part0009

The stranger called in a loud voice. His curious invitation was something unusual in the hum-drum existence of the workers on Rob Roy estate. Moreover, he had appeared suddenly in their midst as if from nowhere. Soon every man stood before him, with the women and children who hastened from their homes to find out what it was all about.

The speaker, Raman Nair, was a short man perhaps in his early forties with streaks of grey showing through neatly parted, thick black hair. He hailed from Cochin and was a Malayali by sect. He also was the local leader of the Congress party in the area. At least, that was what he claimed to be. But the Police records indicated he was a Communist.

Raman Nair hated all white people; and heading that list were the British. The large brass horn had been blown by the coolie maistry that evening to signify work on the plantation was over for the day. It was 5 o'clock when, in groups and singly, the coolies began to return to their quarters.

Raman Nair awaited them, standing on the earthen platform that had been built around the base of the sacred peepul tree behind their little huts.

When a fairly large audience had assembled, he started, "It grieves my heart to see you toil from the early hours till late in the evening in order to enrich the white man who employs you. Like you, I'm an Indian. You are my own flesh and blood. To see you slave thus, ground down in the dust, makes me very sad. Observe your women. Look at your poor children. I see that some of them are wearing old and torn sarees. Your children are in rags. You're also in rags. For houses you live in tiny hovels. Your bellies are empty because you are too poor to buy food for yourselves and your families. Your employer—the accursed Britisher—pays you but a few annas each day for extracting your toil and sweat, your very life-blood. You shiver in the cold at night. When it rains, you still have to work and get wet with no dry clothes to change into. Should you be ill or absent for a day or even a few hours, he cuts your wages although they are already miserably low. This evil, and more he does to you, while he lives with his ill-begotten wife on the fat of the land, in a fine palatial bungalow. He drives a motor-car, stuffs himself with food and drink, and earns thousands of rupees at your expense all for himself, while you starve.

"It's not right that such injustice should continue my brothers, my sisters, my children. This great land of ours—India—is struggling to be free from the chains of bondage, from the evil foreign yoke, the slavery that was forced upon us through trickery by the British. It's our duty, yours and mine, to act bravely now and help set India free.”

"The struggle is going on all over our land. Thousands of our innocent countrymen, women and children, are being butchered each day in cold blood by the cruel English soldiers. But the dawn of our victory is at hand when we will drive this white man and his wife and all the damned white people in India into the sea.”

"To hasten that day, we must learn to fight. We cannot do that openly, for we have no weapons. The white man is too cunning to allow that, for he knows we would then kill him where he stood. So we must be equally cunning. We must beat him at his own game. We must oppose him in every way. We must obstruct him at every turn. As you know, a planter is helpless without coolies, for he cannot work his estate or harvest his crops. To make him feel the power that lies within you, all you have to do is not go to work. Demand higher wages. He will threaten you and try to frighten you with fines and dismissal. If you all stand united, he is helpless. He dare not dismiss you; because if he does so, he will ruin his own estate and impoverish himself. He has no alternative but to give in to your demands. When he has done that, after a short time we will make yet more demands and force him to agree to those also. Finally, by doing this sort of thing all over India; by disrupting communications; by wrecking trains; by harassing them at all places and in every way; by killing them at every opportunity; we will so torment these Britishers that I promise you a time will come when they will be only too glad to flee from the shores of our beloved country and return to their own".

Raman Nair ended his speech and gazed around to see what effect it had produced. His eloquence had excited him and he closed his diatribe in a tone of frenzy that made the sweat run down his face in tiny streams.

The result of his harangue was disappointing, at least as far as the majority were concerned. They were quiet, simple people, accustomed to peaceful ways, and such strong talk was beyond their comprehension. Most of them remained silent or gazed at him blankly. A few here and there murmured sounds of agreement or disapproval.

He was about to continue when the voice of a lanky individual standing at the back of the gathering called, "All this is very well, but when we stop working and the dorai stops paying us, who will feed our families?"

It was the sort of question Raman Nair had heard before and did not like hearing again. Really he could not answer it, for there was no suitable rejoinder.

To his good luck, somebody else who shared his views was bold enough to voice his opinion. He came out with a fresh point which Raman Nair was not slow to exploit.

"Much of what you say is a fact, O stranger. And then another misfortune has befallen us. An evil man-eating tiger has come to this place and a few weeks ago, killed my own cousin-brother (first cousin), named Nagaraj. It's true the white dorai attempted to shoot it. But he failed and the tiger is still in our midst. Any day, at any time, one of us may become another victim".

"Hear that, O my listeners! Hearken to the words of your own brother!" broke in Raman Nair, rising to the occasion. "He has spoken very wisely indeed. What does the white man care if you are eaten by this tiger? What does he care if all of you die, one by one? As long as he is snug and safe in his big bungalow, eating well, enjoying the good things of life and making a lot of money at the expense of your toil and your lives, he cares nothing. He's hard, and cruel, and selfish; just the same as all the English. For this reason we must drive them out. If you will give me shelter and permit me to stay in your settlement for a few days, I will organise a plan by which we can worry this white pig who is so heartless".