Voice of hounding shadow - Debating with Static Mirror 2

Chapter 4

The night exponentially elongated as he was not able to get into sleep. He felt like his whole body was aching. Awakened Arunachalam without making any disturbing sound, without lighting the hall lamp, sneaked straight into his room. He switched on his room light. The sudden flash of the light made his vision hazy. Few seconds passed, he noticed a pair of rustling rats scurrying out as though stealthily escaping from captivity. Reposing on the study chair, he scanned the study table. It appeared like a junk littered bin. He let out a huge sigh. It has been a long while since his last bouts of inhaling books. There is no work worse than the union activity which kills any sort of reading time. The endless issues never allowed him to allot time for reading. The union is nothing but a bunch of blindfolded people who know nothing about reading or thinking. Any person who constantly dwells in that crowd would feel as if waved away in haywire. Thrown deep into the Sea, when he looks back at books, the world of knowledge, it would appear un fetchable to him. Arunachalam liked that image. From the view of a sea dweller, the seashore would resemble a seesawing huge vessel. He would not realise it is just an illusion generated by the waves over which he is sailing.


He grabbed a random book from the shelf. “Eastern Marxism” by S N Nagarajan. Front cover preface lines read as “ Highly creative yet chaotic thoughts disrupting the minds of disciplined thinkers could influence in some way”. When he opened the book, he felt as if an undigested person was sitting in front of the food. He has been getting this recurring feeling every time he opened a book in the recent past. He closed the book and placed it back and moved towards the radio. Turning it alive, slowly he began to tune the buttons. His unsettling quest steadily levitating over the radio waves, permeating through the serially modulated channels, hovered above the oceans. Random voices, arched through one after another in different accents, languages, emitting sober, statements, bits of music. The head-above dark sky is an enormous container of infinite voices. Amidst those, only a handful of voices are picked out. The remaining voices are waving around waiting for the right moment of contact. He never managed to connect to the voice that he has been seeking for a long while. After a long desultory moment of searching, he finally settled to a voice and started to hear it. Within a few mins, that voice dribbling out from his consciousness began to sound unrelated. So much so many queer thoughts!!. If someone manages to render these thoughts in words, these might attain literary status. As though the water layer touched by a finger, that attempt might produce obscure prose. If some other one treads over carefully, attempt to arrange those spurting thoughts in some sort of order and registers in writing, it might turn like a tepidly artificial sermon. If an able one, grasping this ever swerving thoughts, breaking down to pieces, rehashes in the same cloudy language, he must be the one called a literator. Tamil writers Mauni, Pudumaipithan are such ones. He switched off the radio after bumped into this thought. Thus far suppressed cicada’s noise reemerged and overwhelmingly filled that silence.


It was well past midnight when he returned home the last day. Nagamma was in half-sleep when she opened the door. “Have you had dinner?” asked scratching her head with sleepy eyes. One of her bosoms was visible shapely through the gap when she adjusted her saree. He felt an acute attraction for her. He realised that the warm odour drifted around her, root cause for the sudden urge. More precisely, the body heat emitted due to sleep, combined with the mixer of saliva and sweat. “Yes, I had it,” He replied. As he went in and changed his dress to lungi, he heard the noise of her peeing beneath the coconut tree. His desire intensified. After cleaning herself she entered back and uttered: “You can use the water in the cement barrel”. He invited her “Come closer to me”. “I feel very sleepy” she moaned, yet she came closer to him. He placed a deep wet kiss on her and tightly embraced her. “Go to sleep, It is already late-night,” she said reluctantly.


After a while, In bed, she came close to him and she asked, “ Shall I go to sleep,” He replied “Yeah. go ahead.” He felt so tired that his body suggested imminent sleep. But when he was about to fall asleep, bumping on some memory, his conscious mind wide awoke. He began to hear the old Malayalam song by the beat, which was buzzing some far away distance. The song evoked a nondescript sobriety. It occurred to him that he had crossed decades in a jiffy. He felt that the good old times are far gone. KKM had a strong liking for the old songs. He was a fan of Kamugamurau Purushothaman’s voice. The enigmatic silence of KKM aroused a pricking feeling in Arunachalam. His trembling eyes were transfixed over the pictures of the wall. Did he know all about it? No don't!!. He brutally forced out his thoughts in the opposite direction. Coconut leaves were fluttering in the air as if the dual feathers of a flapping bird outside the window. Induced by a sudden desire, he moved closer and embraced her without sparring any gap. Undressing her chest, he placed his face right in the middle of her bosom. He consumed the warmth and tenderness of her breasts. They contracted softly responding to his deep gasping. He hurled himself tend to make an opening, to crack deep into her. He fancied a desire of slipping inside her sleep, stroll pass through her dreams. He knew, his desire was impossible. More he tightens his embrace, the more her body would turn impenetrable. During emotionally excited moments such as tenderly cuddling her cheeks, hearts exploding climatic moments of sex, when he screws his inquisitive glance straight into her eyes, her body would turn like a fort made of a transparent mirror. That imaginary vision would stay just for a few ticking seconds. She is the only soul in the entire universe who accepts his submission wholly. She never ever cared about his ostensible intellectual face to any little level. At any moment, he can bare his heart to her without any sort of fictitious masks he wears against every other. She is unaware of the violent machine insistently creaking inside him. She has no idea about the pounding doubts, hounding questions, chase him. Her tenderness is the healing antidote which temporarily relieves himself from the weightiness of his lonesomeness. He feels like an infant sleeping beside his mother. Yes, She is a mother in every sense. He beseeches, would she not understand more deeply about his thoughts? Could she not converse with him a little more about his feelings?


