As a great Shiva worshipper, Appanshayal took special care to teach all the male grandchildren to chant the Rudram and Chamakam, special prayers for Shiva. He supervised them as they chanted, alert for any mispronunciation or missed inflexion, making them repeat the hymns over and over until they could recite it perfectly, even in their sleep. Of course, when Nilakantan Ayyar returned, he would check that they had learned their lessons well in his absence.
At the age of fifteen, Mahadevan was admitted to Presidency College in Madras, where he completed his program in three years, graduating at the top of his class and receiving the Gold Medal for Math. His father was so focused on teaching his sons frugality that he sent Mahadevan to college every year with only two sets of clothes and one pair of shoes. Mahadevan washed his clothes daily and alternated between them. He still remembered his father’s reaction to his graduation results.
The results arrived by mail and he went into the study where Nilakantan was sitting in his easy chair, reading. He peered at Mahadevan over his glasses. “Hmm.” (Meaning what do you want?)
“Appa. Result vandurku. The results came by mail.”
“Come closer. Inge vaa da. — Sit down.”
Mahadevan came up to his father and sat cross legged at his feet. Nilakanta slapped him on the back of his head saying, “Madaya, yenna result vaangine? Fool, what results did you get?”
Mahadevan looked down at his feet and mumbled, “First class first. I have got the Gold Medal for the highest marks in the college.”
“What did you get in Mathematics?”
“Hundred percent.”
For a brief moment, Nilakantan let down his shield and Mahadevan caught a brief glimpse of pride in his eyes. That was enough for him. Right then, he knew he had made his father proud and that meant more to him than any medal.
“When do you go back for your M.A.?”
“In two months.”
“Sita,” he yelled for his wife. “Payasam pannu. Make sweet rice pudding. Your son has passed his B.A.” He turned towards Mahadevan saying, “Yenna paakare? Namaskaram pannu.”
Mahadevan bent down and touched his revered father’s feet, taking his blessings. He knew it was the blessings of elders that brought good fortune and like most Indian children, did namaskaram to them at every opportunity.
Mahadevan smiled as he thought about those happy times. He looked at his gold pocket watch, a solid gold Omega that Nilakantan presented to him on the night he left for London.
Only five o’clock. It will be a couple of hours before the children wake up. What shall I do till then?
CHAPTER 19 – MAHADEVAN
RANGPUR
Mahadevan glanced at his timepiece, a beautiful handmade pocket watch with a long gold chain. Perhaps this was the most expensive gift he had ever received from his father. His father had brought up all five brothers with a discipline that was almost regimental. The patriarch made most of the major decisions for them: what they would study and whom they would marry. All the boys were terrified of their father. He was quick tempered and harsh with his punishment. No one ever sat in his presence and they only spoke to him in low respectful tones. The thought of crossing him never entered their minds. Nilakantan Ayyar also planned his sons’ careers: Mahadevan would sit for his civil service exams, Shankar would be a doctor, Dandapani a lawyer and Ganesh would join the Civil Financial Department. The prodigal son was Kannan, the youngest, who challenged his father at every turn. In his last letter, his father mentioned that Kannan wanted to join the Merchant Navy. Merchant Navy was for fools according to him. Mahadevan sighed. When he went home at the end of the monsoon, he would talk some sense into his brother and try to patch things up between his father and brother.
Mahadevan looked down at his watch and remembered when it was given to him in July, 1920, on a day just like this — hot and muggy. Mahadevan had been married for over a month now and his new bride came to stay with them, although they were not permitted to share the same bed. Mahadevan’s mind was not on his wife. She was shy and reticent and spoke in monosyllables, replying only to questions directed at her. He couldn’t blame her. Coming into an alien household was difficult, but still it gave her an opportunity to know the large family she had married into: six sisters-in-law and four brothers-in-law. His mother was soft spoken and kind and treated Dharmu like another daughter; Nilakantan made sure of that. Mahadevan felt odd and uncomfortable with his new bride, especially when the family discreetly left them alone to talk. He was never particularly interested in girls and married only because he was instructed to. When the engagement took place, he was busy with exams and it was conducted without him being present. He trusted his father’s judgment and knew he would not deliberately choose someone who was wrong for him. Looking at his young wife, he wondered if this time around Nilakantan had made the right choice for him.
Mahadevan glanced at his wife, scarcely noticing her, his mind preoccupied with more pressing thoughts that day. He had applied a month ago to take the Indian Civil Service exams and was anxiously awaiting a reply. It was already the fifth of July and he had not heard from the ICS Board. The family was sitting in the back porch enjoying the early evening breeze. It was on the west side of the house, with an awning keeping out the evening sun and was the only part of the house that was cool. On hot summer days, everyone congregated there just to talk and relax. All the women sat cleaning rice, carefully removing any stones before storing it in the huge kudhir, a granary to store rice. Appanshayal rushed in, waving a paper in his hand, his wrinkled face alive, beaming from ear to ear.
“Good news. Very good news, Mahadevan. Your application for the ICS has been accepted. You have to leave for England within the week.”
Mahadevan had been awaiting this news all week but was still taken aback for a moment. Although he was mentally and intellectually ready to take the exam any day, the thought of living in a foreign land made him uneasy. The examination for the ICS took place in London and was designed in such a way that no Indian, unless educated in England, had much chance of success. This was difficult, because few Indian families, if any, could afford to support them for their entire stay of almost two years duration. There was a strict age limit for taking the exam and a candidate could attempt the exam three times between the years of twenty-one and twenty-four. Mahadevan hoped he didn’t need to take the exam more than once. The idea was to minimize the number of Indians in the civil service. In recent years, however, the Indian Congress party was demanding greater local participation in the Government to prepare for the eventual transfer of power, whenever that happened, from British to Indian hands. They were pressing for the exam to be given in India, so more Indians could take it. Right now the only way to attempt the ICS exam was by going to England.
