Voice of the hounding shadow - Wind through Black-Palm 3

 

Chapter 9

After the conclusion of  Alancholai branch meeting, on his way to his home, when Arunachalam stopped his two wheeler for tea, at Kalaiyalumoodu junction, the fellow assistance worker said “ K.K.M is living near by, Comrade” . Arunachalam was visibly shaken to hear that.

“Did you say something, Comrade” he asked.

“No. Near by means, In this area?”

“Right here. In his former mistress house.”

“Mistress?”

“Yes. Her name is Elisi. She belongs to our Nayar community. Fourty years ago, She had worked in L.S.T estate. You must have heard about K.K.M’s affair with this lady. They have a son. He is working as a bus conductor in the N.D.C state bus transport. Elderly lady later married to some other worker. Her husband is no more.  They had no children. You will be spellbound by the features of his son, a clone of the younger KKM. ”

  “How long KKM been living here?”

“For some four months. Everyone say, he is settled here for rest of the life. He is in recluse by cutting all the earlier relationship. It seems his son is taking care of him well”

“Did you ever see him?”

“A few times. You looks aged by 10 to 15 years. He lost all his vitals”

“I need to see him”

“People say.  His son bares his fang upon the sight of the union workers. “

“I dont care. Let us meet him”

After gulping the tea,  he rode his moped into a single track mud road, having the fellow worker in pillion. That road ended at the concrete house situated amidst the dense rubber trees. Walls of the house smeared with the dried rubber liquids. A single cow stood cudding. There was no other soul. The door had a Jesus Christ poster with quotes “John 14:6 – “I am the way, the truth, and the life” . Although the home appeared clean yet like a typical agrarian house, all sort of flagrant and stenchs mixing emanated from it. Two empty wooden chairs were laying.”

“Anyone in house?” cried the assistance worker. There was no response from home. Arunachalam just strolled around the house hesitantly. An elderly woman appeared, followed by a goat. Squinting her eyes, cupping her hand over it “ Austin has gone to work. Who are you?” asked that lady. 

“He is from union. He came here to meet the Comrade”

“Please come in” women said tethering the goat on to the windows grill. Wagging its tail, the goat pooped on the porch. “Please wait here. Comrade has gone to temple. Would you like to have black coffee?”

“Do not strain yourself. We had tea just a minute ago.”

Uttering “Jesus Christ” the elderly lady sat down “ My daughter-in-law is not here. She has taken my son to hospital to treat his fever. Where are you from?”

“Nagercoil”

“On what purpose you are here”?

“We came here for a meeting”

“K.K.M is my leader” said Arunachalam.

“Oh really. Fine then. I was also a duly fee paid member of the union. I used to cry Zindabad slogan in chorus . I was struggling a lot on those time.  Now I am in much better position with the blessing of Jesus Christ’

“How did you meet KKM?”

“I met him in estate, when he came to gather the new members” 

Arunchalam was not sure what to ask her next. Realizing his hesitation, the lady “Are you going to ask whether we married?  You may not aware, It was not possible on those time. That era Comrades were like the Catholic jesuits. They were barred from marriage. We were in courtship for four years. In that period, we had a boy. My parents were worried about my future after the case of their demise, as the Camrade was not avail to marry.  His life was in danger,  if he got captured in police, he was sure to die.  They feared that I may become an orphan. With my parents and Comrade’s approval, I decided to marry my husband. He was also a member of the union. He was an ardent follower of our comrade. After meandering  various places,  finally we settled here. At first, we built a palmleaf hut beneath a valiant tamarind tree.  My dear son Austin, built this house. We were in hardship earlier. But now we settled sound and comfy. “

“How is KKM doing?”

“He is feeling constant giddy due to high blood pressure. Dr. Rabel treated him with injection and tablet, which needed to be consumed on time. But here I am,  could get up only with a support. If not I can only sit or just stand. My sister-in-law is taking care of him. She is an angel.  Do you know Ambrose Teakanarai?  She is his second daugher.”

“How is the relationship between Austin and Comrade?” asked Arunchalam. He could not pent-up those words anymore. 

“Initially it was sore. He would blew a fuse upon hearing Comrade’s name. He would lambast me “are you a loyal christian? Do you really have faith in Jesus? “ He would even try to beat me. Everytime someone mocks him asking if he is son of Comrade, he would break their heads. He is a faithful believer. He never goes to bed without praying Christ. Sometime, he would say to me with tearful eyes “ I am not the son of that imbecile, I am the son of Jesus Christ”. What could I do, Sir? These present generation guys do not understand the erstwhile customs. On those times, Comrade was like rural deity Sudalai madan. Uttering his name itself would boosts confident in all of us. When going alone in the dark forest path, When meet the brutal labour supervisor alone, If we think about Comrade’s name, we all turn bravado. Like Jesus Christ to sheeps, he was the shepherd for all of us the sheeps. Noone from the current generation, could understand his aura. “

“What does Austin say now?”

“You must listen this. One day, my daughter in law was not in home. She had gone to her house. It was 8 o clock night. There was a drizzling. I was about to hit the mat, after finishing my porridge dinner and prayer rituals. The door was knocked. When I opened the door, I was not able to recognise the man who entered in. He said “ Elisi, it is me” . I could not believe my eyes. “Elisi, I am lost, I have no one. I was casted out.” said He. “Jesus Christ, Is this my dear Comrade?” I wailed. Only after few mins I realised, he was in drenched in rain. After inviting him in and comforted him, I asked about what happened. He blurted out “Elisi, I have no home, no friends”  repeatedly. Only after that I realised his state. “Comrade, I am here for you, our son will take care of you. Please come in to your home”. He entered in and sat in the chair. He had just a single jibba dress set that too bundled in a news paper. “Hey, Austin, get a Dhoti for Comrade” I asked. He went in silently and picked a dress. I dried him with a towel and asked to if the porridge is fine with him. He said yes and had it elegantly full stomach. “ Hey Austin, this is your father. He is your father because of your last seven birth’s good karma. The fate united him with you in his elder age. Seek the blessing from his feet”. He was in tears when he fell down in his feet. That was the first time, I saw Comrade crying. When my son and Comrade embraced, It occurred to him as if the resurrected Jesus Christ appearing from sky in front of me with full glory. Comrade soothed him by cuddling him. Blood is thicker than water, isnt it?”

“Yes, Indeed” the fellow worker responded sincerely. “Truly a blessed bloke”

“Did you say comrade has gone to Temple?”

“Yes. He has turned religious. There is a Krishnan Temple nearby. He is worshipping there daily twice. He chants the mantras in nights. As he wished to hear the spiritual songs, one fellow brought an old stereo set. Comrade does not sleep much. In the whole night, he hears only the Krishna songs. He was a lover of songs in his earlier days too”

Arunchalam was sitting, in search of the words.

“Would you like to have the coffee?”

“No, Please”

“Today is auspicious full moon day right. In any moment,  Comrade may arrive after the night pooja”

“Is that the room of Comrade?”

“Yes. Please be seated in his room. Pre mid night meal time. No drop of water ought to be consumed by both of us, before that. Diet food without the tinge of salt. We have two types of cooking in this home. After consuming the saltless food cooked for Comrade,  I too lost sense of taste. Do you know? Humans never need Salt. “ 

Arunchalam got into that room. There was a tiny table in that small room. KKM’s glass was laying. He felt like making an eye contact with KKM, so he turned away. The room appeared clean. In the opposite side wall, there was a poster of Lord Krishna in his universal form, with Sudarshana discus, Panchajanya conch symbols . Beneath that It was written ‘Krishna Krishna’ in Malayalam. There were some seven or eight mantra books. Arunachalam took a white paper and began to write something with his pen. He stopped as he was not able to muster up any words. Even after applying himself completely no words emerged from him. Letting out a huge sigh, he comforted himself and scribed “ My sincere Apologies, Comrade - by Arunachalam”,

The elder lady already prepared the coffee in some black color. After sipping that coffee,  when he was about to leave “ You both missed the chance to meet Comrade, coming from far way” She let out a frustration. 