The mothers of the earth live just like her. Their children kill others, get themselves killed. Their children raise powerful empires. Some other children revolt against these powerful empires. Their sweat, toil and blood creating phenomenal events, starts over the earth. On the other side, caging themselves in the irrelevant gracious world, the mothers prepare food without respite, sate the hunger, reassure the frights, soothe their children to sleep. Gorky believed the revolutions open to the participation of mothers will never get defeated. He must have had a firm belief that masculine turbulence is superficial, feminine tranquil deepness is coherently creative. Poor Gorky, his dreams never turned real. Nowhere in the world, revolutions were receptive to women, including the Bolshevik revolution. At its core, the Bolsheviks revolution made use of women power in every possible manner. The Russian revolution occurred absolutely in the men’s world. Every incident of political power toppling struggle occurred unadulteratedly in the world of men. Rape of women in mass occurred each of those power overthrowing game, without exception. Women were massacred. Women were orphaned. “ Let our women give birth to brave soldiers,” Stalin once said. Someone said, when army troops march ahead in the battlefield, the tent bundle transporter follows the lead, next in the line irascible animals would eventually turn as a prey to some other animals at some point of future. In the next line the absolute prey for the absolute animals. Finally in the last line, rows of women hoisting their yony, believing as their sole existing purpose is to mate with the army and deliver another set of the army. If we look back history, militancy has been the singular deciding force in world politics. This military force’s knowledge is confined just to battlefields. Even the women who enrol into this military regime fitting inside the men's uniform, convert themselves as men. Imitating men in every sense, They shout in the deliberately contrived bass voice. They were not allowed to enter, upholding their merciful motherhood plus the natural tenderness. Had women forefronted the revolutions, it would not have ended in bloodsheds. Sure as milk, children would not have gotten murdered in such huge numbers. These political regimes installed and operated by men appear just like men. Inside an impervious fortlike layer, rage emitting colloidal lava scalds throughout. The men forefronted revolutions reflect every manifestation of their very own sexual behaviour. Sudden arousal, followed by step by step gathering of momentum, climactic eruption and then exhaustion. On the contrary, had it happened in women’s world, the revolutions must have occurred as congruently spiralling waves which attempt to attain stable creative wholeness in every cycle. Constructed by placid flesh muscles, secured by surrounding warm blood vessels, women’s political regimes must be resembling their reproductive wombs. Like this organ structure, the feminine regime palpitates life’s beat in every moment. They are always ready to absorb any possible means of negativity, capable of producing a never-before life unit and perpetually flourish. Men could never understand this reproducing power. Marx, Lenin, Stalin, can these men understand? No. What a Joke. What sort of love Marx would have had for Jenny, the very same man exploiting Helen Demuth in bed, allowed her to go to pot. Falling for a french woman, Lenin was ready to abandon Krupskaya. For these men, women are just dispensable cloaks. Stalin indeed murdered his wife. Are these capitalist regime’s scandal-mongering? Am I refuting it? No, not at all. Poor Gorky, even he can not be spared. The acclaimed mother of his novel is none but a mere messenger who carries Pavel’s propaganda leaflets. Gorky never understood the mother version of revolution. He never realised womanhood can have its own way of revolution. All of these presumed phenomenal political revolutions are not true revolutions. These are all just power struggle gambling played on by a cluster of mindless men, wannabe vanquishers, who failed miserably to realise that their dump heads. Despicable efforts of non-autotelic wombless beings who could never self produce, in the race of registering themselves in the self-proclaimed history box. Morons, Madness. Had they chanced to throw their snobbish glance just a little behind, they would notice silent rows of clementius women, carrying their offspring in the laps unperturbed, feeding them milk compassionately, flourishing the human hood enduringly. That is womanhood. That is the earthly motherhood. These miniature manly boned trees which grow over that fertile motherly soil, spreading their branches, gyrate vainly in air. They assume their sole dream is to elongate their branches all over the sky. Without realising their motherly origin soil, bickering with each other, they die bitterness filled. With the utmost mercy, womanhood had been tolerating these narcissistic games for the last 2000 years. Yes, I am talking about the women who put a comforting ailment for the vengeance-caused wounds, who gestate, nurture and prosper the civilization every time it starts over from total destruction. Lord Shiva, Lord Vishnu both are the dual sockets of Goddess Shakthi’s manifestations. Creation, Preservation and Destruction are the emanations of these God’s weaknesses. Residing in the higher cosmic level, she has been silently mockingly observing the manhood’s missteps. She is the true root of mighty powers, Adhishakthi.


Frightened, Arunachalam, moving away from Nagamma, opened his eyes. He saw the ceiling fan’s virtual circles for a few minutes. In the dark, his absurd mind yelling out wavered around indefinitely. Such many thoughts, so debilitating thoughts. Are these nightmarish thoughts emerging from me? Throughout the day, on the contrary, I behaved spirited, faced issues level-headed and sound-minded. My gait was filled with pride and confidence. Am I a dual-facade person, each one for light and dark. Which one of these is my true face? I believe both are true. In an effort to utterly disregard the other one when I venture deep into one of the facades, there is a pretentiousness in both the facades. Are these extremely emotional thoughts just a countering act against the other face that I wore during the day? What about K K M today. He felt a pricking feeling in his mind sharply. He held his head tightly with his hand.


Like a waveless ocean, the darkness filled the surroundings. Arunachalam opened his eyes, felt like he gained strength to face the same thoughts which he caused chagrin just a while ago in the darkness. What sort of new-found energy is this? Here I am head-on with the thoughts which I cringed over moments ago. Anyways, I am under no one's surveillance. K K M will be kicked out from the party on any imminent day. His vociferous opposing stand on the left party’s contemporary coalition politics labeling as absolute gambling disgruntled the members of the centre politburo. He is from the generation which despises gambling as an immoral activity. In his view, the interests of Labour’s union all put together as chips in the political gambling tables. He kept on raising the obdurate red flag in every possible manner. In his words “It is appearing as if the dog is waging for the tail. Just for the sake of forty Members in parliament and two cabinet ministers, nationwide union heads are chopped ” He is an old man with a tribal ethos who trusts the future in the hands of God. For the tribes, gambling is a sin. An unethical teasing game against God’s decree. Only the tribes fear God’s damnation for the act of transgression. In contrast, in this current evolved era, every intellectual discourse is a stochastic process. It shuffles infinite possibilities and arranges back in some logical pattern to obtain the solution. Gambling is the most suitable metaphor for this contemporary era. Gambling of thoughts decides every outcome. Be it in politics, relations, economics “gambling” is ubiquitous. The era of wars swords vs swords spears vs spears, underscored by the holy political rules, are bygone. There are no rules in this new battlefield. The victory alone is the deciding factor, you cannot punch yourself out from this game. Nothing to lose in the battle. No one is ready to relinquish their dreams either. Everyone is compelled to play this game. K K M would be watching these discourses with an astounding face as if a casted out member. Finally, he would utter “Alas, How could you all!!. Let me get through this until my final days. “ in a helpless tone. In fact, in this intellectual era, there is no value for the dreams and vows which propelled KKM in his young age. There is no meaning for his sacrifices either. As he says, let the time allow him to pass through this era without facing this bitter truth. Dwelling in his own dreams and let him rest in peace at some time.


