The Dreadful Commute to School - Memoirs (My Life..., Chapter 12)

The Dreadful Commute to School - Memoirs
(My Life..., Chapter 12)

Boys of our Brahmin-majority village were studious, religious - and non-interfering for a wrong reason. Our counterparts from the adjacent village, Khashitriya-dominated, were self-confident, united - and adventurous, also for a wrong reason.

The B herd walked to school via the single-path bund of the paddy fields. Half way the K battalion would meet with B from their direction. The two groups together had necessarily to march past a common bund for about one hundred yards before entering into the open. This hundred-yard stretch was a real bottleneck, and very often a battlefield between the two clans.

The spark for the clash varied. Sometimes it would be physical smartness. One of them would deliberately trip our boy’s leg from behind while overtaking, causing our boy to fall on the muddy paddy field and get wet. Or, when their boy got past our boy, he would brush our boy’s shoulder a little too fiercely so as to let his books slip in the muddy water.

On occasions it would be a verbal one-upmanship. Taking a dig at our boys for having given the right answer in the class the previous day where the other village boy had fumbled, they would tease, “Ask this Pattar for any doubt, he is a Mr Know-All.” The word ‘Pattar’ is as detestable to Brahmins in Kerala as the word ‘Paappaan’ is to Brahmins in Tamil Nadu.

Or, they would comment on our boys’ casual walk engaged in a lively chat. “Looks like the Sambar-gulping Pattars had a little too much of it this morning. Or, must be coming straight after a free feast at someone’s house. Hence they are swinging, not walking.” They would then render in unison a Malayalam poet’s lines: Eli, Panni, Perichhazi, Pattarum, Vaanaram Tha Tha; Ivar Eivarum Illengil, Malayalam Manoharam, (Rat, pig, bandicoot, Pattar (Brahmin), and Monkey; if these five are absent, Malayalam land would be beautiful). The B clan would retaliate with a homespun Sanskrit sloka that hit the other below the belt as it invoked their parents.

Verbal dual has a knack of assuming physical proportions. It is here that they displayed qualities of Kshatriya dharma. They all united to pounce on the one that provoked them like a lioness and her herd on a prey in Animal Planet. On the contrary, the B gang, firm believers of destiny, would let their member fight it out single-handed. Their sole support consisted of chanting peace mantras as their friend struggled to wriggle out of the ravages of K boys.

In a post mortem discussion of the episode later, each one came out with his reason for abstention. “What if one day I returned alone from school and they catch me. They would deal with me beyond repair,” argued one. “His father and my father work in the same office, and if his father complains to my father?” justified another. Yet another would defend his action: “Well I am not into either friendship or enmity with them. I go to school for studies. As simple as that.”

The net result was the K boys soon realized our weakness - that we would never unite in adversity - and they could have a field day at their asking. Each time they began targeting a new prey.

Kittamani came to grips with the situation and suggested that we should not allow this to go unchecked, but should join hands. His pep talk included: “Our numerical strength vis-a-vis K’s is in a ratio of 65:35, and we have the physique of the likes of Ganai. These should embolden us to mount an attack, rather than be at the receiving end.” His specific reference to Ganai had a hidden agenda.  Despite his better physique than most of the others in either group, Ganai got beaten up mercilessly the last time and no one came to his rescue. Kittamani didn’t want Ganai to hold a grudge on that score.

Everyone agreed.  It was decided that Kittamani would provoke the K boys the next day and, when attacked, all of B boys would spring a surprise and show them their place.

Things went as planned. Kittamani deliberately made a sweeping comment on their clan as a whole that hurt K boys’ sentiments. With a sudden swoop they pushed him down the muddy water. Seeing the swift turn of events, the B boys who had hitherto promised to unite, realized it was not in their interests to associate themselves at this stage. They abstained, content to watch the proceedings with their customary prayers.

Badly shaken, clothes torn, but not totally lost, Kittamani challenged the K boys that he would avenge their onslaught the next evening on return from school. They were only glad at lapping yet another fresh opportunity.

“Are you all men or mice?” Kittamani shouted at us in distress as soon as the K boys were out of sight. He ordered us not to accompany him the next evening, and he would handle them alone. This precisely suited us - what we had individually been praying for.

Come the next evening, Kittamani left school soon after the last bell. He wanted to be sure to meet them. Yes, they were all there. As reinforcement they had brought along two or three seniors who were not part of their regular group. At the intersection Kittamani stood like Goliath, but in a frail frame. The K boys arrived with gusto, all too eager to have a renewed go at Kittamani.

Kittamani wielded the large sickle that he had hidden under his shirt: “Come on boys, decide which one of you would like to be dispatched first, before I take on the second,” roared Kittamani and charged against them. The boys fled in terror in all directions, apparently through the ankle-deep-water paddy fields. Most of them fell flat in the slippery mud. Kittamani stepped on the chest of the boy close by and warned him, “You better listen carefully and tell your boys. Hereafter if any of you try your dirty game on the B boys, this is the fate you will encounter. One or two of you get ready for the dispatch. That is for sure.” That boy lying half under water was number two in the K team, the number one having fled, instead of braving Kittamani. With tears in his eyes and gasping for breath, he profusely apologized, touched Kittamani’s foot, which was still on his chest, and promised to behave themselves.

Since then whenever the K and B groups happened to reach the intersection at the same time, the K boys never failed to mention, “After you, please,” for the B boys, even if their contingent consisted of only one boy and the K’s five or six. For B boys it was no more Kittamani; it was Veeramani thereafter.

V.V. Sundaram

Bangalore

10 December 2012