“It is ok, We got chance to meet you”

The elder lady blushed. “ Are you kidding? You came all the way to meet me”

When Arunachalam was returning back in his moped in the single track mud road, he heard the voice of KKM from the other side of ramp. With the support of cane, KKM was walking, conversing with a fellow elder man. There was a holy basil in his ear. His body smeared with sandal paste. “

“Look, Comrade is coming” said the fellow worker. 

“Let us leave at once”

“Why?”

“We can meet him in some other day”

KKM did not see them. He had a garland of jungle flame flower in his hand.

Arunachalam overwhelmed by meaningless wavering thoughts was in chagrin. He perceived that the suppressed anger smoldering him deeply like ember. 

Chapter 10

Well passed mid-night, Arunchalam knocked the door of Shyamala lodge’s room.  When the door was opened, there were three young men along with Kadhir appeared. Getting up from chair “Come in Comrade. Narayanan has left just now” said Kadhir.

“Yes, I know I am late” said Arunachalam.  Nagamma’s brother and his family hit his home in the morning. Her brother was an employe of Kerala Goverment office. He prided himself as a crowned prince as a result.  Nagammai would turn head over heels every time her brother visits. She would expect her husband to dance to her tune. She would also keep on intermittently pass the contrived accolades on her husband. Out of blue, his overloaded work nature, his unavailability to family issues, meeting with flocks of visiting workers , would turn as proud acclaimations. In return, her sister-in-law would begin to boast about her husband’s sensibilities in worldly issues, also would complaint him on getting drained by his generous nature. Unable to bore the off putting dramatic actings,  Arunachalam started to Alancholai in the morning earliest possible time.  Their he received the news about Kadhir’s arrival. The sun was already set when the Alancholai meeting over. By sending a worker to his house, he set out to meet Kadhir. “ I was in Aloncholai” said Arunachalam by sitting in the chair. 

“Narayanan mentioned that”

Arunchalam adjusted his chair to sit comfortably. 

“Meet Gangadharan. Member of Youth wing. His name is Manickaraj, member of student wing. Shanmugam is a journalist of Red-Ray Madurai edition.”

Arunchalam greeted them all together. It occurred to him, he should leave as early as possible.  He was not in a mind set for any banter. His mind was filled with Veerabadra Pillai’s manuscripts. He yet to complete the reading. 

“How is the Magazine work making progress, Comrade?”

“No complaints. We have received few articles”

“Narayanan cashed in plentiful advertisements for the magazine. Let us rename it as advertisement magazine aptly. “

“Resourseful person” said Gangadharan.

“But he never reads. I keep on insisting him to read the communist manifesto at least once.” said Arunachalam. 

“He is an effective orator”

“Public speaking is not a rocket science. The more experience anyone gains, more fluent the speech in the stage”

“It seems no one could counter argue him in the debates,” said Kadhir.

“Credit should go to his assistant Raveendran”

“He mobilizes the workers crowd, he could debate and his could project rhetorical charisma on the stage, what else is needed”?

Arunchalam had a intense glance straight at Kadhir’s eyes. “Don't you think, something is missing?”

“What is missing?”

“You know it”

“Oh. You are saying the so called Ideology right?”

Arunachalam was embarrassed at that moment. He wondered why he felt that way at that moment. 

“Comrade, Ideology has become a cumbersome burden in this era. Advocates of ideologies are slowly jettisoned from every political party.  This is the century of actuality. There are no workers ready for sacrifice. These workers are only at ready to receive their due share”

“There are people still give their life for ideology”

“Where? In Srilanka? Srilanka is psychically fifty years backward nation. I could compare that only with the some of the African nations. “

“Soon, It will become another Uganda or Ethiopia,”  said Shanmugam. Others laughed at that.

“Narayanan told me what is happening with you, Comrade. I never thought you would behave so naively.. At times, you are proving that you are a progeny of KKM”

“Did you ask Narayanan, why did he stitch me into that quagmire?”

“He thought you will buy his argument”

“It was a lie. He knows the truth well. These are all his scheme to topple me”

“Let it be. What is wrong with that? Didnt you do the same scheming to KKM? ” 

Arunachalam turned crimson. He tried to get up.

“Forgive me, Comrade. My style is blatant talk, straight to face. Every lively organization must naturally function in this way only. There must be a next level member nursured and trained to fill every defective higher level member. In every hierarchy there should be a healthy competition. This will ensure the system runs without stagnation. Only then it will perform to its full potential. After all, We all have two kidneys right?”

“Did you say, competition?”

“Yes. Please forget the former era’s assumption of worker’s union as a welfare organization. In this contemporary time, it is a business. One of the best. This is what a member worker expects exactly from us. Narayanan knows very well  how to cater to this need. He does not throw up ideological points any more like you. “

“Ok. What is your final decision on the over time issue”

“We are in accordance with Narayanan’s decision. Accepting on ground, rejecting it in paper. Principle and Practical sense is totally different. Jagajith Singh balances it well every year. Did you not realize?”

“Yet”

“Wait. Your concern is about the future of the union, right. Have you thought about collapse of the soviet union,? You would have laughed your belly out, if someone claimed that, five years before. What happened now? Let us stop worrying about future. In this fast phase world, anything can happen in future. If you look the proliferation of  contract workers, in near future, their may not be such organization like our union. Who knows, there may be various workers guild sort of organization may emerge. Stop fussing. “

“Our party is driven by ideology, to achieve a glorious dream,” said Arunachalam. He was perplexed  why his voice sounded hindered and apologetic.

“What is your so-called ideology?” asked Kadhir. He dropped all sort of feigning from his speech. “Humanity has been speaking about Ideologies for centuries. Have we ever discussed absoluteness of this ideology? Words of Plato, Words of Nietze never made sense to us. Whoever heard part of that, started venerating that as a new ideology. For the last ten centuries, philosophers committing the crime of sending the millions of people to guillotine in the name of ideology. No we entered into the dead end. The greatest ideology of our time is Marxisms. Which failed the humanity evidently. It fizzled out, leading the humanity in front of huge questions.”

“I do not agree with that,” Arunachalam said furiously. 

“I said, in the perspective of Ideology, it has lost its ground. Marxism is functioning on three fundamentals. First is the ideology, the glorious dream about upliftment of humanity. It is no more. If someone says it still exists, he is an idiot or a scoundrel. If not, a political expert like me. The second one is, its philosophical structure based on dialectical discourse. This base is slowly losing its ground, after the invention of Einstein's theory of relativity and wave–particle duality. It is no more gaining prominence in the higher level philosophical debates. It may extend its relevance in practical aspect for some time. The third one is, its political aspect, the class war. After Antonio gramsci, everyone started understanding that the real war itself turned as a symbolic war. Ours is a static warfare. October revolution was a real war. Which means a compromise is also a war. This is how the politics will funtion in this era and in the upcoming century. When the world eradicates the hunger and poverty, this will also fade away” Arunachalam was sitting silently. “We were talking about Ideology , right? How would you define that ? Please tell me” Arunachalam stopped a bit and said “ I don’t think I can define correctly. Yet, Ideology is sacrificing for something higher”

“There are two parts in your definition. The life we live currently is not good or there is something missing. There is a dream, which aspires to fulfill it, is a one point of view. This aspiration is the first part. The second one is the sacrifice. I am attempting to change the society which I am also the part. But I may not be alive to enjoy the fruit of after it changed for good. But still, I strive to do it for the improvement of the next generations. This the fundamental reason for the sacrifice mentality, right?” “Yes” “On what basis we are came to the conclusion to change the society?” “After our critical analysis, we find out the improvements and gaps to be filled” “Hold on, Comrade. Why do we think there is something missing in the current life? Why it is glass half filled” “Because, in this life, constantly we are embroiled in the misery” “Do you mean Poverty?” “Certainly” “There are primitive tribal societies, which are functioning with manifold of poverty compared to ours. Why did not they have such dream of social reformation.” Arunachalam felt his senses activated. “In every society where there are expections about life, only there will be the feeling of unfulfillments. Only after we started dreaming about the better society, we find gaps to be fulfilled in our current society. So the basis of the ideology is the sense of dissatisfaction. What is the root cause of that?” The entourages stood in silent. Kadhir had a intense glance. In an orating tone “ Dear, Comrades. What is called heaven?” he asked smilingly. “ The life that human wish to create in this earth right? Are there any religion without the dream of the heaven. Marxist religion’s dream of heaven is the communist society. What is the origin of the dreams in every religion? What is the justification of that?” Arunachalam lost his patience. His dramatic stage speech tone frustrated him.