The unbending allegiance of K K M towards Stalin is like the fulcrum on which his entire world stood upon. He could never tolerate any voice of criticism over Stalin. He realised from his instinct that the aura of Stalin was waning the party. He would personally examine the prominence of Stalin’s face in the banners and posters. “ Which dickhead has balls to throw bricks on Stalin in front of me?” he would snarl. He has a large blow up Stalin colour picture covering the entire wall of his room. Idiosyncratic Stalin poses with his green military dress and Red colour badges, embellished medals and a military cap. In the center of the cheerless dense face, over his famous mustache, the sharp eyes would shine emitting light. K K M would put his wooden recliner facing towards that wall poster. It would seem that picture itself glancing back KKM in a mighty, enigmatic way. Once KKM told. “ Look at the Smile on Stalin’s face, it is the victory of Communism''. His unremitting gaze making an impact on that picture, it would appear as if the picture responds with a private smile for KKM.


Why are these mind thoughts becalmed on Stalin now? It is not the first such night. Everyone is well aware that, so-called image of Stalin has been obdurately exalted in the party just as an egoistic expression. For the party, to reject Stalin, is as extreme as, rejecting its far-reached past including the thousands of lines of published statements and edified lectures. If Stalin’s name was removed from status quo, the Party might itself collapse. The whole edifice would have to be reconstructed from the base. For the aged party this is a monumental task. At present, the party is not only a mass-based party. It is also the union of the workers. It is an amalgamation of the underprivileged workers and self interested members who never undergone any sort of ideological training. It does not have the intellectual manpower to digest the thousands of ideological theories converting to populist lines to propel the mass of workers. Ramasundram was the last member who had undebatable loyalty towards Stalin’s till his last breath. Some of the workers said, when soviet union collapsed, the glimpse of people on the road breaking the statues of Stalin on television, spiked his blood pressure. He was admitted to hospital, eventually died. “In this unfortunate era, there is a surge in the opposing people who criticize the greatest leader of proletariats . As if a swarm of ants trying to devour a dead elephant. But the history is not the meat gravy cooked in their backyard kitchen. As Hegal said “History in general is therefore the development of Spirit in Time, as Nature is the development of the Idea is Space.” If history is a mother, there is no chance it will orphan its own beloved children. Mother history will rise again in the upkeep of Stalin. Stalin might have lost his throne in Soviet Russia but he cannot be dethroned from the minds and hearts of millions of communists. He will be crowned as a glorious leader in history. “ Ramasundaram wrote these lines in the October Revolution reminiscence article published in the Red-Ray party magazine. Those were words of console for himself. Oftentimes, Communists discourse with themselves.


So much has been said about the dismissal of KKM in these last three years. Defenestration of KKM was sealed when M A Rajappa was appointed as the coordinator of the workers union. With all the fuss surrounding, his dismissal is still an unbelievable action. The aura that KKM has in the minds of common worker mass is huge. There are only a very few rubber union worker’s homes devoid of his wall photo. Party is half hearted, as it is not very clear about the outcome of his ousting. No one established themself as a loyal secondary leader to KKM. His health condition is visibly deteriorating. Why can’t they wait till his natural death? The party is so engrossed in venturing into coalition politics. It can’t wait to jettison this dispensable elder.


What KKM would be doing at this moment? His sleep deprived eyes must be oscillating between the unbounded dark sky and Stalin’s wall photo. Stalin emerging from the frozen pose, might have started conversing with him. On what subject would they be conversing? A latent photo talking with an established photo. “Why are all these happening?” KKM would be questioning Stalin. Who in the entire world qualified to talk about loneliness other than Stalin. Power and Greatness causes solitude. Inexorable reclusiveness emboldening its hold, surrounding it forms a palatial glass cage. Their elderness adds salt to solitude. There are rumours over Stalin’s hand behind the death of his wife. Eventually, he began to crazily love his daughter Svetlana. She must be the only light perforated through the mighty lonesomeness of Stalin. Due to that fear, She ran away from her father. She decamped to America through India, seeking Asylum. Would Stalin have sobbed in the mid-night under his blanket? Was Stalin crying eyes out even possible? In that instance, would he remember that he was an iron man? There is a chance that Stalin might also had have a wall photo in his room. Yes it must be of Ivan the Terrible. Yes Certainly possible. I read somewhere, Stalin wanted to reshoot a movie which portrayed Ivan the Terrible in the negative shade. What must had have Ivan the Terrible conversed with Stalin from that Photo? Without a doubt, it must had been about lonesomeness.


