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| M. Kulasekaran |
This is an English translation of ‘தலைகீழ் பாதை’ a Tamil short story written by M. Kulasekaran.
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Subramani opened the shop with the key he had kept safe in his hand bag. The thick stench of papers stacked up and ink kept inside went out like a ghost as he opened the shop. The photocopier machine standing fully covered with a cloth behind the wooden partition looked a baby monster under the dull light. If it was not given some minimum works daily, it would eat up its owner for its hunger. He removed his sandals, pushed it under the visitors’ bench and kept the newspaper on the table. He switched on the light in the centre. The clock kept near had long stopped working as it ran out of battery. He started sweeping the floor from the rear. Grunge and sand particles had got accumulated like powder. He heaped it at the corner and disposed it off outside. He then pulled down the cloth covering the photocopier machine, neatly folded it and kept it aside. He cleaned its top and chinks by delicately employing his fingers for a long time. He dusted the papers kept on a plate and stacked them up again neatly. His body shone with tiny, cool, shiny sweat drops. He switched on the fan in low speed and opened the newspaper. He grew bored as he felt that the newspaper he was reading looked an old one which kept repeating same types of news.
A broad national highway ran in front of his shop.
One had to travel by that road to reach the bus stand. The place used to be
very busy with traffic all through the day. Just a little distance away, there
crossed a railway track running across the road. The railway gates would remain
closed till the trains passed through, and disappeared from view. The heavy
sound of warning bell announcing the arrival of trains would keep everyone
under its sway without discriminating anyone. Different types of vehicles would
wait on both sides of the gate in large numbers. Huge amount of water bottles,
cool drinks and snacks would be sold within the reach of travellers waiting
there. Even if you do not need any of them, you would be tempted to buy them.
Other shops selling mats, pillows and sandals would also be buzzing with
customers. The tea shops would remain open round the clock. There was a rumour
spreading that those railway gates were being kept closed for a long time so as
to facilitate this business to run. The passengers used to while away their
time purchasing something or eating some stuff while waiting. Amidst those
shops, Sunbramani’s photocopier shop was also standing as an odd man out. One
could easily take photocopies of their documents and resume their journey well
before the railway gates are opened. It wasn’t required of him calling out to
the passengers to visit his shop to take photocopies. They came on their own to
his shop. The people residing nearby areas were also dependent on his shop for
their photocopy requirements. See…these days the originals need infinite number
of photocopies! Right!
A four-lane highway was laid on the outskirts of the city
four month ago. It took the commuters to the bus stand without any traffic
snarls as there was no railway track running across the highway. This resulted
in the decrease of people taking roads inside the city. The students, brokers
and families who usually visited his photocopier shop were not seen anywhere around
now. They were now going to the photocopier shops mushroomed near the bus stand or
it might be due to that they didn’t require photocopies anymore. A lot of shops
selling pillows and mattresses along with some other hotels had shifted their
bases to the by-pass road junction. Those who were selling water bottles and
snacks shifted their shops to bus stand. Now the opening and closing of railway
gates looked a mere customary practice every day. There were now no crowds of
vehicles that used to wait on both sides of the railway gate. Those who came
there unaware of those developments went back immediately as they weren’t ready
to wait there even a minute. Subramani’s ‘Mani Xerox’ and some other shops
stayed back as they didn’t have means to move away from there. A stubborn old
man kept his shop open every day as his residence was very near to his shop.
Subramani folded the newspaper and kept it in the drawer.
He rose from his chair as if he had an urgent task waiting for him. He stood
for a while, staring at the photocopier machine sitting behind the partition.
He remembered an application form for scholarship, and took it out. He brought
the machine alive promptly as if someone had given an order of taking some good
number of photocopies. He opened the machine’s lid, spread the application form
on its glass surface and pressed the button. An elongated bright, glaring light
moved slowly under the glass. The papers, as if sprayed with grey hue, came out
of the slit below with mild shivers. If only the copies were taken
continuously, the paper would then turn bright. He took three copies, counted
them and placed on the table. There were ten to fifteen copies were waiting in
the drawer ready for sale. They might lose their relevance permanently, very
shorty. It was humiliating for him to take those photocopies being fully aware
of that fact. Sometimes it wouldn’t be possible to comprehend the happenings around
us when it occurs beyond our control. He understood this one day while
blindly taking photocopies of a man’s job application out of frustration when
he was sitting idle without any work. He then sat down, with his head bowed
down, tears welling up in eyes. He then quickly composed himself, he tore those
copies into small pieces and threw them away into dust bin. When he closed the
shop, he felt his mind empty as if it had been wiped off cleanly. Next day when
he opened the shop, he got an order to take photocopy of a whole school text
book. He inferred that he could get that work as he had done something akin to
a prayer previous day beyond his control. If he was left without any work for
long, it was quite possible that he would empty all papers available in the
shop by taking photocopies of something without any obvious requirement of it.
