. It felt good.

Text by Shankar A. Narayan​  Photo credits: Moska Najib, Sean McLain, Pablo Bartholomew, Director General Of Lighthouses and Lightships and ANI