KKM is unmarried with no children. His liaisons with innumerous lady loves, is an open secret. For many years, he was a heartthrob in the working women circle. He was not only veteran in satisfying the fleshly pleasures, but also master in captivating the hearts. In spite of that, he was unfettered in his own rebellious path, rejecting all these love offerings. Today the old KKM lost all his young vitals. Merging with the past as a venerable photo image is the safest passage for him. In future his status may loose shine, might smear his image. It would even go to the extent of, mercilessly taking his image with both its hands and vandaise it. If he dies now, it would be well timed illustrous death. Unyiedling KKM refusing to die, hoping some miraculous event could shift the happenings towards his side. Poor KKM, never was receptive to the protection assured by womanhood. Only laying over the laps of the wife or daughter a man can die peacefully. If death scythes me, here in this very night, while I laying in the lap of Nagamma, I am ready to die as a satisfied soul. Every homecoming rebel must have merciful lap of waiting woman to lay him down. Revolutions must be like the children's play tied to the sewing threads of their mothers. Loneliness is cursed upon every revolutionary, compassionlessness waiting to pound upon him. Everything he forgo, he withdrew in the path of his ambitious journey, waiting for the right moment to settle the score. Time would never roll ahead without casting these rebels out. Poor Marx!! Poor Lenin!! Poor Stalin !! Poor KKM!! History never registered the pains of their heart. These lonesome ignorant men completely abandoned by the womanhood. Died and buried in vain. Gorky the predictor implored the mother to bless the revolution. Did he foresee that there should be a receptive motherly lap to soothe every rebel? Poor Gorky, ingesting poison, died in a distant country’s hotel room or may be killed. Poor Mayakovsky!! Poor Aleksandr Kuprin!! Pitiful simpleton souls!!


Consumed by fear, he got up from the chair and switched off the light. He went towards Nagamma and fall in to her arms. In a wavery voice Nagamma uttered “ Get some sleep”. He emboldened his hug. The thoughts bursting out in the sleepless nights are too scary. These compulsive thoughts are capable of obliterating my entire self. As if a spell casted by an enemy's black magic. Are these thoughts emerging from Nagamma’s mind? Is she my enemy? No way. There is none in this soil for me, other than Nagamma. She is not an enemy. She is an opponent or the opposite side. Why does she never care wee little about my involvements? Why is she treating my passions as weakness or fickleness? Does she not aware of the hunger, poverty, weakness, simple minded peoples and the great people, who stitch up these simple people for their own good? No. She understands the pangs of hunger more than anyone. For a stranger beggar woman she can offer her entire plate of food without hesitation. While serving the food, she turns as the benevolent goddess of food Annapoorna. How could her generous mind incapable of perceiving the thoughts erupting in my mind? Why does she never see me other than a man or a husband? You know it. You pretentious idiot. Your so-called ambitious journey is mixed with power motive. Yes indeed. The desire for power is the base for all your dreams. Supremecy !! Ruling !! Germinating inside the ambitious dreams, slowly killing the parental ambitions, spreading all over and captures the entire mind like a cancer. Yes Lenin and Stalin are the symbols of authoritativeness. If not, why should there be so much personal vendetta in revolutionary politics? He forcefully diverted himself out from that overwhelming thoughts. He went closer and tried to embed with Nagamma. It occurred to him that a huge relentless machine was cascading a great deal of manufactured logics over him.


Nagamma’s hands moving towards him, embraced him. “Still, no Sleep?”

“No”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Some random thinking”

She opened her saree and pulling his head between her chest and embraced him tightly. “Why needless thinking.. mm” she asked nuzzling his nose.


A sudden impulsive feeling pushed him to spread his body all over hers. He traced the path of the warmness emanated in her body and attempted to unite himself with it. The origin seeking play began yet again. A blissful journey inside the pleasant fortress made of the flesh. Body is the main encumbrance for this game. No, body is not the hurdle, it is the medium. Every medium has a certain level of hindrance. It allows us through only up till some limit. After that, it turns impregnable. The frame of women is crammed with graceness. The rotund thighs. Infinite creativeness manifesting, perennial mercy pouring yoni in the center. Bosoms, what an wonderful organ of women. Dual physical fountainheads, a opening of the effervercing mercifulness originates from the soul. With these receptive life palpitating organs every women embrace the others. Why do men not have such an organ? Castle walls like flat torso. From the very next second of inducement, maniac phallus, at ready to invade and rout the others. Womenhood must replace men in flag-bearing the revolutions. Clementius women force could never extirpate anything, would never install any invioble regimes. Solicitously absorbing the essence of others, adding its own blood and life unit, would create a never before lift form. Yes woman hood.


Fatigued Arunachalam fell over Nagamma. The attenuated thoughts broken down into bits and pieces were whirling around him unevenly. He was not able to recollect any of the past thoughts and it sounded unrelated to him. Nagamma was consoling him. At some time, straddling over her he began to sleep.

Chapter 5

The next morning, when Arunachalam was about to leave for work, out of the blue, there occurred a quarrel. While Arunachalam was combing his hair, Nagamma entered with a tea cup. Upon placing the cup over the windows-sill “Who kept the coconut oil bottle over the windows, yesterday?” she asked.


The tone of Nagamma irked Arunachalam “ Why? What happened?”


“The bottle fell apart when the baby tried to fetch it. A full bottle of oil was wasted. Baby was lucky not to get harmed with the broken glass pieces. How many times should I remind you to be mindful?”


“How many times, should I insist you not to keep the talcum powder over the books”


“Apparently, You are not owning a bungalow with multiple cupboards per room. These trashy books are littered all over the rooms. The day when I throw these books in the kerosene fire, is the independence day for this house.”


“But first, I will throw you in fire. Shut your mouth!!”


“Go ahead. Throw me in that fire. From the day I tied the knot with you, I have been burning in the heat of Kitchen. Allow me to burn in the fire, one for all. ” She began to cry in a broken voice.


“Who stopped you from choosing a smuggler or mugger, who can decorate your head to toe with silk and gold? Apparently, I was not chasing after you to marry me!”


“Remember. I was not empty handed. Our marriage vouched on the dowry of the 16 sovereign of gold and ten thousand rupees”


“So much for the lousy 16 Sovereign. Get away from my sight!!”


“Out of that lousy money, how much did you manage to save?”


Arunachalam felt hurt. Those were the jewels and money directly transferred as dowry for his sister Chithra. He was enraged to slap her at once. “ Answer me. Why was the madam maiden with maturing grey hairs, waiting till the age of 27? Did your prince charming lost path due to the sudden flood in the river? ”


He indeed knew well that those words meant to hurt the most sensitive part of her. He could perceive tremors running through her body. He almost foresaw her next target of attack. She shrieked in an emotion filled base voice “ It is my fate to live with this communist man. Despicable communist. There in Russia , the broken countries are ruined to a dung pit. Here these remaining feckless men bearing the burden. Moreover these meaningless books. Published and Parcelled by jobless men. What a shabby way they decorate this house!! Throw these with me in my funeral fire.”