“Every religion must reject the real world. Only then, it can build something as hallowed heaven. The Kamadenu cow is much loftier than the real cow. Karpaga vruksha is holier than the peepal tree. Heaven is consecrated than this earth. Every religious clergies are preaching that this world as farce, a vaccum. To establish the param(heaven) they must denounce the igam(worldly matters). There is no religion in the world which does not scorn upon the worldly pleasures. Yet the human possess the indefinable deep rooted attraction towards this world. Human finds comfort and cozy in the bosom of the world. Every native tribals live their lifes happily. They do not lose igam to attain the param. Every human born in this world, desires to die only after relishing the last morsel of life moment.  Why the religion establishing something called holiness? To find the reason, we need go back to the origin of the civilization. Human’s desire is unrestrainable. Human needs the entire world to fulfill his desire. If he strives that unchecked desire he would end up with perpetual fight with each others. But to live in this co-operative world, he must sacrifice a great part of his desire. Human must constrain his desire. On what basis, he will lose the major part of it? He will sacrifice, only to attain something higher than the worldly life. So the teaching of If you sacrifice your desires in this world, you will attain lofty place in the heaven emerged. That is the birth moment of the holiness.  Birth moment of the heaven. Sacrifice attained the greatest virtuous status among all the human emotions. By burgeoning over these foundations, ascended religions established their power.  For centuries, exponentially expanding the dreams about the holy heaven, the religions sustained their power over the civilization. To attain this they injected the guiltiness to reject this real life. Without relishing the delicious food, without wearing proper clothing, how many Sadhu’s have perished their life. Flesh gives pleasure, so renounce it. Lay over the bed of nails. Only in the name of sacrifice, there had been millions and millions of people are forced to death. How many monks immolated themself. How many self-tormented, How many soldiers died in the battlefield pathetically. Religion instilled the dissatisfaction and guiltiness into the every worldly pleasures. Every moment of heartfelt laugher, stomach full delicious food consumption, heart pumping sex with woman, we end up gulty ridden. Can you deny this, Comrade? If we meet someone who renounced all these pleasures, we kneel down in front him cornered by guilty feeling. Every sacrifice invites the tears. If we miss the chance to sacrifice in life, we end up in tears.  Sacrifice is the ace in the hole of every religion. Also applicable for Marxism, isnt it? ”

Kadhir continued “ Religion sabotages the complementary relationship between nature and human. Religion says,  nature is not nature. It is trying to replace the nature with some answers, or some sublime shadows or something imaginaries. We need to lose this for the sake of that. When a beautiful view of the canyon blows the minds of a man, he cries the name of god. For this god sake, he should reject this sensorial pleasure and shut himself inside the dark chamber.  Have a look at the location of the hermitages of Ajantha caves. Windless, lightless darkest possible rooms. Nature is filled with wind and light. So you must lose that. Renouncing what I believe as the beatitude is bliss. How can this be justified?  The greatest world literatures relentlessly preaching this sacrifice for two thousands of years. Religions exhorts this preaching more vigorously. Whatever we just discussed the dissatisfaction,  dream and sacrifice are the three phases of ideology. All these three are inherited from the religions. Marxism was originally emerged as science, but soon they turned it as religion. In western world, they changed it like christianlity religion. Here we are trying to change that as Buddhism kind of religion. An intellectual religion. A religious union formed on the belive that all sort of society issues’s antidotes. How did the Celibacy and Renounciation permeated into the Indian communist?   Buddhist monk would eat the boiled yam and greens. Our comrade would live solely by having tea and rusk. A half starving worker would get guilty filled on seeing our comrade. He will offer him by collecting some lended money. He would buy him a beedi bundle at least. The greatest weapon of our elder comrade possesses is their sacrifices. The commodity which was derived from the religion, yet to lose it’s market value. Ideology is the another name of sacrifice.”

“Do you think the sacrifice has no value in this era?”

“Certaintly it is a valued virtue only at individual perspective.  If a man believes his sacrifice would fulfill his soul, then nothing should forbid him.  But it is not an institution any more. It is not a valued in the social level. Forcing a society to sacrifice their entire community is not feasible. Because in this contemporary era, the future has changed from definite to obscured, an unimaginable one. There is a chance that world may be destroyed tomorrow. Even the universe may be perished. Whatever we see today can be completely vanished tomorrow. This is the first lesson that the modern science teaches to the civilization. Today is the only truth. Today is the only possibility.  Human is slowly losing the guilty feeling over the sexual pleasures. It is occurring to me that humanity is shouting “Gimme more, Gimme more” towards the nature. When the world is not enough, he shifts his focus towards the sky. Today human is replenishing the nature and  his life without any feeling of guilty. Have you noticed colossal growth of the human lust?  Every shackles which reined the human lust is shattered into pieces.  It is not called love anymore instead a soul connection, no it is not creative act, a speckless lust. May be all of it. There is no place for martyrs here. All of them are historical symbols. Thats all. I met a hard core leftist comrade in the mount road of chennai. Ragged shirt, leaflet bundle in the pocket, fire in his eyes, month was parched in starving. He spoke ideologie vehemently. The city surrounded him was active in the glittering lights. Suddenly, he appeared pitiful. Every Gandhian followers, Red Army sacrificers and other martyors are odd men in this era. “

Arunachalam had a look at his wrist watch.

“Is it late for you?”

“Yes. I have to travel long distance”