A man entered his shop hesitantly, as if he had lost his
way. Subramani couldn’t identify who he was. The visitor looked local
politician. The full sleeves shirt folded up to his elbow and the Veshti looked
discoloured a little. He took out a heavy stack of stamp papers from his
plastic hand bag and held it out to him. “Please take one copy of all papers”
he said, and sat on the bench quite steadily. He had been his regular customer
and come frequently earlier. He was a broker toiling his destiny amidst the
middle class people around. The pages of those house documents he gave were
almost worn out and on the verge of breaking. They were found stamped with government
insignia and written with peculiarly slanted handwritings and ink used in olden
days. He carefully opened all pages and completed photocopying them all. The
broker, with a minute change of mind, told him, “Take one more set of all
papers”. Subramani, who was about to switch off the machine, happily accepted
his offer and completed taking photocopies. The broker held the copies in his
hands, read it eagerly as if he was reading them for the first time. His
squinting eyes grew brighter. It appeared that the papers were pertained to
some big property deals. He lifted his head and said, “Three shops down the
line have come for sale at its lowest prices. The seller had some financial
problems. If you buy them now, they will prove to be useful in future”. Though
those words did seem to mock at him outright, he reconciled that it was the
duty of a broker to keep everyone informed of the property details he dealt
with. He just gave out a wry smile. The broker took out the money from his
bulged shirt pocket, counted it and gave it to him. He kept watching the
broker, flipping the papers in his hands, till he disappeared from his view.
Subramani felt sleepy a little. He got a good turn of
business that morning. Now he could go to the corner shop to have a tea peacefully.
He switched off the fan, pulled the bench across and came out of the shop. It
was semi dark outside giving a feel that it wasn’t fully dawn. Contrary to the
usual, the area lay under a dull light. A dark shade had spread all over the
ground like a paper. It looked that a very big animal was standing above his
head. He looked up, only to get hell-shocked and awfully astonished at what he
saw. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A mammoth, long cemented wall was running
along very near to his shop giving an impression that a heavy curtain was
hanging from above. Near to it, gigantic pillars were found erected in a row
and each pillar was so big that one wouldn’t be able to hug its circumference
with both hands. On the top of it, were sitting comfortably the cement slaps. A
curved over-head bridge had been laid above like a thatched roof. It connected
two roads on either side of the railway track. His shop along with some other
shops were completely hidden from the world outside. Subramani rubbed his eyes once
and saw again. He thought his brain had got blunted as he didn’t give it a
sufficient amount of work. If he asked someone about that bridge, they might
brand him mad telling him that the bridge had been there since long. But he had
little doubt that the bridge had been erected all of a sudden. He was sure that
the bridge wasn’t there when he closed his shop previous night. It might be due
to some unavoidable urgency, they could have erected something that looked like
a bridge or they might have assembled a bridge-like structure there with some
broken parts of a bridge collected elsewhere, he thought. He looked up, kept
looking at the bridge intently. His mind was occupied with the dreadful events
waiting to be unfolded in future because of that bridge.
He ran his fingers over the walls of the bridge. He felt
it had both warmth and chillness. He walked down the narrow lane adjacent to
the bridge wall. He slipped through the pillars standing beyond the walls and
reached other side. The bridge was being erected high brushing the shops. Only
four or five shops cramped in that tiny lane were kept open. Other shops
nestling on the same row found it impossible to open their doors against the
bridge wall. The names of shops and advertisement hoardings were fully covered
with dust. Some buildings were left half-demolished leaving them bear an ugly
look. Almost everything beyond that point was found missing. No traces of any
buildings that had existed there. The bullocks were nonchalantly chomping on
under the thick shade of the bridge. Ropes made of hay were lying here and
there and the place was boggy with dung and urine. On the other side, the roof
of railway gate cabin was found broken, unattended as it hadn’t been manned for
a long time. The branches of an Indian Beech tree which was, till then, giving
cool shade were now very closely pruned and left almost bare. As he got choked
with sadness, he returned to his shop.
