two

Five years flew by. Rama was now chief constable and assistant to the tehsildar of the Kumbakonam district; part of the British representation posted in the town to maintain peace and protect Britain’s interests. He had made quick progress, doing outstandingly well during his training at the academy and after, when he had gone on the beat on the tough streets of Madras. It also helped that the governor thought very highly of him. He was married, and had a son. He had even changed his name; Dikshitar, which sounded so alien, was gone. He was now Ramaswami Aiyar, the epitome of the modern Tamil Brahmin. His intelligence was incomparable, and he was much loved for his sense of justice and fair play.

One summer morning, Rama was enjoying a cup of tea in the town square when two constables came running up to him.

‘Sir, Arunachalam escaped from Madras prison five days ago.’

Rama looked up, surprised. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘He killed a guard and broke out. A messenger just arrived from the police chief in Madras.’

‘What does the message say? Do you have it?’

The constable who had spoken first, a plump man with a thin moustache, replied, ‘No, sir, but the message mentions that he has made no secret of his hatred for you. The bandit knows where you are posted, and the chief thinks his first move will be to come here and avenge himself.’

‘Shiva Shiva! Dacoits have never come to our village,’ Nageswaran, the other constable, a scrawny man, exclaimed. ‘And it takes only four days by cart from Madras. Arunachalam could be here right now!’

Without another word, Rama put down his cup, jumped on his horse and headed straight to his house. He reached home and immediately saw that something was very wrong. The door was unlatched. He carefully pushed it open and crept in, taking care to check behind it. An almighty blow to the neck felled him to the ground. He scrambled to his back just in time to see Arunachalam bearing down on him with a cudgel. His years in prison had only made him larger than ever. With an expression of black rage, Arunachalam set upon Rama.

After beating him bloody, Arunachalam took a knife and slowly and deliberately began to lacerate Rama’s back. Rama prayed that he would pass out from the pain. Concentrating as hard as the circumstances would allow, he started slowing down his heartbeat. As it slowly reached a standstill, Rama then held his breath and, closing his eyes, allowed a feeling of complete detachment to come over him.

Rama had never done this before in his life. As his mind roamed freely now in a state of meditation, it chose to flash back to Periyavar and how he had been willing to teach Rama the science behind this particular exercise, but never allowed him to practise it.

‘You don’t need to,’ was his standard reply to Rama’s persistent requests to allow him to practise this asana. ‘When the time is appropriate, it will come to you. For now, it is enough that you learn to appreciate it.’

So Rama had absorbed the science behind it. This is so unreal, he thought to himself, as he looked down at his own seemingly lifeless form on the ground. The dacoit slowed down, believing there was no life in the body he was belabouring. After a few more hesitant slashes, the dacoit put his head to Rama’s chest and listened hard for very long before, satisfied that his quarry was dead, he picking up his cudgel and leaving.

Rama’s first instinct was to find out where his wife was. His son, he knew, was with his in-laws in a village a distance away, and would be safe, at least for now. He still had no idea whether the dacoit was out to hurt only him or his whole family. Suddenly, he felt his astral frame slowly descend towards his body. Trying hard to keep awake, he realized that he was losing control, and he couldn’t as yet, not until he knew that his wife was all right. Just as he felt himself completely pass out, he heard a man’s voice screaming out to him and then, with absolutely no choice in the matter, he passed on blissfully into oblivion.

Rama awoke to the smells of a hospital. He could not open his eyes, and from the way he had cramped up, realized that he had been lying on his side. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting the dacoit to be standing by him, but instead saw his wife sitting on the floor with her head resting on the bed. His son was asleep on the chair next to her. With a sigh of contentment, Rama slipped back into sleep.

It was perhaps a day later when he woke again; this time his wife was alone. ‘Where is Pattabhi?’ he mumbled.

Sita’s head jerked up, surprised, and then widened into a big smile. For the first time in their marriage, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips and, before he could say anything, ran out of the room. This was the first time Rama’s wife had demonstrated her love for him. Perhaps he was to blame for her reticence; he had always devoted himself completely to his profession, at the expense of his marriage.