“Certainly it is a valued virtue only at individual perspective. If a man believes his sacrifice would fulfill his soul, then nothing should forbid him. But it is not an institution any more. It is no more socially valued . Forcing a society to sacrifice their entire members is not feasible anymore. Because in this contemporary era, the future has changed from definite to obscured, an unimaginable one. There is a chance that world may be destroyed tomorrow. Even the universe may be perished. Whatever we see today can be completely vanished tomorrow. This is the first lesson that the modern science teaches to the civilization. Today is the only truth. Today is the only possibility. Human is slowly losing the grip of guilty feeling on the sexual pleasures. It is occurring to me that humanity is shouting “Gimme more, Gimme more” standing in front of the nature. When the world is not enough, he shifts his focus towards the sky. Today human is replenishing the nature and his life without any feeling of guilty. Have you noticed colossal growth of the human lust? Every shackles reined the human lust is shattered into pieces. It is not called love making anymore instead a soul connection, no it is not reproductive act, a speckless lust. May be all of it. There is no place for martyrs here. All of them are historical symbols. Thats all. I met a hard core leftist comrade in the mount road of chennai. Ragged shirt, leaflet bundle in the pocket, fire in his eyes, mouth parched in starving. He spoke ideology vehemently. The city surrounded him was illuminating in the glittering lights. Suddenly, he appeared pitiful. Every Gandhian followers, Red Army sacrificers and other martyrs are odd men in this era. “ Arunachalam had a look at his wrist watch. “Is it late for you?” “Yes. I have to travel long distance” “I reckon you can spend little more time. Comrade, My intention is not to disappoint you with my discussion. We all must understand the bitter truth. The erstwhile chorus slogans are like rituals. Red flag, Chicago street marching, Inquilab Zindabad, Che Guara who shed his blood in the Bolevian forest, all of these. No society completely disowns its past. Also it never embraces it completely. For the practical needs of the present, the history has been floured, kneaded, chopped, baked and saved into the various labled bottles for future examination. For society, history is the treasure of symbols. Thats all. The worker junta cries its lungs out Inquilab Zindabad, Hail the revolutions million times a day. What is the actual meaning of that? All those are boils down int to symbolical acts. The blood shedded in the battlefield became the red flag. This red flag is turned as red flower. The meanings of the symbols would keep on change. It is occurring to me, human found the symbols just to keep on add various meanings to that. The stage speech had absolute meaning few decades ago. But now it is just a mantra. Like the vedic chantings. Just a sound. No brahmin would continue his chant, if he happens to learn the true meaning of those. Thats why Comrade, I urge you not to get prisoned by your own symbolical speech. Let us pass through this century alive, without becoming a historical artifact.” Arunachalam started hearing some esoteric voice through his thoughts. At some moment, that voice merged into his own, became his thoughts. “Someone aptly said Marxism is the religion of the industrial revolution. When the machines took the place of the religion, the older religions lost its relevance. So there was need of new religion which should be inclusive of machines emerged. Unlike nature which was mystic, infinite and dynamic the machines are discreetly defininable entities . So this new religion is expected to be in the scope of logical, definite frame for the need of the hour of human. The demand is the son of god, Bourgeois is the satan, Property is the original sin, Revolution is the judgment day, Communist society is the hallowed heaven. Yes everything emerged, brand new bible, fresh apostles. The pattern followed are the regular historical cycles. Like Jesus-Peter, Mohammed - Umar, Lenin for Marx. Then the apostles started explaining words of the god in their verses. Listen to us, said the second level text interpreters jumping into the scene. Marxist Shariat, Marxist Fatwa, Marxist Crusades, Marixst holy sacrifices, more over the Marxist Hajj. All the top members of the party had a pilgrimage to the Marxist Mecca. I too fulfilled my holy duty by visiting Mascow once. “ “Comrade, You are belittling” “I cannot help if you think in that way. Whatever I said, it is the expression of my understanding. All religions calls for renouncing the life to attain something higher. Every religion functions over the scapegoats and blood witnesses. Islam is the religion responsible for the most number of sacrificers in history. Ours gets the second place. 25 million human lifes in Soviet union alone, 10 million among them are martyrs. Rest of them were scapegoats. Like this, in the whole world how many lives gone? These men intrinsically aware the meaning of the glorious sacrifice. Thanks to Christianity, played the major part in preaching. Marxism says, It is loftier to join their religion and give your blood instead of sacrificing the life in the other religion. Entire generation vanished stepping into that abyssal grave. “ Kadhir stopped for breathing. After pausing for few seconds “Yes Comrade, Conclusively, Dream, Sacrifice and Ideology are the centuries old matters. These has no place in this current era”

Air of uncomfortable silence filled that room. Every face turned serious assuming various levels of emotions. Arunachalam imagined the thus far speech as the nauseating, spooky, poison filled some sort of huge worm. But it is not a dream, it is not an illusion. It is a bitter truth which cannot be denied. He knew the worm which is already living inside him victualed his questions. He tried to eject it out of him. But his conscious mind wanted into savour it, as if to feel of the pain caused by scratching the wounds with salt paper. Gangadharan chimed in “Comrade, It is already late. Shall we start?” said. “What is that?” asked Arunachalam. “Nothing. In Gangadharan’s words holy water of Satan '' said Kadhir. Gangatharan unwrapped the paper bundle and took out a scotch whiskey bottle. He tried open the two packaged bisleri water bottles. He could not. Manickraj helped him to open making a scratch with his thumb’s nail on the plastic cap. Shanmungam placed few the glass tumblers over the table. After few seconds, the liquor attained the center of focus brushing aside the other topics. Manickaraj making a hole in the polythene cover, took out the spicy fried cashew and placed over the plastic plates. “A chicken fry would have been a great addition” said Manickaraj. “You Dumbass. This is not the country liquor. Scotch. Highness one. You must treat it with royal respect. Tenderly. Softly. Am I correct, Comrade?” asked Kadhir. “Let me take leave, Camrade” Said Arunachalam. “Don't be shy. How can we have without you?” “No. I dont drink” “Please sit down. Why are you serious as if you are saving your virginity” Manickaraj pushed Arunachalam’s shoulder down and made him sit. “Take your seat sir. Dont be a holy Budda and chastise us as sinners. Sit down“ “Have you never drunk?” asked Shanmungam. “I had palm wine few times”

“Treat this as british palm wine. Nothing more. Comrade, don't get intimidated by its name. It will sting you like ant” “Everytime I drink this imported liquor, I feel the licking of a rabid dog with its kick. All I need is the warm bite of the normal dog. Upon the command of master, the dog has to bite. The eternal duty of the dog is biting right? Kadhir” “This is the scotland’s palm wine. We must approve all the sub nationalisms. “ said Kadhir. “Have a sip, Comrade. Let lose the religious tensions” “You have no idea about Jesuits moonshine after drunk.” “I did not mean that” “A true communists are consummated barflies. The lord Marx, Engles and Lenin all are liquor swillers” “Leave him alone, Comrade. Do not prank him in the name of the lords. Let us open the bottle.” It is occurring to him that before opening the bottle, they were doing horseplay. But Arunachalam was rankled. He felt like an idiot. Yet he was hooked to hit the bottle. Kadhir opened the bottle stylishly. Emanated liquor smell wafting around the room filled their noses. “Nothing can match Scotch” said Manickaraj. “Have you ever tasted the Goa’s native drink? Feni. De souzas make it with fermented cashew juice. Nothing can beat it’s smell” “Domestic economy zindabad” “Have a shot, Comrade” Arunachalam took the glass in his hand. The limpid brownish colour captivated him. Kadhir sipped it grafiyingly. Arunachalam liked that manner. It made a dent in his resolute. “Hey you, Do not gobble it like a country spirit. Take your time. This is scotch, you moron” “Burn the scotch. Smells like cow urine. Nothing stands chance against the country mango spirit. Nothing can even come closer to its kick” “In Kunnangulam, solicited feni liquor is filled into the empty scotch bottle and sold. Locals say it original scotch punks out in front of this local liquor” “Kunnangulam Malalayalis are wily monsters. They even made a duplicate of KRS. “

Arunachalam slowly taking the glass near to his lips, had a sip. It tasted bitter and repelling astringent.  Rotten fruit smell. It was nauseating. He paused for few seconds. Of a sudden, he gulped it. Instantly he felt a throw up feeling. He burped loudly. He had an uncontrollable trembling for few seconds. He observed the happenings of his body closely. Nothing strange happened. Finally he was settled with the in-control nausae feeling. 

