Scattered Fates - a novel on the second partition of India
Page 3
Chapter 2: GAZING AT STARS
July 11, 1965, 9 pm
It was a hot and humid Sunday. The sun had been beating down harshly the entire day, and there was no respite, even as the wind tried cooling its temper and the moon slowly nudged it out of sight.
Lost in thoughts, Subbaiah sat depressed on a wooden bench, under a dim incandescent street light, near the entrance gates of Madras University, while close by, a couple of hundred students gathered around the impromptu stage that had been setup. The sky was more or less clear, except for a few playful clouds teasing the moon, while the stars winked along.
Unmindful of theses antics above, the students waited with bated breath for the arrival of their biggest star on land, supreme leader of the Dravida Munnetra Kazahagam.
It would not be long before Conjeevaram Natarajan Annadurai, fondly called Alaignar Anna, or simply Anna, would arrive to make a special announcement.
Subbaiah had the onerous task of organizing this meeting, and it was not easy. He had been asked to gather a few thousand students, but only around 100 had turned up so far.
It was not his fault. MGR’s latest blockbuster Aayirathil Oruvan, opposite a stunning new heroine Jayalalitha had just been released on Friday. The swashbuckling action-adventure pirate film had received a thunderous ovation, with youngsters flocking to theaters across Madras.
All his students had given glowing accounts of the movie. Although youngsters’ testimony on MGR movies could never be trusted, Subbaiah was quite tempted. He had made plans to see the late-night show with his wife, but then unexpectedly received summons from the party headquarters to organize a students meeting to be attended by Anna himself.
A year ago, disillusioned with the state government led by Minjur Bhaktavatsalam of the Indian National Congress, he had enrolled as a primary member with the minor opposition party DMK, which had won just 50 out of 206 seats in the previous elections.
Till seven months ago, he was only one of the countless faceless cadres who devoted themselves to their party ideology, expecting little in return. However, January 26th changed everything.
Thanks to Subbaiah, the organized force of Madras students held back the imposition of Hindi, while the remaining victims from across the other southern states played safe, enjoying the ringside view. With all the party honchos behind bars, it was up to Subbaiah to organize the student protests and spark the agitations that rattled Prime Minister Shastri.
After the matter was resolved, with an assurance from Shastri that English would continue as an associate language, Subbaiah’s role in galvanizing the students was duly noted, and he was made the Coordinator of Student Activities across the State. It was a direct order of Anna, he had been told. He was also invited to meet his leader personally next week, to discuss a more active role for him in the party.
Subbaiah hailed from neighboring Andhra State, a golti, as the locals called him, where the protests were not widespread, and guessed that the DMK wanted him to play a key role in popularizing the party in his home state. It would of course mean that he would either have to travel frequently or take up a job at Andhra University in Vishakhapatnam.
Now, nearly four months after all the drama and action, Anna’s sudden decision to address students of his university today puzzled him. He wondered whether there were any new developments that he was unaware of.
He read four newspapers every morning in the library, and also listened to BBC Overseas Service in the evening. There was no mention of any dramatic change in circumstances.
The Senate House loomed in front of him. Although the building incorporated many elements of the Byzantine style, and was considered to be the finest of its kind in India, it was of little interest to him now. The most important goal was to get thousands of students for Anna’s meeting.
‘Machchan’ he shouted, suddenly spotting Ganapathy walking at a brisk pace ahead.
Pudukottai Ganapathy Iyer, his closest friend, colleague and neighbor, like him, taught Economics at the University. However, unlike Subbaiah, never dabbled in politics, and was mostly indoors during the agitation. Nevertheless, he was Subbaiah’s close confidant, and a great intellectual punching bag.
‘Hello Subbaiah, what are you doing here on Sunday evening? Came for a stroll on Marina alone?’ he asked, pointing towards the long stretch of beach that embraced the road in front.
‘Anna is arriving soon, and this is my first big event. He wants to meet students, but most of them are at Shanthi Talkies.’
‘Aayirathil Oruvan? Saw it yesterday. Great fights thalaivar! That new girl is also too good. Why does Anna want to meet students now? I thought he gave up the agitation 3 months ago.’
‘I have no idea. I was given the order and am just carrying it out.’
‘You know Subbaiah, I am your well wisher. I once again plead with you… these politicians are playing a dangerous and selfish game. They want to divide India for their personal gains. Do not fall into their trap.’
‘Ganapathy, I know your feelings and you know that is not true. My party dropped the secessionist demand two years ago. This meeting has nothing to do with Hindi, anti-Brahmanism or Dravida Nadu. Please don’t argue, and just help me now.’
That was not necessarily true. There was a growing movement in Madras State against the Tamil Brahmins who were held responsible for direct or indirect oppression of lower-caste people, who made up a majority of the population. The ‘self-respect movement,’ was started decades before India’s independence and continued to this day. The legacy of the anti-Brahmanism was taken over by his party, which included a demand for a separate nation. As it was contemplated, the new nation would consist of the regions where the people of Dravidian origin lived and spoke the Dravidian languages of Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil and Telugu.
In November 1963, DMK dropped its secessionist demand in the wake of the Sino-Indian War and the passage of the 16th Amendment to the Indian Constitution that prohibited those who advocate separatism from running for public offices. Many other splinter groups continued to fight for it.
‘OK. So what can I do? Search for all students and force them to attend this meeting?’
‘Of course not, da. Ideas. I need ideas.’
‘Well, let’s see… all the students are crazy for MGR. Why not spread the word that he is coming here with Anna? You know MGR is a big DMK supporter. Once the students come, you can make some lame excuse.’
‘Genius. Excellent. Wonderful. I will call Senthil right away. Can I use your phone? The University offices are all closed?’
‘Sure. I am meeting some old friends for Chicken 65 at Mount Road Buhari, but Vijaylaxmi is at home, go ahead.’
‘Why Mount Road? There is Buhari very close by. Is the biryani different?’
‘No thalaivar, I want to go to Higginbotham’s and buy some books,’ he said, referring to the largest bookstore in the country, quite close to Aaram Buhari Restaurant.
Truth was, his caste dictated that he be a strict vegetarian. Even his wife Vijaylaxmi was unaware that he occasional pampered himself with non-veg dishes, having developed a taste, during his Masters in London.
He steadfastly avoided the restaurants near the university, lest someone familiar saw him. There was a lesser risk on Mount Road.
Subbaiah on his part wanted to try out the famous Buhari biryani since joining the university a year ago, but never got the chance. The original restaurant was on Mount Road, but with growing popularity they recently opened more branches, including one near the University, complete with a jukebox for students.
His wife Malathi was a vegetarian by choice, and he never picked up the courage to venture alone. Almost as if teasing him, only a month ago, they had started offering an extremely popular spicy deep fried dish - Chicken 65. His students told him that the flavor was heavenly. This would have been the perfect opportunity to try it, but that was the least of his worries now. Ganapathy had one of the only four working telephones on campus.
‘OK, thanks,
’ Subbaiah said as he raced toward the residence quarters behind the University building.