“Shut your mouth, you dog!!”


“Go and shout at your union workers. To those banana heads. They can salute you and hail the union blindly”


“Oh dear oh mother. It's hurting.”


Only after mindless swat and beat, he returned back to his senses. His body urged to give her a few more slaps. Closing her face with both hands, crouching on the floor, she started crying loudly. Arunachalam hightailed out from home and gave a kick to the moped. It whimpered. He kicked over and again on its spine. He punched the seat. He sat on the moped as it started. When he realised the blow of the breeze, he somewhat managed to attain a calm mind. Yet he was not able to entirely console his mind.


How caustic her words were; how well she directed that to my weakest spot. She was aware about the grievance he suffered in the days of Soviet union collapse. It was like the death of a dear one, a huge loss. There were times, he locked himself inside a room, spent whole days, with uncombed hair and an angst filled mind. Earlier he never allowed his mind to think about the bits and pieces of news that was circulating. His mind was occupied in generating the counter argument for every other failure forecasted in the news. He never missed an opportunity to debate those points with anyone who approached him. When he was alone, he even debated with himself. Due to incessant flow of thoughts, his mind would stop thinking and freeze completely at some point. In that fatigued state, remorse and solitariness would fill him. Slowly it would morph into resentment against the whole world. He would internally turn as a lunatic to bash whatever ahead. Nagamma would be the only one person who could clearly understand his suppressed anger during that time.


Slowly, for every question against Soviet Russia, he started replying, well sharpened answers that he practiced countless times. What happened in Soviet Russia was a Bolshviek revolution that took place under the leadership of Lenin. As a next warranted leap of step, the communist society attempted to build a new world of society from base. Yes, that step is a failure. Remember it is the only first such attempt. The set-back cannot be attributed entirely to communism. We, the thinkers, should understand the difference clearly. Soviet Russia, China and Cuba are in the various ascending steps towards the ultimate goal. Each country tried their own approach in that path. There may be a temporary set back. Minor failures. Please remember, the path is not well paved one. There is no successfully proven approach either. These countries stand against the mighty imperialist countries. Ideologies and cultures of those countries are centuries old. The collective minds of people in those countries are strongly connected with those establishments. Our nascent socialist countries are not even two generations old. The socialist ideas have not yet steep into a normal peoples thoughts. One thing we should not forget comrade, contemporary communism is fighting against all possible opposite ideologies in an unfavorable gusty wind. Not denying the fact that the struggle of Soviet Russia is a very serious one. There were innumerous occurrences of very similar setbacks and failures that happened in capitalist countries in the past. If Soviet Russia's failure is attributed to communism, what about the countries like South Korea and Thailand and other south east countries' failures? Take the case of the United states of America, how many times it was trounced in the past. It is spurious to attribute the failure of Soviet Russia entirely to communism and say that Capitalism is the haven for the future. What happened in Russia? Soviet Russia union was compelled to join the enormous arms race against the imperialist countries. As a result, they were not able to adequately focus development schemes. The allotted funds for industries and agriculture was diminished.


The generation-next never recognized the attained status of the current society, since they were never aware about the exploitation. They are made to believe that only the capitalist society provides unbridled extravagance and the ultimate goal of life is to wallow in unabashed joyness. It was schemed by the infiltrated capitalist media machinery’s propaganda. They managed to sneak not only into the Communist party but also inside the politburo. Gorbachev himself was a spy from the capitalist regime. These anti forces stitched up the minds of discontented youths. As a result, the huge fall is what we are seeing. One more important point we should notice. Had Russia and China standing side by side fought against the imperialist countries, they could have avoided this decline. The communist party members of these two countries were restrained by the nationalist sentiments. The imperialist countries made use of this weakness to maximum extent. This is an issue of ideological conflict. Marxism is internationalism. By definition, that is against any other nationalism. A Marixst, even as a tactic, should never attempt to elevate nationalism by demoting internationalism. This blunder occurred in China and Russia. During the revolution, in order to mobilise the people and strengthen the comminist party, the nationalist sentiments were leveraged. That was an error committed by Comrade Lenin and Comrade Mao. That tactic worked wonders in those times. Lenin directly called the souls of the soldiers, invited them to fight for the motherland, who lost in the war and stood helpless. The workers and the soldiers coalescing together, accepting that invitation, instrumented the revolution. When China was in the most despondent state losing their land against Japan in various wars, Mao resurrected the spirit of the nation by exhuming the ancient Chinese Nationalist feeling. Yes, that was a successful strategy. In the post- revolution era, when the social structure was in the process of change, these feelings became the biggest encumbrance. Even Lenin and Mao could never overcome this hurdle. As a matter of fact, the first Russian revolution set a bad example for the following China revolution to have nationalism as an integral part of revolution. The nationalist feelings of Russian leaders including Comrade Stalin raised suspicion in China. The imperialist states blew this gap to a great deal. This is a colossal matter of concern standing in front of Marxists. They should come forward to debate and resolve it. Yes Comrade, This is the opportunity for the Marxists to weed the weaknesses out and reevaluate our past mistakes. The enemies stand no chance against the eventual revitalised Marxism, in which deficiencies filtered out from the lessons learnt. Do not worry Comrade, sure as sickle, Marxism will re-emerge in Russia. It is the soil of Lenin. Right here, in this country, we will have a communist government. If not we, our children will see that happen. Because Communism is not a dream, it is not a political plan either. Communism is a course of history. It is an inevitable happening. We are not going to make it happen, not even the workers or farmers, it is the natural process of history. We all are going to be swept away in that global phenomenon. The current set- back is only temporary, as if a minute in the historical process of transformation. Camrade, Communism will never fail. To end that as failure, time itself has to freeze at this point forever. Imperialism is not fighting with us. Imperialism is battling against time. It can never defeat the natural course of history. Because everything you see around you is the outcome of History’s course. This law of history rules the universe.