Bantering slowly faded and the meaningless noises emerged. The creaking sound of the fan started sounded loudly. He felt like needed more air for breathing. Also his back of the head become heavier. His entire back turned clammy. He felt very uncomfortable to sit. He was feeling like falling into sleep. At some unexpected moment, his head swayed sidewise. Lifting his eye-lids forcefully, he attempted to sit properly. He tried to act as if he was not yet high. For that, he felt like talking more. “Comrade Kadhir, No Mr.Kadhir, Gentleman Kadhir. Yes I will address you in this way only, I have a doubt” “Please tell me Comrade” “Comrade, I agree you. Day after tomorrow is the full moon day. “ “Shut up, you boot licking sidekick. Gentleman Kadhir, I have to ask this. Our noble venture, the business of brokers.” Arunachalam infuriated suddenly. Yet he could not do anything about that. “ What is the relationship between him and this pimping ? I meant that beard fellow. What is that fellow’s name ? Marx. Yes Marx. You said there wont be government of workers class. Somehow you are forgiven for saying that. You said, mentality of workers class cannot be reformed. I also nodded to that. I am now asking , what is the meaning of Marxism?” “If there is no Marx, We cannot run this union business, brother “ said Manickaraj. “Shut your butthole, you apprentice. We are the intelligentsia. Upper echelons. Only we are allowed to talk. Tell me Kadhir, what is his meaning here?” “That grandpa is the fundamental reason of the union formation.“ said Kadhir. “There are unions for the business tycoons. Hey you, listen here. Even the prostitutes have their union. What is the different between theirs and ours? “No difference at all” “No. They lay low and we are on top. Ha Ha Ha” said Shanmugam. “We all are equal” said Manickaraj angrily. Arunachalam stood up. The room floated. “Are the workers are hookers?” “No Comrade. But a hooker is a worker.” “Marx said about the glorious world for the workers is waiting. Where is that golden world? Tell me you morons. The place without any government. Equal, Exploitless , flawless, beggarsless, hookers less society . A place gives absolute freedom to workers. Where is that golden society? I rubbed my last two paisas together yet could not buy a silver anklet for my daughter. While watching a swine like ladies, driving the maruti car wearing kilos of gold. My daughter, part of my soul, my dearest daughter, communism will not save me in future. But she will take care of me in my elder days. I cant even afford a single ank..” Arunchalam wailed loudly. “ My sweetheart, My tender fruit, My queen” he started sobbing uncontrollably. Barring Kadhir others appeared shocked. Manickaraj “ Why are you crying like child, Comrade?” he tried to lift him up by shoulder. “Take your hands off me. Dont you dare to touch me” Arunachalam snarled. “You all are schemers. You nipped the bud of the glorious golden dream. You doused the golden lamp. You nipped the bud. You charlatans.” Arunachalam cried unrestraintly. Kadhir pushed him into the bed. He twitched few times as if he is going to vomit. “All this ruckus just for a peg of scotch. He speaks revolutions. Tit of a bull” “Pillaimars just need a lentil gravy to get high” “Which moron spoke about Pillaimar community? “ Arunchalam asked looking at somewhere else. “You dickheads. Don't you know, I am the lineage of the Shenbagaraman Pillai. Pedigree of the family farmed 300 acres of rice paddy field. How dare you sit on chair crossing your leg entering in my house and belittle me.” “Liquor brings out the suppressed afflictions from human” said Kadhir. Arunachalam hollered and vomited. All the three sprang up and rushed towards him. Manickaraj was laughing. “Call the room boy to clean the mess. Hope there is another room available” said Kadir. “You highness Pillai, As the load is off from your mind. You can sleep now” “Conscience is still loaded” “Help your better half in oil body massage tomorrow” “Nagam, these guys squashed the glorious golden dream. “ moaning Arunachalam letting out saliva snorted. “What have we done? Stopping in the middle, we have committed the blasphemy. Let us fetch a local nationalists, a BJP member, illicit liquor vendor” said Kadhir. “Yes. I agree that suggestion. Let us go out” When they got out of the room, Arunachalam was whimpering loudly while sleeping “ The glorious golden dream is punctured , airless, soulless. Fell into pieces “

Chapter 11

Hail the feet of Lord Krishna

Dear Arunachalam, I came to know about your visit. I was disappointed to miss the chance of meeting you. I read your letter. Immediately I wanted to write back saying I neither hold grudge nor animosity towards you. But I postponed that, Since I wanted to confirm the feeling after meditating in front of the Lord Krishna sanctum. I have no wee little anger on you. You are like my son. My heartfelt blessings are always with you and your wife and daughter. Do not be in chagrin. Kolappan once said, you are researching about Veerabadra Pillai. My earlier lies should had been revealed to you by now. In many occasions I lied to you. No worldly activities can be done without the help of lies. I know your soulful connection with Nagam. You cannot deny the existence of a tinge of lie even in that relationship. The relationship man has with god is the only truth. Because God resides in every man’s heart. You have no idea, my love and care towards Veerabadra Pillai. In a way, my affection for him transferred to you. I never had any other personal attachments in my union career. I am not a reader. I was one of the ignoramus among the erstwhile communists. But the readers and art of reading is always fascinated me. Most of the members mock me tagging me as a slave of Ramasundaram. In fact, I became his devotee because he was a reader, a thinker. If at all, there is a next birth, I wish to be born as Ramasundaram. I had an intolerable dislike towards all the non-reading naives in the party. The very sight of Narayanan causes detestation to me. Beware of him. He is a crooked fellow. Initially I was attracted towards Veerapadra Pillai for his literary proficiency . Soon I began to admire his polite nature and his tongue-tied speaking tone. Those are the days, I used to cram down 30 idlis, he would snack on 3 idlis. I liked his eating manners too. I teased him and belittled him. Most of the times just for fun. But at times, crossing the levels it would turn caustic. It would give me some sort of fulfillment feeling. After few moments, I will turn guilty ridden. Later I found that it was due to my inferiority complex. I get cruel joy of victory, when I succumb his literacy knowledge deriding with my practical knowledge. I fear the thinkers. Not because, in future they may topple me. The literates have no influence in the union. Public do not venerate the literates, they need soldiers. Ramasundaram could not even get the one hundredth of influence that Balasubramanian acquired from the public. Ramasundaram’s influence was confined to worker members like me. Common public fear the thinkers. They found them eccentric. Their expressions is in the out of the purview of public's understanding. This suppressed fear is vented out camouflaging as inferiority