There was no pressing need of an over-head bridge in that
place. Before laying a by-pass road around the city, all vehicles would pass
through that way. The Iron Gates of the railway track would be closed very
often and it was common to see snorting vehicles waiting on both sides of the
railway track. During some unfortunate occasions, the reckless truck drivers
would hit the gates and get them jammed with its locking system resulting in
inordinate delay in releasing the lock from the gate. Sometimes, the trains
would stop across the gate without getting signals to move on due to some
technical glitches. Sometimes, more number of trains would pass through the
railway gate one after another leaving the gate closed for a long time. No one
was comfortable with such waiting. One of them who was standing without
switching off his two wheeler engine fearing that he wouldn’t be able to
restart it again remarked sulkily, “It would be of great help if an over-bridge
is constructed here”. These words fell into the ears of a social activist who
was also waiting near sitting in his car. He estimated accurately that for each
train which passes through the gate every five minutes, the total value of fuel
spent on vehicles and man hours while waiting would roughly stand at an average
amount of thousand rupees per hour and thought an over-bridge there an immediate
requirement. He started distributing pamphlets in order to garner support from
the public to this cause. The political party in the opposition promised an
over-bridge if they won in the forthcoming election. Other political parties
too reflected the same in their political campaigns. A member of the ruling
party which won the election with thumping majority spoke about the
construction of an over-bridge in his maiden speech. After that, everyone
forgot it. After a very long time, some basic field studies were started to
build a bridge there. The people living near the proposed site feared that they
would lose their houses if the bridge became a reality. Some commercial
organizations filed a case in the court challenging the construction of the
bridge. They quoted an instance in which the court had issued a stay order
against the construction of bridge in a case filed against the demolition of a
temple.
Sitting in his shop, Subramani was watching the bridge
fixedly. It was standing as inevitable as a mountain in front of him. It seemed
that it had come very near to his shop and he would be able to touch it by
merely extending his hand towards it. Within days, it would obstruct completely
the entrance of his shop. Some were seen walking down the narrow lane. A man was
dragging his feet heavily on the bridge carrying a long wooden plank and could
manage reaching its summit balancing his body delicately and then disappeared
on the descending side of the bridge. A hawker selling plastic items returned
with his push cart, exasperatingly, as he was unable to push the cart up. On
the other side, a man was walking with a bullock. The sound of a goods-train
remained in the air for long before it was dissipated in the air. Following
that, another train yelled behind like a bird. Then followed a heavy silence.
The usual buzz and noisy traffic of vehicles were no more there. Only that
mighty wall would stand there for everything imperturbably. There would be no
traces of his shop below that bridge. He felt that he had been confined within
the walls of a prison.
While going to the bus stand, Subramani would stand and
watch the bridge. It had been constructed there to facilitate a road to connect
with another road. The vehicles would speed away from below; stop hesitantly
for a while at the top and then slide down fast before disappearing. Other
vehicles coming from opposite would appear suddenly, descend fast as if sliding
on a snow bed. The bridge had been built with latest technologies so the
vehicles wouldn’t face any difficulties while rolling. Ascending and descending
the bridge had same level of comforts. If you just closed your eyes while
travelling, you could feel how smooth it was. The bridge was enviably concerned
about the vehicles. Wasn’t it? It was standing like an indispensable mountain
cliff. He loved that over-bridge. One can enjoy the journey on that bridge all
throughout one’s life. But the bridge wouldn’t be concerned about human beings.
It just kills them alive by snatching away their sources of livelihood. It just
crushes all the houses that one had been enjoying for generations, buildings in
which people had been doing their business and the places where people offered
their prayer to God, under its feet. An over-bridge grows inevitably cruel
towards ordinary people. It never becomes a suitable place for pedestrians.
As he didn’t like to be confined in his shop, Subramani
pulled the bench across, went out to a tea shop at the end of the road. The
railway gates on both sides of the rail track visible at a distance had been completely
removed and some spear like fence made of iron had been erected there instead.
The railway lines ran safely between those fences. Under the cool shade of the
bridge, the cart pullers and daily wagers were playing “goat-tiger” game
pledging their dough in it. The grocery shop and cool drink shop on the side
remained closed and only the tea shop stood alone there. The shop keeper was
busy repeatedly washing the glasses which had already been clean after washing.
