part0016

It was close on midnight and the coolie-lines on Rob Roy Estate were hushed in silence. Very occasionally a pie-dog whimpered or barked outside. Inky-darkness was everywhere and not a light glimmered.

Raman Nair, covered from head to foot in a chequered blanket, lay sound asleep on the floor of the hut that had been made over to him by its tenants as the guest of honour of the community. He snored, the sound reverberating through the closed room.

The faint tapping continued. The figure outside, draped in a long grey blanket, was becoming impatient. He had been trying to awaken the sleeper without disturbing the people in the neighbouring huts, but his efforts had been in vain and the deep snoring within tended to become even more stertorious.

He tapped persistently till Nair awoke with a start and pulled the blanket off his head. It was pitch dark in the hut and he heard the whispered words coming from outside in soft, urgent tones, "Raman Nair! Raman Nair!"

"Who are you?" he called nervously.

There was a grunt of annoyance and the voice replied, "Open in the name of the Party; and hurry! The neighbours will hear us".

Party? Party? What party? And then enlightenment came to Nair's sleep-fogged brain. Hastily scrambling to his feet, he lit the smoke-begrimed lantern on the floor and drew the wooden-bar that closed the door from the inside.

Hardly giving him time, the blanket-clad figure slid into the room, unceremoniously pushing Raman aside and closing the door behind him. He stood with his back to the entrance and said in rasping undertones, "Do you eat so much that you sleep so soundly; or perhaps you've had a good tot of coconut toddy? I've been trying to awaken you for fifteen minutes, making noise enough to disturb half the settlement. You certainly appear to be leading an easy life. Are you alone or have you some woman here also?"

Raman Nair was taken aback. Then he became indignant—very, very indignant. His words, spoken in Malayalam, gushed forth in a torrent from between clenched teeth, "Who do you think you are, fellow, to speak to me, the respected Raman Nair who holds the position of a leader in the Party, in such an insolent manner?"

"Shut up, and don't talk so loudly", responded his mysterious visitor, "who called you a respected leader? You're but a servant in the great cause, just as I am". And then, in a more conciliatory tone, he added, "Comrades Papachen and Chacko, from Calicut, want you immediately. They are waiting in a car on the road".

"Papachen and Chacko? Who are they? Why should they call me at this time of night? And who are you?" The questions tumbled in quick succession from the surprised Raman.

"How should I know who they are!" replied his visitor testily. "In the Party one shouldn't ask too many questions. I don't know myself who they are or why they want you. And my name doesn't matter, anyway".

Raman Nair hesitated for a moment and then slipped his feet into his chappals before extinguishing the door of the hut noiselessly. He followed the tall stranger into the blackness of the night as he strode along the path leading to the road.

When they had gone a little distance, curiosity got the better of him and Raman asked. "How did you know my name and which hut I occupied?"

"Keep quiet and don't ask silly questions", came the cryptic reply.

Eventually they arrived at the road. A black shape loomed before them. When he reached it Nair discovered it to be a motor car. The canvas hood was up and he could see a figure hunched over the steering-wheel. At first, he was unable to make out whether the rear seat was occupied or not, but his doubts were set at rest when a low voice from the darkness there said, rather than asked, "You're Raman Nair of the Party, are you not?"

Raman answered, "I am. And who are you?"

"That's no concern of yours, comrade", came the rejoinder. "It is sufficient to say that the Party feels you have been here long enough while no action has resulted. If there is one thing the Party demands, it is action".

Raman Nair was aghast. He was also furious. The first stranger had spoken to him as if he was a mere nobody. Now someone else was doing the same thing. He determined to find out who this someone else might be.

With that purpose in view, he stepped closer to the rear door of the tourer. Then it was that he saw not one, but two figures, seated inside. The man nearest to him on the left side of the car wore an army great-coat, while his head was wrapped in a muffler. The other was rolled up in a blanket from head to foot as was also the driver of the car in the front seat.

The voice spoke again, and Raman noted that it was the great-coated figure who was doing the talking.

"The villagers of Ooparpet organised action some three days ago. They burned down the police-chowki and killed all the policemen. Now it's the orders of the Party that you should bring about an immediate strike on this estate. After that, something else will be done, somewhere else. We must give the white dogs no rest whatever till they are driven from our land".

"Yes, news reached me of the rioting at Ooparpet", admitted Nair. "I was told that it had been caused by two strangers from Calicut who gave out that they were liberty-workers of the Malabar Congress Organization.

“Are you them?" Raman asked the question bluntly.

"What if we are—or are not? Does it make any difference to you?" snapped the great-coated figure.

His companion then spoke for the first time, his voice coming from the recesses of the blanket. The tones were soft, silky—but strangely devoid of expression. "We are members of the Party. That is sufficient for you to know. And we want action from you—within the next forty-eight hours! Arrange that, and there will be money for you. On the other hand, should nothing happen—well, it may not be so healthy for you, brother".

His voice became even more soft, even more silky. But it was no longer expressionless. A wealth of sinister meaning lay in the words of the final sentence as he uttered them.

Raman was silent. Deep resentment welled within him, but the calm self-assurance with which the man had spoken, his sibilant and malign tones, had their effect. He recognised he was in the presence of a powerful personality. His rising indignation dissolved before that power.

"I will do my best, sir", Nair stuttered meekly, and then he began to cringe, "but it is difficult to get these complacent folk excited to that degree. They are ignorant for one thing; and they are simple people".

His words and manner—if he had expected them to have any placating effect on the persons in the car, produced just the opposite result. The man leaned forward across his companion and spat over the side, past the standing Raman. His soft voice lost its quality and became icy and menacing.

"Comrade, we are not concerned with the difficulties of your problem. We are only concerned with results. Within forty eight hours a disturbance of some sort must take place on this estate—the poor coolies must rise against the cruel white oppressor that grinds them down—they may kill him and his wife—or at least burn down his house—or ....." here he thrust his face closer, and through a gap in the folds of the blanket Raman saw a lean, clean-shaven countenance, long and refined, with two deeply-set eyes that glittered at him even in that gloom…"You will have the Party to reckon with". The final words were hissed at him.

The speaker then relaxed. Motioning with one hand to the man who had fetched Raman, and who had not spoken a single word all this time, he said, "Get in"; and bending forward, prodded the crouching driver on his back, ordering, "Start; and drive on".

The driver straightened himself and started the engine, while the individual who had been with Raman climbed into the seat next to him and closed the door. The head-lights cut into the gloom as the vehicle chugged into the night, leaving Raman alone on the roadside.

He retraced his steps towards the coolie-lines, wondering how he was going to carry out this latest assignment. Start a riot; kill the sahib and mem-sahib ; burn the bungalow! Just like flicking a thumb and finger together! Was it so easy? And were these the principles of non-violence that Mahatma Gandhi was preaching?

And then Raman Nair caught up with his own thoughts. No! Very definitely they were not. But these were the very ideas that he himself had been propagating; and now he had to put them into effect within forty-eight hours!

Truly, Raman Nair was caught in his own net. Suddenly another thought came into his mind. It was terrifying.

He had been told the dreadful animal inhabited this very area. It was reported to be here, there and everywhere. In the excitement of the recent happenings he had not even thought about this awful menace. Now he remembered it.

He was alone! It was long past the hour of midnight! He was in pitch darkness, surrounded by the thick coffee bushes where the man-eater might he lurking.

Raman Nair panicked. He broke into a wild, unheeding run that only ceased when he snatched open the door of his hut, hurled himself inside, and closed it fast behind him by slipping the wooden bar into place.