complex, suspicions, disdainment, fawning in various times. I did not fear the thinkers in worldly matters. At some point, somehow with their thinking, they may ruin the venerated pillars like things connected with my soul. When something you admired as divinely lofty goes to dust, there would be no meaning for your life. Like the priests of the past, today these literates create the new world. They stand odd out from public. Whether they want to mingle with public is a different question. My attachment towards him above all these. He was part of me. Although I hate his writing, I read all of his writings letter to letter. I would take his books to all my visits to show everyone. We had a fight, when he released his first book. Because I wished to publish his first book with my hands. I did not like his association with K.R.S, fearing, it may spoil my relationship with him. When I came to know that he started writing a book on Russian Revolution, I clearly foresaw our relationship going to be in mess. I was the one coerced him to marry, hoping the worldly attachment would save him. Initially, he had a liking towards Isakkiamman. Tall, wheatish and a brawn lady. She shrieks when she spoke. Evidently she possesed unbowed attitude. She was a coolie in the M.S.Garden estate. On that time, it was a biggest mystery for me, how they both managed to sail over the marriage boat that far. But I now, in this age, I perceived that reason. Everything is god's deed. Elisi is as tendered as sensitive plant. She could not even look into my eyes and talk. Sight of her blushing is always endearing to me. My bravery goes back to hide when I flirt with her. Probably, this enigmatic puzzle is the reason for Veerabadra pillai’s short lived love blossomed on Esakki. No it may not be. Perhaps, Veerabadra pillai’s desire to blend with the worker class. He achieved this to prove his communist principle to himself. The past generation, thinkers, communists did similar marriages. Every marriage has a breaking point. I knew this boat will wreck before reaching the shore. But Veerabadra pillai was not in the state of mind to listen my words. He was capricious . He would get high charged on sudden energy burst. He had no control over it. I hoped Esakki would manage to chain him with the worldly matters. I know women. They never fall for the man’s status, post, look or money. All the need is sugar effusing prattling . With pure prattling words, a man can make himself as a Kamadeva or Nawab in the eyes of the women. Esakki had no clue about the words came out from Veerabadra Pillai’s mouth. In this side, he never attempted to have control over her. I believed he would try to allot some space for her in their relationship. But It did not happen. The third month after marriage, both were exasperated with each other. She came to know about his lack of potency and he affronted the animal inside her. Isakki derided him naming as insect. In return, he will swear her as buffalo. Even before marriage, They did not take any step to mutually understanding. In his imagination she was a Cossackian working lady before marriage. He even shared this with me once. He did not realize that those kinds of women would appear only in the books. No one in the Esakki’s home knew the spelling of the book. But she had a liking for his eye glass wearing manners from the corner of her heart. How the hell could such extreme personalities sustain the marriage? At last the Bukharin cat was out of the bag. I believed he would drop that, when the party threatened him. I could never understand his vim and vigour in this matter. K.R.S and Balasubramanian themself in person talked with him. I was tearful and implored him not to part away from me. He stood unyielding. He did not heed to any of the coercion methods and pacifying words. They asked, how could he defile the party’s ideology by magnifying a silly matter. He replied, how could I lose wn shadow? How could I close my ears to its utterings? Party booted him out announcing he turned insane. This smear campaign is part and parcel of the party’s inner protocol. No matter in the past or present or in future, it will remain indelible. In fact I played the major role in wielding that cast out campaign. I am answerable only to god on why I did that. Six month later, my brother gave me the share of 18,000 rupees when they sold the family property. It was a huge amount then. My brother insisted me directly and through third parties, to buy few houses and rent it for living. I could have bought 5 houses with that money. But I decided to give the whole money to Veerabadran. The messenger is still alive. Ayyappan pillai a Cook. He will tell the truth. Veerabadra pillai chuck out that money in the street. He sweared me Stalin’s hunt dog. Touching that money was like touching the blood of Bukharin. In my whole life, I was never a reason behind any of the single man’s blood shedding. I can raise my head above and vouch in front of lord. I was clueless with that money. I was in firm believe that keeping a private property a sin for communists. This belief gives me enormous assurance and fulfillment feeling. Because of this feeling, I could enter into any of the half starved worker’s home and demand him the food confidently. If you ask, Whether I never thought about resting abode, when I lost all your vigour in elderly days? I would anwer. I was in firm believe that I will die as martyr in the battlefield of the revolution. Now, when I look back everything is mysterious mayaa, only the Lord Krishna’s endaring smile is appearing in front of my eyes. I have no complaints. I am looking forward my death happliy with all smile. The current union building and few others were purchased with that money only. The news of Veerbadran’s death reached me only after 3 days. I did not get chance to see his body. When he was alive, I used to visit Mardhandam just see him. Of course hiding behind shadow, I would see him and return back. I watched many times my son too in same disguised way. Everything is Krishana’s leela. I am discontent with only one thing. I wont be leaving any property for my dear son. I wish to give him atleast a cent area of land. But my only personal property is the old fraying parker pen. I am not writing with that anymore in order to preserve for him. I tried to write this letter in an another pen. Another pen makes me another man. It is not allowing me to write what I wish. I just wanted say only one thing. I never saw you cuddling your daughter. Soon she will turn maiden. You will not get chance even to touch her then. A heart soothing embrace of a child is the greatest blessing for a man. Every child is lord Krishana’s form. When I touch and embrace my grand child, I hear the mellifluous flute sound of lord Krishna. Do not allow your book reading and debating attitude to override that lose that gifted moments. There is no other meaning for the human life. Convey my regards to Nagammai. She is a godsend to you. Do not undertake any activities, without consulting her. Do not go any place against her wish. Venerate her as a exalting as Devi Bhagavati in your heart. I wish to see her. If possible, come and visit me with your wife and child. Elisi enquired specifically mentioning you. With my blessings, K.K.Madhavan Nayar.

