This is an English translation of “Vellai Maranangal”,
a short story written by Ashoka Mithran.
***
That tall shelter of three hundred feet length and
forty feet breadth, thatched with clay tiles must have been constructed for the
‘White’ soldiers who had been put up there during the First word War. After
disbanding the military, this long shelter must have been handed over to the Nizam
Railways. It was then divided into 12 houses and the last one was given to my
father. Those houses were functioning as ‘running stop’ for railway guards and
ticket examiners. My father would go to his office at ten in the morning and
come back only after his superior officers leave for their homes. Sometime, he
would bring some bundles of files home and take notes from them.
Our house had three entries- main entrance in the
front, one in backyard and the stairs on its side. So, these three doors should
be kept locked if we wanted to have a peaceful sleep every night. We had some
big sized padlocks, otherwise known as Aligarh locks. The shelter had been
built running east to west. If we opened the side door, the harsh rays of the
sun would fall onto the floor till noon. The dust, husk, tiny stones and clay
balls should be handpicked from rice, dal, mustard and dried chilli before
using them that day. Rice and dal ought to be threshed and, for that, a
winnowing basket made of bamboo stalks is needed. A fresh basket cannot be used
for threshing before getting it conditioned. This winnowing basket must be plastered
on its both sides with a wax-like paste made of paper, fenugreek and water
ground in a grinder and then dried under sunlight. The women at home would be
very busy all day long at the entrance on the eastern side.
I and my elder sister would leave the house, totally
unbothered to extend help in house hold chores, to roam around the open barren
land that lay sprawled over miles. The land didn’t have an even surface. Its
surface was bumpy and uneven, and its soil was not fit for agriculture. In that
open land, was a peripheral wall in a man’s height with its only door remained locked.
A recently built shelter stood in front of it. It was a workshop allotted to
the jobless Christian elders to earn something for their living by way of doing
any job they were good at. At noon, a free meal of some gruel would be
provided.
The patch of land that lay beyond this shelter always
remained a mystery for me and my sister. Someone had been guarding that
sprawling land with a peripheral wall. Who could that be?
The lock hanging outside was big and looked very old.
Would it have a key to open it? The key could have been lost as it was not used
for years. My elder sister wouldn’t be
able to accompany me all days I came out to roam on this open land. I would go
alone to those hillocks and wander. Every hillock had a silky surface that had
made climbing on it difficult. Moving from one hillock to another, I lost my
way. Panic stricken, I started running aimlessly. I found a railway track lying
at some distance away from the hillocks. I would be able to reach the railway
station if I went along the railway track, I thought. I know how to reach my
home from the railway station.
Only after going near to the railway track, I could
see another rock standing there with steps. Sooner I gained hope that I would
reach my home, I summoned up some courage. I climbed on the stairs and found a
Hanuman Temple at the top.
The statue of Hanuman had been carved out of a single
rock and was smeared with saffron paste all over. If Hanuman was seen anywhere
around that area, people would smear Him with Red-Oxide paste all over His
body. A priest was there. I grew hesitant to speak to him. He gave me some
Tulsi leaves and holy water. I climbed down the rock, walked along the rail
track and reached my home in half an hour.
Now, these two places had become a point of mystery
for me. First one, the place with a peripheral wall of a man’s height. Second,
the Hanuman temple. Why didn’t our father take us to this temple? Is he aware
of this temple?
I just told my elder sister of everything I had seen.
She asked me to take her there today. I said “I’ll take you there tomorrow”
“I like Hanuman”
“You’d like that temple. I don’t know the straight way
to reach there. I only know how to reach
there taking a roundabout way.”
“I am also coming”
“O.K. We’ll go tomorrow”
Next day I came back from the school by four. But my
sister was late by half hour, came at half past four. We had some curd rice and
a coffee, hurriedly, and headed out. Mother became angry and shouted at her, “A
cart full of utensils lying to be washed. Where are you going now?” My sister
mumbled something inaudibly and came out of the house. We paced fast, running
and walking briskly, and reached the rail track. Finally, we were at the Hanuman
temple.
Four or five people were there. It must be an
auspicious day, we thought. We went around the temple, boldly though, as we were
confident duo. Though the village had no wells around, we found a small well
there. The households had water taps. Those who had no water taps in their houses
would fetch water from the water pipes laid on the streets. But how and when a
well had been dug in this temple, we grew perplexed.
Akka struck up a conversation with a woman there and
came to know that the name of the temple was Laxman Jula. After that, Akka
would go out herself to visit this temple and often get scolded by mother for
her impudence. But we grew unintimidated. I was unable to visit the temple
quite often as the circle of my friends for playing became bigger.
One day akka told me, “There is a short cut to that
temple”
“How?” I asked her.
“Beyond that workshop, if we jump over the tall compound
wall, we can reach a small pond. The hillock on which the temple is sitting is
very near to it”
I had gone to that pond many times. If you throw a
broken clay piece at a particular angle, it would jump off the water surface a
couple of times before drowning under water. However, this wouldn’t happen in
every attempts. After spending some time in the pond, I used to go to the
hillocks. It never occurred in my mind to venture straight after crossing the
pond. But my sister did.
I made up my mind that I must find out the short cut
the very next day. Akka was busy with grinding flour. For some obvious reasons,
I also grew uncomfortable with my sister wandering alone in that barren area.
It was a wretched stretch of land! One could find only a skeleton number of
shepherds and cattle herders, that too occasionally. To graze the cattle, a good
amount of grass was needed. Wasn’t it? The land would wear a green cover not
more than ten or fifteen days immediately after rain. Other days, it remained a
parched, barren land.
