Chapter 6 - Time a Great Healer
Vadakkantharai, my father’s
village, is always vibrant with purring sounds of cars and motorcycles. Most of
the villagers owned wholesale and retail textile goods business. Horse- as well
as ox-drawn carts with jingling bells around their necks passed by at regular
intervals. Vegetable vendors and dairy products in vans from Coimbatore made
rounds and went back tallying cash. Thriving equally on the affluence of the
villagers more beggars frequented the village, not to speak of the brisk movements
of an assortment of cooks from one house to the other doing part time jobs.
In sharp contrast, the
lackluster Ramanathapuram, my mother’s village, wore an eternal sleepy look.
The villagers broadly fitted into four categories: Gumaastas (clerks) in the court,
collectorate, district hospital and muncipality; Teachers from elementary- to
high-school levels; Cooks working in the better-known hotels in Palghat; and
Vaideeka Brahmins earning their livelihood performing rituals and ceremonies in
households.
There were four exceptions. One
was an evacuee from Burma. He invested his savings in paddy fields that yielded
enough to meet his family’s needs and a little to spare, which he did. For any
village festivals if the prasadam came from his home the villagers knew it
would be no less than three to five items, and would pass not through
tablespoons but big ladles.
Another whom I had never known
to be gainfully employed, got elected as Municipal Councillor giving villagers
a joie de vivre feeling that Ramanathapuram
was in for a total transformation into a fairyland. At the end of his five-year
tenure, he got two pubic taps installed, which managed to gush more air than
water. The elders felt cheated that the neighbouring village, Tarakkad, with a
solid vote-bank enjoyed better amenities at his hands.
My grandfather was the third.
He was the solitary practicing advocate. A moralist of the highest order, he
redirected half the cases that came his way to fellow advocates where he was
convinced prima facie the law was not on the side of his client – a sense of
righteousness reigning supreme over professional ethics. This steadfast
principle, as far as I could remember, remained life-long the sole barrier
between him and my Patty.
She couldn’t live without
coffee, and Thatha never drank coffee. Not only that, he did his best to stop
others too. So whenever Patty included coffee powder in the shopping list he
would grumble. She would promptly counter it that if only he had stayed bound
to his advocate-profession and pleaded cases for his clients, and not dispense
with judgements himself before hand, everyone could enjoy the drink – without
any grumble. That worked always - in getting her item included in the list.
The fourth gentleman worked as
a clerk for a living and, in spare time, drove away evil spirits from the ones
possessed of. It earned him the title, Maantreeka Veera Kesari – Lion of
Spiritual Powers. He is reputed to have cleared many of their mental
challenges. A case in hand I remember was that of Subramaniam, a 6 feet tall
policeman from Gobichettypalayam. He was possessed of an evil spirit when he
was on a night patrol. A violent variety, we children were just mortally afraid
of getting near him. On Amavasya and Pournami days he was kept chained as his mental
imbalance registered its peak. Housed right opposite my own, I was the best
beneficiary of his shrieks, shouts, and screams. A regular sleeper in the front
verandah (Thinnai), I chose to sleep inside till such time Subramaniam remained
the chief guest of our village.
Months later a black
luxury-model Pontiac car made its appearance in Ramanathapuram. Yes, they were
from Gobichettypalayam, to escort the fully recovered Subramaniam back home.
There was a visible glow of happiness in his wife’s face as she saw him greet
her with smile, and not the roar of a wounded lion. The young son and the daughter clung to their mother’s saree
having the least idea of what it was all about. For them their father had gone
out of town on temporary duty. All of us boys collected and watched the
proceedings from a close yet safe distance, still apprehensive of his total
recovery. He greeted us with a warm smile, and sometimes with a naughty wink to
gain our confidence. Soon I gave in, and held his hand when he extended it;
other children followed. That was my first handshake with a policeman, let
alone with one who gave me spine-chilling sleepless nights. He whispered something into his wife’s
ears. She took out a ten-rupee note and gave it to the eldest among us, with
instructions to buy toffees and distribute among ourselves. We waved him
good-bye as his car slowly motioned for his homeward journey. The elders
watched it thanking Almighty for ending his suffering and reuniting with his
family.
15 May 2012
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