Chapter 12

The commotion Arunachalam overheard when he was riding his moped in the river bridge caught his attention. Reducing the speed of the moped, he sharpened his ears. Cluster of human heads covered the entire sand bank. There were heads strewn inside the river too. The smoking make shift brick oven was scattered all over. In the day light, the fire was burning emitting lemonish yellow colour. Only then he realized it was vavubali festival day. Holiday for offices. He imagined the ancestors’s spirit hovering higher over this place and observing the rituals casually. He felt amused with that image. The crows yet to arrive. When he kick-started the vehicle, the flash of Bhaskaran’s face came to his mind. Is he performing the vavubali ritual for his father Veerabadra pillai? He vaguely recollected the path to his home. After hesitating for few seconds, he started the moped. When the vehicle attained the steady pace, he let loose his thoughts. He wondered about frequent blocker in his recent days debating. With his fellow workers even after thinking deeply, he could not continue debate. When others talk, his thoughts goes on chase after each of their words. His mind forked into streams in all possible directions. As if a bird watching this vehicle flying in the parallel path in the air. Unrelenting elusive game his subconscious mind plays with the logically expressed words from his own mouth. The motionless bird is watching every scene of this embarrassing drama. Some times it rejects, some times after passing over, it turns back and scrutinizes it suspiciously. On a sudden moment a single word crashing into heart, flutteringly flying crossing the limitless sky, losing the sense of directions, settling back to down earth after self-realising. When it glances the earth from that view, it is appearing as a pile of a definable simple things. Those are neither thought flows, nor the glimpse of ideas. Just images. Those images can be transformed into the pages of a thought evoking book. It could be a collection of poems. But when it was landing, it vanishes behind the mountain ranges. He is unable to debate with that. Every time he debates with himself, he gets enormous oomphs. When he continues to debate with himself, the fire intensifies. Everytime he debates with others, he hears only his voice. He gets a cringing feeling upon realsing his mind is levitating somewhere else, he was just uttering the playful faking words. It never happened earlier. The kick that a speaker gets in his speech is enormous. That hungry beast begins to consume the earth from its corner. Within few moments it is able to gobble half of the world. It stands stupifying upon realizing the other half is remaining. S.M.Ramaswmay goes into mute mode. Immediately, Kadhir begins to sarcastically depreciate his own speech and its listeners at the same time. How elegantly those two speak. Immaculate words. Impregnable logics. How can a man talk with such a lucid and sophisticated manner. It occurred him that as a sin. It is just the manifestation of their arrogance. Arunachalam smiled. Those arrogant words are insult to the nature and god. Man has no right to think such perspicuity manner and express with such pristine words. These square personalities would not open themselves and allow nothing to merge with them. What sort of absurd thought is this ? Is this a way a communist thinks? Or Am I turning as a religious peronson? Arunachalam applying the break slowly and stopped the vehicle. The intensity of the thoughts waned. He started again. His thoughts began to flow in some other direction. Thousands of people performing their ancestors rituals today. Kadhir once derided the absurdity of this ritual. The meaningful acts of one generation becomes a absurd rituals or symbolic acts in the next generation. These symbols keep on changing. What is the root of this ancestors food bestowing ritual? Did some son fed the bedridden father wanted to prolong this feeling after his father’s death? Or just to satisfy a soul which expired without consuming any solid food for long time? No No. We should scrutinize the past more critically. At one point, on some elderly turned invalid, his son must have discarded him to die alone. Some animals do this. This negligence might have turned as guiltiness later. This look like Freud’s thoughts. Patricide was a normal act in some era. According to Freud this guilty feeling combined with unsettled love found a way through this ritual. No No. Is that a scheming of the elderly one, foised on the next generation to carry their memories after their death? Whatever may be, this ritual is attracting thousands of people in this era. How many among these are believed really that the ancestors are truly stepping down from sky and consuming the offered food? This ritual is just symbolic. It gives different meaning to different person. Today, it is just a reason to remember the memories of the expired generation. In another angle, after successfully converting the original blood relationship with their parents into images for this day, the current generation gets soulfully disconnected from them one for all. It can be interpreted in many ways. All are right or all are wrong. It occurred to Arunachalam that he was thinking like Kadhir. Like spinning of the rope, pulling the yarns from the various direction, tightly knitting it, continously extend it. Is thinking is just this knitting play? Ramaswamy and Kadhir’s thinking style is pole apart. Ramaswmay’s thought flow style starts like fumbled and stumbled walking , all of sudden leaping into the air, flying in the sky and finally lands back to soil. In the moment of leaping into air, his logical mind and the expression in language perfectly joins together. Thats all. He thinks that is oracle of his subconscious mind’s manifestation. Kadhir climbs up resolutely stepping each step one time. Every expressed word of him is compact and firm, which leads to next step. Kadhir gets fullfillment feeling when he triumphs the respondent. Respondent or Defendant does not matter to Ramaswamy. He just let his logical mind make love with the language and upon attaining the orgasm he losing the energy, sank down. There after his thought process will not take a step ahead. It is just act of swinging. However fast it swings, it never progresses. He felt exasperated. It occurred to him the thinking business it-self an absurd endeavour. Every communist has this disbelief. None in politics has to do anything with the thinking business other than communists. Yet in their deep, every communist holds this disbelief. A queer irony. History is neither created by readers nor philosophers. It is created by pure accidents and the brave ones know how to leverage those accidental moments. Only readers knows this fact. Every other member of the communist party is a practical person. But their common mind crippled by inferiority complex. This is why, they always choose thinkers and readers as their leaders. Be it be Joshi, or P.D.Ranadive , or K.R.S or Namboodiripad all are great readers. Yet they are rootless personalities. At the crucial juncture of history, with the knowledge acquired from books, they mostly commit horrible mistakes. Joshi during the first world war decided to support British. Ranadive when the fire of Indian independence movement was at its peak, invited the cadres to take arms against Vallabai Patel. K.R.S took the neutral stand during India-China war. Every communist knew that all these were himalayan blunders and lead to Indian communist party’s disintegration into pieces. In these days, Jagjit Singh, is dreaming about hoisting the red flag in red fort with his lobbying and palace conspiracy skills. Empty ideologists. Kadhir belongs to this group. But his conscience mind is every now and then fires the alert. Thats is the reason, he perpetually hones his logical language. He is busy in fixing the the never ending holes. Soon he will be promoted to delhi. This is the main weakness of the communists. They need both Marx and Stalin. They oscillate between them indefinitely. After crossing the Karungal arena, Arunachalam hit a block to find the route. A nearby walker, directed him into the mud road. At Bhaskarans house, his grandma was not there. He found only the towel used by grandma hanging. He called Bhaskaran loudly twice. There was no response. When he was standing hestinately, Grandma appeared from behind “ who is that?” asked. “I came here to meet Bhaskaran” “Who are you?” “I work in his estate” “He is not here. He has gone to river side for Vahubali” “Can you direct me to the river?” “Wait for few mins. He will return back at any time” “I dont have time. Where is the river?” “Go straight in this ramping down road. It is not in walkable reach. “ “Dont worry. I have vehicle” The river was farer than he expected. The red sand road ramped down to river appeared crowded. Arunachalam paused for a second and then steped in to the river. He could see the wide spreaded sandbar. Fragrant screw-pine grew densely in his both sides. The entire sandbar was covered with young, elderly men and few childrens. In the sword like extended leafs of the screw pine, the crows were swinging merrily. They cautiously approached the strewn boiled rices making small steps, waging theirs tail. One after other they were cawing. One of those, pecked rice few times. After ensuring the sticking of rice on its beak, it flew back to the screw-pine leafs and began to eat it laid back. It returned back again. Some other flock was fluttering its wings upon landing on to the sandbar. Arunachalam walked through the fluttering crow cluster. Grey neck common crows, bulky large-billed crows, no neck hair elderly crows. There was no feeling found in the glittering valuable stone like eyes. Every human faces surrounded appeared same. Mix of weary, feary, deferrence, puzzled, chagrin faces. Some of them just mechanically parroted the elder’s gestures like puppets. Few of them misunderstood the guided instructions as a result wore a baffled countenance. With trembling hands, few of them behaved idiotically as if they lost grip of their minds. Remaining were in the utterly confused state. The sacrifice rice prepared with sesame and vegetables emitted a strange fragrance. No one seemed spoke loudly, yet the combined cacophony was piercing the ears. Arunachalam was able to find Bhaskaran. He went near and stood besides him. Bhaskaran’s evident smile showed he identified Arunachalam. But he did not make any further attempt to communicate. Boiled sacrifice rice was ready. Bottom of the originally crimson cook pot turned as coal color. Rice in the bottom must be overheated. He could smell the smoking smell from the rice. After extinguising the fire, Bhaskaran saw the face of the elderly person as if asking what next. He asked him to serve the rice on to the banana leaf and make it as three dumpling. He inserted the scutch grass in all the three dumplings. Suddenly that rice dumpling turned into some inauspicious thing. Bhaskaran face appeared worn out. Is Veerabadra Pillai is hovering here around for this saltless rice? The ex-communist. Perhaps. Of a sudden, Arunchalam felt a sharp icing feel in his spine. That sensation spread across his entire body. He reprimanded himself for getting queer excitement at that moment. Is he internally believe this quirky ritual? He is the eldest son of his father. He never performed the vahubali ritual for this father. When his mother was alive, she tearfully pleaded him to do this ritual. He stubbornly refused to do. Whatever angle or however deeply he thought, he never had a smudge of