An old man was smoking a beedi, often coughing out, sitting with his
legs folded across in a small shop that sold beedis, cigarettes and snacks. A
train came howling at a distance. Another train came from the opposite side in
nearby track and both the trains went past each other where the road cut
through the rail lines. It looked as if the same train was running forward and
backward at the same time. He felt the earth under his feet shook with mild
tremor. The tea shop owner made a black coffee as usual without waiting for his
words and told, “I never expected that they would complete constructing this
bridge this fast”. Subramani, without showing his anxiety, gave him a
monosyllabic response, ‘mmm’. The one who was sitting on the bench commented,
“It is good that the bridge has been erected here.” Another sitting beside him
said, “They have demolished a lot of houses to construct this bridge and the
compensation they give is less”. “They haven’t even settled that yet”, said
another. “They have uprooted the temple standing in middle and pushed it in.
All seem to be a fantasy”
“Foreigners have funded this project. But even that money
was also not sufficient. Everyone must have swindled the money into their
pockets by fabricating the accounts. The bridge is not strong enough as it was
built on some exigency. You see it will crumble very soon. After that everyone
has to come by this way” the tea shop owner predicted the future.
“All yours words are nothing but fantasy. No one would
ever walk under this bridge. Everyone would fly above. No one is patient enough
even to stand. They are going to remotely inaugurate this bridge tomorrow.”
Hearing this conversation, Subramani was unduly confused
and his head started spinning unable to distinguish the fact from false. He
kept the empty tea glass on the table and left the place.
Subramani’s legs dragged him to the bridge, possibly out
of reflex. The entry point of the bridge had been closed with some empty oil
barrels and thick wooden poles so as to stop the vehicles from entering the
bridge. The new metal road was shining like marble. The road on the bridge
looked broader as there was no traffic. The works on the bridge were in full
swing. The parapet walls were festooned with tiny bulbs and other decorative
stuff. The direction marks in black and yellow paints and intermittent central
lines in yellow colour were being drawn on the side walls and the road. Red and
yellow incandescent glass reflectors were fixed at equal distance along the
lines. The labourers working there didn’t pay any attention to either Subramani
or others like him who were standing on the bridge. The workers were from other
states. At times, they spoke only a couple of words in their mother tongue
while their hands were extremely busy with the work. One of them spat out his
spittle that somewhat looked blood from the top.
The wind gusted at the top of the bridge. A shrill noise
of whistle pierced Subramani’s ears. He felt he was losing his balance and
about to slip from the top. The workers were erecting tall partitions along the
parapet wall. He stuck out his head, looked down and saw the rail way track
running endlessly till his eyes could reach. The rails and stones were shining
together below the bridge. A train appeared suddenly at a distance with its
hooter on for a long time leaving its sound echoed in the surrounding and
entered beneath the bridge. He ran to the other side of the bridge to see the
train coming out. But it had disappeared from his view by then. Unable to
believe it what he had seen he stood still for a while there and thought the
bridge was a perfect place for anyone to commit suicide. If someone jumped from
there, even bones wouldn’t be found below, he thought.
The bridge ran down with its dangerously looking curve.
Even a slight, momentary carelessness while driving would lead to very serious
accident by hitting its side walls in the curve. Subramani kept walking.
Yonder, the blue lines of hills seemed to have drawn the boundary of the
sprawling city. The streets and lanes were intertwined with one another. The
vehicles and human beings below were moving like toys. The national leaders,
who are no more now, were standing tall in the iron cages as statues. Tall
buildings, big houses and the roofs of huts were densely nestling against each
other while looking from the top. The differences among them were clearly
visible. Some patches of greenery with thickly grown trees were seen like oasis
here and there. The houses demolished near the bridge were heaped in rubble.
Lime, sand and stones were found mixed together. Some houses having no walls
and doors were left unattended, abandoned and their dirty corners, dusty floors
and rooms were visible. The men in the houses that shared a close shave with
the bridge, were moving as if nothing had happened in their life. A lady
covering her head with a scarf was drying out clothes on the terrace. A child
was looking out of window holding its iron grills. A boy was playing on the
bridge, climbing onto it by its side walls. A curtain made of jute was hanging
in front of a house in the place of its door as it had been removed. A minute
long journey on the bridge would offer anyone an opportunity to peek into the
privacy of every household aligned with the bridge.