On the contrary to his words, he internally lost his throwback strength in this regard. Only She was aware of that. Few other workmates who can judge others subjectively, might have perceived that. Arunchanalam, in his words and attitude, would deliberately contrive a new found energy. But yes, there were times, he lost his control. He was capable of passing through the showcased celebration of the anti- communists, with a forgiving smile. But the idiotic quesions of some workers would inflame him. This famous incident occurred in the union office. There was a member of the union whose name was Mohanachandran. You can clearly say from seeing his face that he has nothing in his head other than the words of letters he wrote on subscription fee reminders, debt collection notifications for the past 15 years. He never uttered any word in any debate, except raising a few trifles about Tea or Snacks. Arunachalam would have talked no more than three times with him. He was a typical loyal employee to the employer.


When Arunachalam was entering the office, raunchily displaying betel leaf smeared lips and the entire front row of jet-black teeths, Mohanachandra Nayar greeted him, with a smirk. It appeared to Arunachalam that his eyes too were smudged with the betel stains. He greeted him back half-heartedly. “What Sire, did you notice the communism disintegrated in Soviet Russia, , didnt you?” he asked. His words infuriated Arunachalam. There was a world map hanging over the desk of the head clerk. Plucking that map and flinging it over Mohanachandran Nayar's table “ Where is Russia in this map? Show me, you dog, ” he shouted. “If you can't, ask for forgiveness falling at my feet, right in this second” yanking his shirt collar. “I...I was kidding, actually don’t know where it is sir” he told with a fidget. The workers nearby rushed in between them and tried to hold back Arunachalam by his shoulder. “You rotten head idiot, News paper is toilet paper to you right, you son of a hag” the workers tried to calm down Arunachalam. Extricating himself out from the clutches of Arunachalam, Nayar slowly settled. He stared at the map with frightened eyes. Suddenly Kamalammai chuckled, closing her mouth. The entire office erupted with peals of laughter.


The shoulder of the union office road was cluttered with motorcycles and mopeds. There was a new Tea shop cart in the corner. Red party flags on the poles decorated both the sides of the road. The flags fluttered as though the feathers of the doves along with the zig zag rows of red symbol confetti papers, were twitched like the dragonflies. When Arunachalam entered, a sense of attentiveness emerged. One worker hurried out and grabbed the moped from Arunachalam, rode out to park it. One after another, Arunachalam was surrounded by an entourage of workers.


“Has Narayanan arrived?”


“Yes, Comrade!”


“Is the task of Flag pole fixing pending anywhere?”


“All done, Comrade. Only the meeting hall decoration is pending. That too is delayed because of a last night marriage function. So we yet to start”


“Who is coordinating that?”


“Raghavan”


“Who is going to bring Chairs and other stuffs”


“Raveendran and Ramesh have already started”


In the room, Narayananan was on a call over the phone. He saluted him with a single hand and continued his call. Arunachalam let out a sigh once he sat on the chair. Stretching out his legs, he let loose his limbs. Upon talking on the phone, Nayarayanan indicated the bunch of letters placed over the table. Four of the invited writers have acknowledged their presence at the Literary art festival. It seemed one of them would come along with his wife. The chief cook has sent the list of items. The Groceries alone would cost approximately thirty seven thousands. Cost of rice and tinder woods for the stove are separate. There are seventeen state level union secretaries and sixty district level secretaries attending the Worker Union conference. Additionally eight worker union secretaries belonging to co-alliance parties are also attending.


Narayanan “I asked to get a mechanic to replace the motor, Comrade” said upon disconnecting the phone call.


“The schedule of the meeting looks great, Narayanan. Who prepared it?”


“Ravi, an intense bloke ”


“Ask him to prepare another schedule for all the guests attending the conference, with two additional columns, leaving both as blank. One column to fill their phone numbers and the other one to write their local address of stay. If needed, we can include one more column for extra details like assigned hospitality members and any other must-have comforts for them. We can stick the schedule in the wall, so that everyone can view and update at any time”


“Absolutely, we can do that”


“One more point, The Tea expense is sliding out of estimation. Purchase 20 liters of the milk and arrange the stove in the building's backyard. We can prepare tea here on our premises. Kurian will take care of the arrangements. I believe the rental tumblers are already on the list?”


“It should be there, If not let me add it. We got two important phone calls. One of them from Thiruvananthapuram Chief Minister office. C.M will not make the conference since there is an overlapping meeting with District Collectors.”


“Well. That was expected, what else?”


“It seems R.Shanmuga Pandian will arrive late, that too in the morning of the conference day. Their union arranged a protest regarding an accident of one of the employee”


“Let us add one more column in the schedule for the events, to record whoever attends and not going to attend”


“Thus, It would look like a notice poster after all these columns. wouldn't it?”


“That would be handy. Anyone can see the schedule at any moment. All ten members of the hospitality committee can come up with a checklist. To clearly specify their duty of the day. There should be no surprises”


“Sounds Good. Comrade”


“Can you assign the due diligence task to a Comrade? He should be gathering all the bills so far, indexing it, and putting it inside a binder. Also make sure bill amounts are recorded in a separate register book. The Amount should be tallied in total as well as day wise. There should be two columns to note the details about the amount and the balance amount. The indexed receipts and vouchers of the amount paid should also be collected and put inside another binder. Someone experienced in this regard is preferable. Where is Prabhakar?”


“He has just gone out for a bank work”


“He must verify and sign the backside of each bill, receipt and vouchers. Tell him to meet me when he returns”


“Sure, Comrade”


“Who is responsible for the Store room?”


“Ramdoss, he handled it last time. Mani will be there to assist him”


“That's fine. Make sure you visit to Railway station and enquire the updated arrival times of the Trains”


“Comrade, KKM is unwell. Looks like he is having fever”


“Whose all the guests confirmed their visit, thus far? Their acknowledgement letters should be put into a separate binder. Ensure you discard the binders no more in use. All these important binders should be ready by today. We will not have time. “


“Shall we send a Doctor to KKM?”


