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.”
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| Sardaram Narinjandas, Burrabazar |
 |
| Guests at MD's farewell party |
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| MD's son greeting a guest at his father's farewell party |
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| 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.
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