They planted some thick wooden poles at the entrance of
the bridge and festooned it with a decorative arch. A banner announced
“Inauguration of new bridge”- letters written in golden colour. A mammoth sized
portraits displaying the cat walk of a politician who was to inaugurate the new
bridge were placed in row. A big plaque was being carefully fixed in front of
the parapet wall. Senior government officials were standing around it.
Subramani could see a couple of words, date and the person’s name, inscribed on
the marble plaque. He took his eyes out of it and tried to reconcile that the
existence of the bridge was an inevitable reality that he had to accept anyway.
The destiny of the bridge’s inauguration was nearly certain as he saw the last
stage of work nearing its completion. The remaining works would be completed
under any circumstances before the scheduled time of inauguration tomorrow.
After that, all vehicles would be able to run on the bridge without any
hindrance. No need to wait for anything anymore. People would enjoy more time
and save more stuff for themselves. The accidental deaths while crossing the
railway track and probabilities of someone putting their heads on the track to
kill themselves wouldn’t be there anymore.
Sitting in his shop, Subramani was looking beyond the
over-bridge. The entrance of his shop was completely obstructed by the bridge
wall. It was impossible to avoid it anymore. Sooner or later, a photocopier
shop that existed there sometimes ago would be erased from everyone’s memory
and he would be left alone with his photocopier machine. The moment he visualized
him carrying the machine on his head, he closed his eyes tightly and couldn’t
even realize some customers coming to his shop. He could realize their presence
only when one of them sat on the visitor bench cross legged. Others who accompanied
him were standing respectfully near him, with a slight bend of their torsos.
“He is the senior officer in charge of this bridge construction. As we can’t go
to our office now, we need these documents photocopied urgently” one of those
officials handed him over a thick bundle of documents. Over the red ribbon used
to wrap the bundle, he saw “VERY IMPORTANT” written in block letters. Subramani
received it with his both hands, obviously with a reflexive politeness.
“It is very important document. Handle with utmost care.
Nothing should be missed out” the official said with a stern face. Other bobbed
his head acknowledging his words. The senior officer was browsing another big
file of documents. Other than the file, there were different types of files
sitting in the hands and arm pits of those officials. Subramani wondered how
those filed were still holding their relevance even in the era of computers. He
went behind the partition and pressed the button of the photocopier. It became
alive with a mild snort. He opened the file and started taking their
photocopies one after another keeping it on the glass surface. Those pages were
neatly typed. A large number of lay out plans, contract details, letters
pertaining to planning of construction, and documents related to execution of
work etc were mixed up with each other. All were related to the construction of
over-bridge. Some illegible remarks were found written in green ink here and
there along with signatures of officials in small scribbles. At one place, he
found the official stamp of the President of India along with signature. The
names of big companies, high valued credit notes and sale documents were also
kept in the files. Subramani tried his best to take photocopies as fast as he
could. The senior officer turned his attention to another bulky file of papers.
One of his subordinates gave him his mobile phone when he was glancing through
the papers. The senior officer gave it back after attending to the call after a
brief response.
Never had he taken that many number of photocopies ever
in his life that had been testing him with its share of ups and downs. It
seemed that he would never take such volumes in future. He forgot the bridge
that obstructed his shop. He didn’t even remember the revelry of inauguration
waiting to be celebrated tomorrow. The worries about future prospects of
photocopying business also vanished from his mind temporarily. He was taking
photocopies with utmost sincerity and kept his prayer alive to keep the machine
healthy without developing mechanical snag. An unwarranted suspicion came over
his mind whether the government officials would pay the exact cost of
photocopies. His life would thus depend on people like them who might visit his
shop only on some emergency in future. Very shortly, his shop wouldn’t appear
even in the remains of his loyal, regular customers’ memory. It would disappear
from their memory very soon.
This big over-bridge should have never been built there.
It shouldn’t be inaugurated tomorrow due to some unavoidable reasons. If he
declared that he was going to jump off from the top to kill himself, the
inaugural ceremony might be stopped. But he would be arrested immediately and
booked under various sections of the law and awarded suitable punishments. It
was likely that the inauguration wouldn’t take place if he could hide some of
these extremely important documents, seemingly a critical source of this
construction project. The government officials standing on the other side of
the partition did keep their hawk eyes on all his movements as if they could
read what was going on in his mind. Subramani deliberately omitted a page,
didn’t take the photocopy of it and discreetly inserted it with other papers.
He comforted himself that he had done it inadvertently and tried to believe
that the bridge would be abandoned without being inaugurated.
***End***