“What happened to him?”

“Fever, mild one but he looked groggy”


“Alas, I hope not to be a disruptive affair”


“KKM looked very dull and scraggly”


“Because of his health condition?”


“No. It does not seem to be”


Upon asking “Ok. You can go and we have so much work to do” he picked up the phone. When he was rummaging for Phone number diary, he picked the “When palmtree sings..” book. He had a cursory glance at the book. In those random pages which captured his attention, the first and last lines did not appear like 50 year old amateur prose.


Arunachalam got up with that book in his hand. He went to the first floor through the staircase. There were two rooms, one for special guests, most of the time allotted for the higher officials of the party. Both rooms were opened. They have changed the appearance of the rooms, with the new window screens and the bedsheet covers. The other one was a small room for K K M. The Asbestos sheet of the building parallel to the window of KKM room’s was shining brightly in the hot sun. The door was half opened. The creaky sound of the table fan was heard over. He knocked the door quietly. “Hey, You.. Come inside. !!” KKM called him in. KKM was reposed over the easy chair. At first, Arunachalam gazed at Stalin’s photo. A framed colour photo. It appeared puce colour with dust. Humourless sharp light glittering, a pair of powerful, dense eyes.


“How is your health, Comrade?” The floor of the room was strewn with the smoked beedi, papers, match sticks. Over the table, dusty Soviet published books. Handful of diaries. One terracotta Jar, one old model fountain pen, an ink bottle, and a few rubber stamps in a wooden box. The blotch in the bridge of his nose was clearly visible. With squint like bare eyes, he stood up and went near the table and put on the glass. His eyes are back to life.



“Sit down, pal,” said KKM. “Unable to shut the windows for a while during nights, as the bolt got jarred. The uneasy cold wind blew during the dawn caused this slight fever”


“How is your health now?”


“Nothing to worry about. I took few pills”


“Someone said, you feel groggy”


“As you know, it is my normal state for a while. Blood pressure is not in my control. It has been seven years since Dr. Boodhalingam advised me to reduce the salt intake. How could I? Nayar is habituated to throwing fistfull of salt in food. If the broth turns sour, he would throw one more fistful of salt. Nowadays, everyone is consuming more salt. I remember your home’s food was also salty. Make sure you reduce the salt intake imminently”


“Yes, Comrade,” said Arunachalam. He felt a little uncomfortable sitting there. “Are you having rice at night?”


“If I need Idli(*) , I have to walk till the theater road. The assistance is here only up till the day time. There is no torch light to help venturing out in the nights. One night, I lost the path in return, finally got a space in some on the way shop’s pial where I managed to settle and sleep. “ KKM laughed. “ The time when I frequently slept in some random shop’s pial is long gone. Although I did not get into the same sound sleep as of past, sleeping in the pial suits my body”


It has been a long while since Arunchalam saw that natural heartfelt laughter in KKM’s face. It occurred to him that KKM was happy to see Arunachalam in his room. He was filled with remorse when he realised it had been more than 7 or 8 months since he last visited KKM to meet in person.


“The radio went dead. There is no light in the eliminator. If it works, I can hear some songs. They play some good old songs after 10 PM. Do you remember the movie we saw together? “Mooladanam” Thoppil Bhasi’s movie. Sathyan and Prem Nazir starred. The day before the radio gone repair, I heard a song from that movie. “Swarga Gayike ithile Ithile, Swapna lolupe Ithile Ithile” what a valourous song? Do you remember? I was gazing the sky, upon hearing that song. Though it was a half moon night , it was so wonderful. Arunachalam, I don’t know why it made me happy. In that cinema, Sathyan would be singing that song watching the moon. Sathyan is byone, Thoppil is bygone. You and me will go past some day. But the moon and sky will be there forever. Someone will sing the same song again. It may sound mundane thoughts to you. But when I ruminate the past in this lonely nights, the undulated mind would make me feel elated.” KKM smiled “ Yes. You have more age and time than me for such a moments of dwelling in thoughts”


“I actually came here to discuss the conference preparation work, Comrade.”


“You and Narayanan, are there to take care of everything rite. Do I need to sign any letters”


“I will let you know.:”


“The special guest guy, what is his name? Ah.. Masilamani. I don't accept him at all in the stage”


“It is the decision of politburo”


“Yes. He is the hanger-on man of Manickam. Once in a conversation, do you know what Ramasundaram commented on this guy? In the post revolution, standing alone, he will be worth only one thing. There should be someone to mop the bloodshed in the floor rite. Ha Ha ha. His loyalty will shift to the victorious side in a beat. You better be handling this guy carefully, if not he would stitch you up. This juggler guy would even hoist his flag in the Red fort(*) one fine day. That was what Ambrose said about him. We had the peals of laughter on that day”


“He has the strong backing now”


“Why not? He should have. Two years ago, during the Mettur K.T.R.S Mill worker’s strike, the Mill owner visiting Delhi, managed to establish contact with the ministry by greasing their palm substantially . That minister twisted the harthal events, projecting it as a collision issue. On the beckoning of the party, all of a sudden, Masilamani’s ass farted the nationalist farce. By giving a long sermon on nationalism, he put an end to the worker strike.``


“That time, we were in alliance with the center Government, Comrade”


“Our Government? My foot. Was that ever the government of proletariats? Was ever our Red flag hoisted in the Red fort? We were just supporting their government. Why the central government never supported us back in our protests. Throughout that nine months, every strike of ours kicked the bucket. We were forced to shoehorn our dignity in the name of coalition agreement. To support secularity and nationalism, the workers had to suffer offering even the last piece of shroud cloth. They would not even step down to offer a pinch of cotton from their pillows. What a squared alliance of goat and wolf. Son of a bastard's democracy. “


“Whether we agree or not , it is the reality, Comrade. Let us not discuss that topic now”


“Why not now? Last year, This very same Maasilamani charted the course to break the spine of our well organised harthal(*), in the name of alliance. Now, in the conference, he would appear preening himself like a new-wed, over the support of the central politburo. What do they think about us, a flock of tame idiots?”