believe on this ritual. Then, why did he get this sudden goosebumps? A eccentric excitement. May be caused by the overwhelming memories of Veerabadra pillai. May be it occurred due to imagining him figuratively for the first time. May be impact of the vahubali ritual environment. All these could be my conscious mind’ss effort to reclaim the sanity. May be with all these, I myself may never understand me. Bhaskaran taking a dumpling in his hand, from the banana leaft, placed it near the sand shore. Stepping back, he clapped his wet hands thrice. Arunachalam’s heart beat was on the rise. Flock of crows, pouncing down, pecked the rices in the other banana leafs and settled back on the plants and cawed. No crow even peeked in the direction of Bhaskaran’s offering leaf. He clapped louder again. Some of the perturbed crows, craned its neck. “It is all about how the fate foisted on individual” said an elder. “I have been watching your religious attempt for the last nine years. No single crow accepted your offered rice. I believe none will come ever” . Arunachalam had a empty glance at him. “Bhaskara, Clap for one more time. If nothing appears, we shall leave. We cant do anything if the late patriarch decided not to accept” said he. Bhaskaran turned around and threw a glance at Arunachalam. His very presence, seeping inside Bhaskaran’s mind, made his face grimace in disgust. His dropped shoulder showed the pain in his heart. “Respiteless soul” said that elder. In the lineage, even if a single soul failed to rest in peace, the thousand years of offered seasme and water would gone in vain. No predecessor would get a resting place in world above” “Why he is restless?” “Who knows that? In this earth, we live in this single imposed life. Noone leaves their body with fulfilled satisfaction. The Sushupti(last sleep) supposed to happen in the moment of Ooorthva (Celestrial) breath forks out from the Apana (the last) breath. In that moment, every human would face off the final settling of all his deeds and misdeeds. Only after every deeds gets squared off, his soul will rest in peace. If someone feels his life gone complete quandary, he has no rest. The common case is people who died in suicide. In the case of murders, people who died usually knew that their deeds cornered them into this death. But I could never understand this case. Your father was a discarded drunkard for 10 to 12 years. With no support he met his end in the streets as derelict. Not sure what he left in this earth for someone else to fullfill. Arunchalam felt a heavy load in his belly. “As a last attempt, shall we all clap together and invite him?” Bhaskaran had a glance at Arunchalam. The great deal of acrimy in his glance made Arunchalam trumble. “Pillai, Please clap” Bhaskaran raging with anger, ferociously clapped both of his hands. He went on clapping without stop. “Enough, Enough, son. What happened to you?” the elder pulled his shoulder. His face turned grimace. He bit his tongues intensely. Tear rolled out through his cheeks. “Listen son. Just that we are not blessed. Go and fetch the sacrifice rice and fling it into the river. We need to somehow wind up his ritual” Tearful Bhaskaran holding the sacrifice rice over his head, entered into river. The happenings grabbed the attention of the surrounded people. Most of them were hushing and gossiping in each others ears with cupped hand. When the banana leaf was unfolded, the sacrifice rice fell on to the river. The bounced up fishes pecked the rices. After returning to sandbar, without changing this wet dress, Bhaskaran scurried away with his towel, as if someone is chasing him. “Who are you, son?” asked the elder. “I am his work-mate” “You must tell him that his father’s soul is in turmoil. Some one must have committed an unforgivable sin to that soul. The innocent soul could not reconcile with that damage . The restless soul finds no way to the ancestors peace world “ “What is the solution?” “We need to perform a samastha bharatha pooja. For such restless soul, all the closely related family members should come together and perform this pooja imploring the forgiveness. “ “Who must perform the pooja?” “If you want me to tell the truth. The original sinner who committed crime and made this soul insufferable should do that. They have to plead forgiveness for their perfidy. Only then the raging fire in the soul will subdue. But how to identify that person? Even if we manage to get him, how to convince him to perform this pooja? Who would be ready to plead guilty of this greatest sin? That is why, it was told that all the family members should perform it. The sinner very likely to be part of their family.” “Only his son and grandma are alive in his family” “It has been more than a few decades. The soul is still restless. Let us do the prasnam(Examination of the horoscope). You should persuade him” “Will do what I could” Arunchalam walked back feeling his foot sinking in the sand below. He felt his legs losing its vitality, seemed heavy. Is this sand the reason? Bhaskarans remaining sacrifice rice was strewn all over. One crow was looking at it from a tree branch. It was motionless as if a taxidermy crow. When he returned back to Bhaskaran’s home. He was still sitting near the threshold with in the wet clothes. He sat besides him. “My apologies, Bhaskaran. This is not a fine time to meet you. It seems you dont like my presence” “Not like that” “I can come back in some other time” “Please have a coffee” “No problem. Did you get the housing loan?” “Yes” “When are you going to start the construction work?” “Sooner than later” Arunachalam examined his own finger. He did not feel like leaving as he felt something had to be told. “Did you see with your eyes right? The miserable state of my fathers soul” Bhaskaran told that in a louder voice, of a sudden. “I am the son of that poor routeless soul. I am clueless too . I dont find any reason for my living. I am turning forty soon, yet to get married. I don't have any support, I too a routeless soul” “Dont worry Comrade” started Arunachalam, after realising nothing could lift his spirit, put a break on continuing this stilted words. “No one in this world liked my father. He was casted out every where. He decayed and died as waif. My mother and my grandpa , grandma despised him with full heart. His heyday friends spat over him in disgust. What is the destination for the soul which was liked by none. There is no meaning for the life he lived. No reason for his death too. He was a vagabond for 40 odd years in earth and continuing vagrant in the air restlessly. It is grievous . It would be continued. “ He weeped emitting some strange squeaking sound. Arunachalam did not find word of comfort for him. Whatever be the deepest misery one goes through, when he starts crying, it is appearing little clownish. That weeping creates immediate space between the weeper and the viewer. Bhaskaran slowly settling back, wiped his tears. When he began talking, he found little more steady headedness “ Do you know what I say to him? Father, you must come to me. I am your blood. I am your dearmost. I am the son who grown without a day missing recalling you seeing the photo I have. When you were still alive as waif in the streets of Marthandam, I cried internally watching your plight and wishing you to back to sanity. For every two rupees I managed to eke out, I wished to come to marthandam to see you. I wanted him to participate in all the good or bad happenings in the family. Come with me father. Have a meal. Give me a support. After all these pleading he never came back. He never listented my words” Elderly lady returned back with a mug full of buffalo milk Tea along with a tumbler. “Tell me sir. What was my father’s infidelity? What did he do to be cursed without remission for 16 births. Who did he kill cutting the throat? Who’s lineage he spoiled? Everyone says he committed treachery. What is that so huge mistake? Arunchalam was about to divulge whatever he knew. But a sudden fright stopped him say that. “Whatever may be the monumental crime, None has the exalted place in my heart other than my father. He is my lord. Even if all in the world standing in opposite side and accuses his blasphemy. I will face them front and shout at them my father is a god. The moment I got my adams apple, I never let any one to cast aspersion on my father standing in front of me. Arunachalam had few sips of coffee. He left the place informing the grandma. He just walked for a while without starting the moped. Once the house was out of the sight, his dreary state of mind was settled. His thoughts flew streamlined. How ancient this ritual? So many layers of belief. It eternally binds the person alive with the dead one in this same place. With this irrefutable chain, it attaches everybody. That is a timeless space where the generations continue their dialogues. Comrade, this enticing ritual induces a temporary excitement. The practical aspect is in the different layer. You must land there from here. That is altogether is a different space. In that case? In that case? Do the multi spaces exists? Is human consciousness is just time bounded ? Waves with multiple shores. Various shades of lights. The chain of justice which binds all the humans in the earth. No Ramaswamy. You are a mere idealist. You can be enraged. You can debate. You cannot cry. You are an intellectual. Only idiots can cry. But only these idiots bump into the truth. Truth is a frightened bird. It approaches by making tentative and fearful small steps. We must exercise patience. We must wait humbled and merciful. We must devote our unpliable trust to it. Ramaswamy, you are wandering in the jungle, holding the sharp arrows, high strung bow, accurate eyes, immaculate practise. Bird is here. Not the chain of justice. Not that. It can bleed. Machines dont bleed. Power of machines is unbounded. But it has no blood. This is the era of machines. Multi spaces seem absurd line. The confluence of human consciousness has no fence. Me, you and he all are part of this. Still I fear you. I murder him. What sort of thinking is this? Fog of words filled with killing nihilism. Yet humans ready to die. They are ready to sacrifice their life for some unknown person. For some indescribable morality sake he is ready to kill himself day by day slowly. Ramaswmay your words are right. Chain of Justice. But it is not justice. Justice is a man made one. This urge cannot be defined. What sort of thought is this? Unrelated statements. Just a play of mind. But I could totally expend the energy of my brain only with this. Everytime I achieve train of thoughts, It pulls me away from the real truth. Underlining one statement, hiding the next one, linking the third one with the first one, we create the train of thoughts. Why this train of thoughts always creates the deep disbelief? Thesis which couldnt digest its antithesis, squirms. The gift presented by every philosopher is just loneliness. It may be Ramaswamy or Kadhir or Tolstoy. Distruption of the thoughts is the natural movement. But this disruption never leaves anything behind. So it is not useful. Arunchalam stopped upon hearing a voice. He realised he lost his path. It was a treeless red sand road. He again heard a noise which was like a snarling or a single word he heard within himself. When that voice emerged again he identified it. It was the wind blowing noise from tall dark palm tree stood near him. His mind attained peace. When he made the u-turn the Palm tree snarled again. Fearsome Arunachalam froze for few seconds, as if he was thrown back to ages. Pushing the vehicle, he dashed towards the road.