His mind went back to their first night together. Rama had entered his bedroom several hours after his wife, who had been waiting for him while he sat with his friends, drinking. He then took off his expensive wedding finery and went to sleep.

Rama didn’t hate his wife; rather, marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment decision for him. As he lay there convalescing, he let his thoughts wander, something he had not done in a long time.

In his second year as constable in Kumbakonam, Rama met the love of his life on a warm Friday evening on Marina beach. The sun was sinking in the distance, and the sky had taken on shades of red and purple. As Rama rested on a towel with his eyes closed and his toes curled up in the warm sand, the scent of jasmine wafted to him. He looked up and saw a beautiful young flower-seller, with garlands wrapped in her hair and around her wrists.

She saw Rama staring and asked, ‘Are you going to buy some flowers?’

‘Yes. Could you please give me an arm’s length?’

‘What are you getting these flowers for, Ayya, your pooja?’

‘No, I want to remember the sweet smell of your skin. What is your name?’

The girl looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘Parvati. What’s yours?’

‘Rama.’

She measured out the garland and handed it over to him. ‘One anna, please.’

Rama reached into his pocket. ‘I have never seen you here before.’

‘I have seen you. You were sitting opposite the fort.’ She stood up, placed the basket at her hip and walked off.

For a brief minute Rama admired the lovely form, then he jumped up and ran after her.

‘Will you sit and talk with me for a while if I buy all your flowers?’

She turned to him and smiled. ‘You don’t need to buy them, just ask.’

And thus began his first romance. They talked, became friends, and soon they were much more than friends. It was perfect, and the days flew by as their love grew.

However, the relationship took wing under an ominous star. Rama almost never spoke about his family and this avoidance worried Parvati. Added to which, she was always conscious of the fact that he was a Brahmin and she was not.

‘When are we going to get married?’ she asked Rama one day, just as he had entered her bare, horizontal form.

Rama was taken aback by the question. He still hadn’t seriously considered marriage, and half laughed as he replied, ‘Whenever you say. What do we do about it?’

‘Well, our families have to meet.’

‘I don’t have a family anymore, Parvati. But I will come over and meet your family this weekend.’

‘Yes, perhaps that would be best.’

‘Will your family accept me?’ he asked.

‘Definitely not at the beginning, but I’m sure you can convince them. You can convince anyone.’

‘But perhaps they would hate me anyway for being a policeman.’

‘My family has never had a problem with the law. They won’t hate you for that, though they might because you are a Brahmin.’

‘What’s so bad about that?’ Rama laughed.

‘Well, we are from a lower caste.’

‘Do you hate Brahmins?’ Rama asked anxiously, a little taken aback by the vehemence.

‘I used to. I am still not sure if I like all of them, but I do like you a lot,’ she replied with a saucy flick of her tongue.

They spent the rest of the evening without argument.

That Saturday, Rama rose early. He spent the whole morning tidying his home, preparing it for Parvati. He had decided: before the day ended, he would either convince Parvati’s parents to agree to the marriage or elope with her.

He arrived at Parvati’s house in the afternoon. He knocked and waited, the longest thirty seconds of his life. An old lady opened the door.

‘Is Ayya in?’

‘Wait here,’ she said, and disappeared behind the door.

She returned in a minute, with a man whom Rama presumed was Parvati’s father.

Composing himself, Rama greeted the man, ‘Good afternoon, sir. I would like to speak with you for a moment.’

‘I know of you. You are the Brahmin policeman my Parvati has been seeing.’

Rama and the older man locked eyes. Parvati’s father was almost a foot shorter and in his eyes, Rama could see hatred and fear.

‘Yes sir, I am. I would like to speak to you.’

‘I have nothing to say to you. We don’t like Brahmins or policemen.’

‘Ayya, please think about this, or you will cause two innocent people a lot of pain.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me what to think. I have made my decision and my daughter will abide by it. You may leave.’

‘Ayya, do you think it is fair to decide the rest of your daughter’s life on the basis of an arbitrary whim?’

‘Let me be the judge of that, Ayya. I suggest, again, that you leave.’

‘What about Parvati?’ Rama asked.