Arunachalam was in the state of mind to divert that topic at once. His sympathy for the elder a while ago, turned into an unbearable exasperation due to his headstrong behaviour. This haggard would never realise his obsoleteness and incompatibility. Did he lose his sense of mind completely? Arunachalam wished strongly for his imminent death. Nothing else is a fitting end for him. There is no other way could bring his life, dignity and recognition. Not in the view of a personal animosity, anyone who is fond of him would also wish for such an end. On the contrary, this elder is wallowing in his own phase, self-satisfied yet untrammeled by any external forces, in a totally different space.


“Did you know, once, Masilamani threw the slander on Stalin? In his words, whatever may be, thus far our veneration of Stalin, he must be uprooted immediately. This son of a dog, swearing to uproot Stalin. If at all , there is no Stalin, the very same Red flag he is revering, could have been a loincloth for the Americans. How on earth, this dickhead got balls to chastise Stalin? He is saying, every conflict can be resolved in a democratic discussion process. Let us sit and watch whether he brings the communist government through the democratic discussion with the capitalist regime. Would capitalism ever unfetter the workers? This charlatan needs the provident money. With his sugar coated discussion he already owned a condo in Adyar. His sons and daughters got admission in the premium convent schools. His wife twerks, decorating herself with silk saree and fifty sovereign jewels. He is the curse for the communists. Hey Arunachalam, what do you think is the cost of his wrist watch?”


“Comrade, We shall talk about this matter in detail at some other time. I have to ask a small doubt. Do you know about this book?”


Receiving the book from Arunachalam, “What sort of book?” asked KKM. By adjusting his glass, he rummaged through the pages with a sharp gaze. There was no visible change of feeling in his countenance.


“Have you ever come across this book?”’


“No. Where was it published? Marthandam ? I don’t think I ever come across”


“Do you know the author?”


“ I don’t think so. Veerabadra pillai a B.A Graduate fellow. I can recollect someone called Madasamy pillai from Aralvaimozhi”


“Looks like he was a member of the District committee. In Fact K.R.S wrote the preface of the book”


“Oh is it? That is why I am a little puzzled. Never heard of this person”


“Then, who is he?”


“Looks like a sabotage work of the secret Agency. During those times, the opposite party along with the ruling government, to divert public support, circulated many such books. You won't believe this, In 1953 there was a book circulated in the name of KKM, that too prefaced by K.R.S. The book said that under the rule of communist government, the churches will be demolished. Just that was required for the hooligans, who were all on the streets holding the bludgeon searching for me. In Fact I got a few black and blue beats. No one could find the origin of the book publisher uptill now. In fact, representatives from the central committee enquired me regarding that book.”


“Was this person ever a member of our party?”


“I can not recollect from my memory such name”


“Then what was the reason behind coming up with this specific name in the book?”


“You have no idea about that era. There was no penetration of radio or newspaper. Every published book was like a bible to people. I am sure that book was intended to be a affront. What is the content of that book?”


“Story”


“Stories? Certainly, It must have been targeted the lower level members. Incidentally, another guy wrote a story with a queer theme. Once communism is realised not only soil and gold but also the women would become the common property of all. Which of our fellow mates ever read books like Capitalism, The Origin of the Family, Private Property ? Whatever they heard in the speeches was communism to them. That book caused a furor. Over the hills, the women were furious to shove us all away holding the broomsticks. The youths were exhilarated. One of them asked cheekily “Are those daughters of great thampuran(*) also comes under the public property term? Ha Ha Ha ”


“Ok. It is already late. Comrade, Allow me to get back to work”


“Fine then. Do not forget to get a copy of Masilamani's speech to me. If at all he speaks about Stalin, he will be getting a smacking by me”


“It supposed to be a Worker union debate”


“He has the guts to speak anywhere anything”


“Let me take a leave”


“Ok. As you wish. You know. It has been a long time since we had our hearty conversations. Of late, You have not visited here frequently. All over in the idle times, my mind goes back to the hills where we trekked together on those memorable days. Those green moments are vividly staying in our minds, rite?”


“Yes” replied in an apathetically.


“Just ask someone to repair this radio. It makes me feel like, I am locked inside a doorless, windowless room”


KKM removed his glass. His face lost life once again, as if a lively human face turned into a statue. Upon climbing down the staircase, Arunachalam had a glance at the book “When palmtree sings”. It does not appear like a book of propaganda. He was bemused.


Zindabad Zindabad IPW Zindabad


Zindabad Zindabad State Conference Zindabad


A small group of people were approaching. Must be some estate union members. Proudly holding the red flag, one of the main members was shouting the hail slogans loudly. Following crowd reverberated the slogans intensely.


Inquilab Zindabad, Inquilab Zindabad, Inquilab Zindabad


“Leave me alone from your inquilab zindabad” Arunachalam felt as if Nagammai spoke those words in his ears. He smiled within himself. According to her those words can be interpreted as Apathetic, Intoxicated, Worthless Jorgans. He felt guilty, when he remembered his dust-up with her in the morning. She must have been weeping in agony throughout the day. Whatever may be the romantic moment, bantering, or a friendly way of commenting, if he passes some stay words on her face’s pockmarks or complain the shortness of her hair or her rural attitudes, sure as rain, it would evoke a great deal of anger in her. He was so puzzled about her reaction in the earlier days of their marriage. He assumed she as a humourless, insensitive country girl. Much later he realised that those were very private feelings of hers, which he could never grasp clearly. She was forced to stay maiden for six long years, as a result of one after other marriage arrangement rejection of as many as eight times. After realising that, he would tread upon that matter very very mindfully. At times, he will be lurking for the right moment to use that as a vitriol weapon against her.


There is a telephone available in the Neighbourhood Selvavinayagam’s home. They can connect to her if I request. I should call and console her. If I say, I have been thinking about you since I left home, she will blossom at once. She will return back to home as if a frolicking girl. That image made Arunachalam gently shake with mirth.