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| Ma. Aranganathan |
This is an English translation of “Siddhi”, a Tamil short story written by Ma. Aranganathan. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam.
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Though sports didn’t command much of reputation in that country, the people were aware of players through television news. As they were so accustomed in accepting their life laden with difficulties without making any ostensible complaints, sports had failed to attract their attention. The people remained content with playing local games which they had been comfortable with since long. Their knowledge about ‘Olympics’ was nothing beyond a passing information. The soil of that land did appear something unique in the world and it was where he was running.
“What are you studying?” the police man asked him and but continued talking without pausing to listen to his reply.
“You must be properly counselled before taking up running. I was also a runner once but didn’t continue it. You have got a better strength for your age than what I had those days. We can do one thing. Will you listen to my words?”
He bobbed his head.
“Go to this address and meet the old man. Good will happen”
He thanked him in lowered voice. He had to get his hair trimmed that day; it was quite likely that the money would be spent otherwise which would turn a disaster as it was nearly impossible for him to get some dough again in hand. In such a critical situation, the reply and thanks he extended to the police man couldn’t have been very satisfactory. Despite it, the police man gave him an address and encouraged him to pay a visit to the old man.
He got himself ready next day and went to the house as far as two miles away from his place. It was a big, palatial bungalow. One had to walk down the path where trees were thickly grown, lying beyond the building’s compound wall, to have a full view of the building. The moment he stepped onto that path, his legs grew reflexively ready to sprint given its neatly extended stretch. He had a momentary thought it would be appealing if the house had such a clean stretch of path running around it. The old man was sitting on a three-legged stool in front of the entrance surrounded with shrub.
The old man wasn’t prepared to receive him. But the boy’s gait seen from distance might have reminded him of something. He wished to have a closer glance of the person walking at a distance. He even wanted to enquire that boy why he hadn’t met him earlier. Their conversation was very cordial and simple. “Our country has gone into ruins. Isn’t it the duty of youth to save its honour?” the old man asked him, loudly though. He tried to make him laugh through wry jokes that one had to start running well before he could walk.
The old man must be aged about sixty years or so. He had devoted his entire life for the sake of sports. Other mundane of this world could be easily executed with the help of machines but not sports, he strongly believed. The picture which had once been published in almost all newspapers of that country must be his. Quite possible that he had no good number of students. Most of them must have joined police department.
“I have devoted my talent in sports for the sake of this country,” said the old man.
His eyes were glittering. They truly reflected what he spoke. He didn’t appear to be a man telling lies.
The boy learnt the ropes of sports during months long training under the aegis of old man. He would get up in early morning before sunrise and start his run on highways. He would ask his brother to get onto his shoulder and run for miles carrying him on his back. The old man had arranged for his diet. A diet plan was made by carefully omitting items that mostly contained fat which the boy used to relish more and he followed the plan so scrupulously without failing a time. Movies and documentaries pertaining to sportspersons from other countries and competitions held elsewhere were shown in the house. Eventually he was made the best athlete of that country.
In one occasion, when he was watching a wrestling match, the old man explained him about those two countries which participated in the competition. His talk was replete with information that sounded like an emotionally charged elucidation on various countries, peoples and races which the boy hadn’t ever come across in his life. It was almost like a well-executed oration.
He delved into those videos again. The roaring reception of people shown on screen during the games was not new to him. But while watching the scenes of frantic yells from audience while seeing a foreign boxer profusely bleed in nose after being severely smacked and a visitor throwing away his burnt cigarette bud onto floor and savagely crushing it under his feet, he felt some inscrutable alarm settle in him. Later he could understand that it was nothing but his fear.
That day night, he was introduced in television channels that he was the “raising star of hope” in that country. Though many told that his picture had come out well, he thought it was not true.
His daily routine of running on highways did continue. He considered running on highways way better than running on play grounds. As he saw trees on both sides of the road going past him, and his legs striking on the ground one after another while running, he felt all those things that he presumed obscene till then were leaving him at once and himself evolving into an immaculate self-made soul travelling to an unknown point. His run bore an element of manifestation that sky, land and other living organism around him were no way different from his existence.
That day, due to early sunrise and increased movement of people on sub-urban roads, his run had to be terminated after twenty-two miles. Sometimes, as he opened the gates, he would resume his run on the path within the compound of old man’s house whenever he couldn’t run on highways. His run would end only when the thoughtful old man ventured out of his house after a couple of hours to stop him. He used to see the old man scribbling something on a daily report card calculating the distance he had covered. The old man would be patient enough to explain everything to a man who couldn’t even measure out the distance from his own run and would share his happiness with the runner that the latter didn’t have to run that much of a distance as he had already beaten the world record during his runs on highways. He considered it essential to teach him Yogasanas taught in eastern countries. The trainings offered in the name of Yoga had, of late, started gaining popularity in that country.
The old man declared intrepidly when the reporters met him that his student had passed a full Marathon and his country would regain its glory.
When the news of him successfully completing twenty-seven miles spread in television channels and newspapers, other countries in the world turned their attention towards him. He became one of those men considered fit enough to participate in the Olympics. His personal details were widely discussed. His name was pronounced in different ways. In Soviet Russia, his name was wrongly pronounced as ‘Carbo’. In European countries he was known as ‘Cribbs’ and in the east he would have been known as ‘Krish’. In the south, he might have been known as ‘Karuppan’.
That day, his name was to be announced officially as a participant in the Olympic games. A meeting with media people was organized in the stadium. The old man was siting a little distance away from the crowd with a cigar in his fingers, though it was rare sight to see him smoke. The interview went as mentioned below.
“Will you be happy if you are selected as potential competitor in the game?”
“Running makes me happy”
“Would you bring laurels to our country?”
“I feel so good when I run”
“What is your opinion about the player who won in the previous Olympics?”
“Everyone who runs would, nevertheless, be happy. When I think about all of them, I feel resolved”
“Will our country take stride in sports?”
He remained silent. The old man was sitting with his head bowed down. The question was repeated.
“I know only running. What I get from running is the reason why I run. I run for myself. It is all due to the greatness of running. I know nothing other than this.”
The cigar held in the old man’s fingers was now lying on the ground. As his face contorted with thick wrinkles of many ups and downs, he crushed the cigar under his feet and pushed it away and rose with a lethargic limber up of his arms. The interview was over.
It was the time when the darkness grew thicker with a tiny moon on the sky. He went near to the old man who was standing near the car outside the building. The old man was staring at the emptiness afar for some time and then opened car’s door with a gentle shrug of shoulders.
He told the old man, beseechingly, having his eyes fixed on the small mountains standing afar.
“How would you feel if I could run under this splendid moon light? I could run very comfortably till that mountain in the morning”
The old man stuffed himself into his car, and shut its door and then said, sticking his head out of window, “It would be fantastic. You can run now if you like. You can even run to the cliff, jump down from there and die. Get lost” and left driving away in his car.
***Ended***