I went past the workshop and reached the compound wall
that stood at a man’s height. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw its door
kept open. I peeked into it. The area behind the door was very big, must be of
many acres. The place had some buildings in various sizes, big and small. Since
it was kept locked for ages, the place was filled with wild bushes all around and
some cactus plants showing up here and there. I walked carefully as I wasn’t wearing
sandals. A couple of minutes later, I could make out that it was a cemetery.
There were some cemeteries, smaller in size near the Mother Mary Temple in my
village. They would be visible clearly when seen from the streets. Those cemeteries,
though suffered from the wild growth of bushes, one could see the walking path clearly.
But, here there were no signs of such tracks that once existed.
The epitaphs on the tombs were in English. They looked
many years old. On one of the big tombs, there were twenty names inscribed on
it. They must have dug a very big grave to bury all those bodies in a single
day. Suddenly, a fear engulfed me. I was caught up in that cemetery that
evening, alone. I must get out of this place immediately. Ignoring the pain of
thorns pricking my feet, I could manage reaching the entrance of the cemetery
only to find it locked. Overwhelmed with terror again, I knocked on the door,
violently. I screamed, “Open the door…Open the door”
The door should have been locked only some while ago.
Luckily, the man who locked it hadn’t gone away far. The door opened. A short
man with uneven face was standing there.
“When did you come in?” he asked.
“The door was open.”
“If it is open, will you come in? Is it a place for
you to loiter?”
I stood silently. The rough facial features of the dwarf
man evoked some amount of fear in me.
“Get out…Get out of this place”
“What is this place” I asked him, hesitantly.
“It is a Christian cemetery. Many people have been
buried here. Now, you get out”
He closed the door with some effort, latched it,
hooked the lock and presses it down with his both hands.
“You have no keys?” I asked.
“You are still standing here? Now see all the ghosts
roaming here will come to you. Go out from here”
The short man walked along, with an asymmetrical gait
on one side. I went to the Laxman Jula. The route I took was really a short
cut. This time, the priest who was offering prayers at the temple picked some
amount of saffron paste from the Hanuman idol and dotted it on my forehead. “As
long as it stays up on your forehead, no ghost would approach you” he said.
I was immensely astonished at all these- Just a while
ago, that cemetery warden told that all the ghosts would come to me. And, now
this priest is telling me that no ghosts would never dare to approach me as if
knowing what had happened in the cemetery.
I told my sister of everything that night.
“That place, remains always closed. Do you know what
it is?”
“What’s that?”
“It is a graveyard. So many white men have been buried
there”
“Did you see that?”
“Yes. The door was open. I went in. There were many
tombs looking like Tulsi stands. A couple of them were big in size. All had
some names inscribed on them”
“Will you go there tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. There might be a lot of ghosts roaming
around”
“Who told you?”
“A short man”
“Then, he might be a ghost himself”
I felt my stomach rumble with a discomfort. I resolved
that I mustn’t go back to that place again. I couldn’t sleep and had dreams of
different kinds that night.
Next day, I couldn’t pay attention to the subjects in the
school. I was whipped for my poor response to the question asked by Bengal
Tiger Vathiyar. Though I enjoyed a reputation of being his favourite student,
he would prove his name by pouncing upon me if I ever failed to pay attention
to his lessons.
Watching me eating the curd rice without speaking anything
after coming home, my mother grew apprehensive, and asked me, “What happened to
you today?”
“Nothing”
“No…you face looks gloomy”
Doesn’t she know that I also don’t know anything? She
seemed to have understood that there must be something secret of sorts.
I headed towards the workshop. I looked back as to
ensure if someone was following me. No…no one followed. I went fast near to the
locked door, pulled its lock. It opened. I pushed it a little in with an effort
and closed it once I was in.
The dead leaves were strewn all around. I wouldn’t be
able to see even a snake, if there was any. My bare feet made a lot of noise. I
went to the spot where the biggest tomb was standing. It was where twenty
people had been buried. All were about between nineteen and twenty years of
age. The epitaph under their names was read as: “The Cholera devoured those who
came to sacrifice their lives in the war front”
I couldn’t understand the poetic beauty of the sentence
that day. There must be nearly 200 tombs in that graveyard. Those many white
men had breathed their last in that village. There wasn’t even good road to
reach that place. So, those bodies must have been carried from somewhere.
Sometimes, my mother would be weeping aloud suddenly.
My elder brother died of some excruciating stomach pain when I was just two
years old. Even after ten years of his death, my mother couldn’t come out of
her depression. Here, so many men have been buried. How depressed their mothers
and father could have been! For them, it was a foreign land. Their parents couldn’t
have been with them when they died. All were English soldiers. It was quite
probable that some of them might have lived in the rooms where we are living now.
Presently, there must be only seven or eight physicians in the village. How
many physicians would have been there during their times? The absence of
adequate medical facilities might have caused their deaths.
Even for my age, I felt crying. I was standing there,
still crying.
Someone patted on my back comfortingly and told, “Please
don’t cry. I will also cry”. I turned around and saw my Akka standing there.
“How did you come here?”
“Don’t I know where you would like to go?”
“This door doesn’t have locks”
“No. It does have”
“But it doesn’t lock”
“It’s O.K. Let’s go to the temple”
We came out, latched the door and pressed its hook. But
it remained unlocked, opened. Next two subsequent days, it was frequently
opened. The rust inside the lock did remove the dirt outside.
We went to the Laxman Jula and came back taking a
roundabout way.
“Let’s not come to this place again” I said.
“I too don’t want to come here” Akka said. “Do you
know one thing?” she asked me.
“What?”
“I had already visited this graveyard before you”
***End***