‘What about her? I know what is best for her. I’m her father; I will not stand by and watch her make a mistake when I can stop it. Now please leave.’ And he slammed the door shut.

Rama was determined not to give up. He patrolled the area regularly for a fortnight, hoping to see her, but Parvati remained confined to her house.

Finally, one day, he saw her leave with a group of friends carrying clothes and towels. He followed them discreetly to the river where the women quickly undressed and waded in. Parvati and two others climbed up a rock on the riverside, presumably to keep watch.

Rama hesitated; he could not boldly approach a group of bathing women, but he realized that this was probably the only opportunity he would get to talk to Parvati.

The women squealed in alarm when they saw him step out into the clearing. Parvati climbed down from the rock and walked to Rama.

‘I am not here to cause any problems, Parvati. I just want to talk to you.’

‘Please go away!’

‘Why? What has changed between us?’

‘I’m getting married, Ayya. I should never have had anything to do with you when I knew how my family would react. I could never do anything to shame my father.’

‘Don’t you love me anymore?’

Parvati shook her head sadly, her eyes downcast, ‘It was a mistake, Ayya.’

‘Stop calling me Ayya,’ he exploded. ‘I was your beloved the last time we spoke; my feelings have not changed since then.’

‘You must go. Please leave me alone.’

Rama stood there, shocked. He had prepared himself for almost anything, but this was the one thing he hadn’t counted on. He steeled himself and looked at Parvati, ‘All the best, Parvati. I hope you will be happy.’ And he turned around and walked away.

Lying in bed, Rama replayed scenes from the last three years of his life. He had spurned Sita’s advances, ignored her and his son in public. He never cared about how she fared as long as the household ran smoothly. In her silent acceptance of his ill treatment, he now saw a shameful reflection of his inadequacies as a partner, and he realized that he had to remedy all that.

When Sita re-entered, she had their two-year-old son, Pattabhiraman, in her arms. As she gently put down the sleeping infant by Rama’s side, he caught her hand and kissed her on the wrist.

For a second, Sita pulled back, surprised. She looked at him and saw in his eyes the apology he was unable to articulate.

‘Please rest,’ she said soothingly. ‘Don’t strain yourself now; we have forever to talk.’

‘What happened that day, Sita? Did that swine touch you?’

‘I had gone to the temple and then the market to pick up your favourite vegetables. I was going to make you something special that evening,’ she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

‘Don’t cry, Sita,’ he said, gently stroking her waist. ‘Everything will be all right. Don’t be upset.’

The baby woke at the noise. Sita gently picked him up and rocked him, whispering softly into his ears. Pattabhi soon calmed down. ‘I’m upsetting Kanna. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry all the time. It has been so hard for me.’

‘I know, Sita, and I’m sorry for that. I’m going to make sure our life changes as soon as I get out of here.’

An English doctor, followed by two of Rama’s constables, entered the room. He seemed pleased that his patient was awake and speaking to his wife. While the doctor examined him, Rama asked his constables, ‘Have you discovered where Arunachalamis?’

‘No, Ayya,’ one of them replied. ‘He has disappeared. All of us have been waiting for you to recover. The governor has announced another award for Arunachalam’s head.’

With an exclamation of disgust, Rama flung himself back on his bed.

‘The doctor says that you have made a remarkable recovery,’ Sita consoled. ‘You were in a terrible state when you were brought in. It took the surgeons more than four hours to stitch you up. They put in about fifty stitches on your back and twenty on your chest. Your right elbow was broken too, but that’s healing now. The doctor has kept you mostly sedated all this time.’

‘How long has it been?’

‘Three weeks, but that isn’t important now. Please, just get well soon, and then we can leave this horrible town.’

Rama was quiet. He understood her sentiments. To her, the town was a reminder of nothing but three years spent in a loveless marriage, and the constant fear of criminals. But he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave till he found Arunachalam. ‘All right, my love. Go home and get some sleep now, you look half dead!’

Sita shyly kissed Rama one more time before balancing her little son on her hip and walking out of the room. She extinguished the bedside oil-lamp as she left, plunging the stuffy ward into darkness.