The exam curriculum reflected a certain racial and cultural bias. The English section required a general understanding of English prose and poetry of greats like Chaucer, Byron, Milton and Macaulay. Mahadevan was extremely privileged to have the good fortune of spending two years virtually devouring English prose and poetry. He knew that even if he passed the exam and secured the necessary marks, he still had to go through a special test called the Viva Voce, which was an oral section designed to weed out potential troublemakers and misfits and select who got to stay and who left the program. If you were chosen and passed this rigorous exam, then you went through one year’s probation in Cambridge or Oxford. The final test was horseback riding! Mahadevan was not looking forward to that, not being particularly comfortable with horses but he was already taking lessons at the Raja’s stables. Getting his portly form onto the horse was the first hurdle, after which he underwent the torment of trotting around the maidanam, attempting to keep his balance on the wild creature. Even after he dismounted, his innards jiggled for hours.
A message had to be sent to his father, who was working as the Executive Engineer in Madurai. There was no way Mahadevan was going to leave without bidding farewell to him. In the meantime, he ne
eded to mentally prepare himself for the journey ahead. He would be away from his home for the first time in his life, unable to see his family for the next two years. Dharmu was to leave for Dindigul to be with her parents until he returned. The whole house was buzzing with excitement. His mother came up and unexpectedly kissed him on both cheeks. Mahadevan looked down at her diminutive figure, her plump cheeks and generously proportioned form, her twin diamond nose rings sparkling and her sad eyes with tears welling up in them at the thought of being separated for such a long time from her oldest son.
“It’s going to be difficult, Mahadevan. Never forget who you are and where you’re from because that will ground you and allow you to face any obstacle. When your father comes home, we must all go to the Krishnan Kovil and offer our prayers. I will give you plenty of spicy powders that you can mix with rice and eat. It will be very difficult to find food once you are in England; they say that the British only eat meat.”
“No, Amma, they eat other food too. I know you are sad, Amma. I feel it too. I will be alone but I am excited about the new adventure. Let’s see what happens. I will write to you every week, although the letters may take a while to get to you.”
He turned to look at Dharmu, who was gazing at him with soulful eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was affected in any way by the news. She was still a child and did not know what to do or say.
Three days later, his father arrived. He hugged Mahadevan, holding him close for several minutes, one of the few occasions when he exhibited any emotion. There was a lot to be done before he caught the steamer from Bombay. Tickets to be bought, clothes to be purchased and money to be arranged — and Nilakantan galvanized into action, getting things organized. He gave Mahadevan a brown leather suitcase into which his mother put a potlam of kumkumam wrapped in newspaper, for luck. After that he put in his frugal belongings: four shirts, four veshtis and a pair of slippers. He didn’t have anything else other than his physics textbooks. As he was about to leave the house, his mother put in an assortment of snacks and powders for him to eat on the way just as she had promised. The whole family came to the Trivandrum train station to say goodbye. All his brothers returned from their respective colleges to wish him bon voyage. He stuck his head out of the window and waved till they were tiny dots on the horizon.
Nilakantan Ayyar accompanied him on the train and once they reached Madras, they left their luggage with a friend and began their shopping expedition. The first stop was Oxford Tailors on Mount Road, where a bespectacled tailor brought out bolts of imported woolen fabric, ideal for suits. They chose two, one in a dark grey and the other in black. They shopped all day, buying precisely six pairs of socks, six shirts for casual wear, six long sleeved white shirts and two pairs of imported oxfords, one in brown and the other in black. Since no woolen sweaters or coats were available in Madras, he would buy those when he reached England. It was only July and there was plenty of time to prepare for the harsh British winter. Nilakantan spoke to a friend in the treasury and purchased two hundred British pounds to give his son for board and lodging. It was a lot of money but education was essential and to Nilakantan, wasteful spending was unacceptable but he had no problem with expense on education. He placed paramount importance on learning and most of his savings went towards it.
Once he had picked up his suits, Mahadevan neatly arranged all his new clothes into the brown suitcase and packed his leather briefcase, which he would carry around with him at all times. It held the letter which had to be presented at the college in London, as well as his travel documents and passport. Nilakantan traveled with him all the way to Bombay, and they conversed with each other like never before. Mahadevan sensed in his father a new found respect for him. That was the most precious week for Mahadevan, which he cherished dearly; those memories would build up his strength and fortitude whenever he was down and depressed in cold, grey and foggy England. Finally they reached Bombay, alighting at the glorious Victoria Terminus station and made their way to the docks at Ballard Estate, where Mahadevan would catch the H.M.S Victoria to Southampton. Just as Mahadevan bent down to get his father’s blessings, Nilakantan handed him a small leather case. Inside, cradled in blue velvet, was a gold Omega pocket watch.
“Appa, this is too much. I mean, you have already spent so much money.”
“You will need it. Think of me whenever you look at it to check the time.”
Unwillingly, Mahadevan walked towards the ship, waving for the last time as he followed the coolie who was carrying his luggage into the steamship. He went behind him down several flights of steep, almost vertical stairs to locate his cabin. To his dismay, the coolie climbed down deck after deck, till they had almost reached the bottom of the ship. This was the floor for the Indians. The room was tiny, with one porthole and two bunks. There were two toilets on each end of the deck, which he would have to share with everyone else. This was the first time Mahadevan realized what a privileged life he led so far. All his life he had enjoyed the comforts and benefits of belonging to the highest caste but here on this ship, his quarters were the same as those of the servants accompanying the white Sahibs and Memsahibs back home. The Whites had the best rooms on the starboard side of the ship, with windows that could be opened to let in the cool sea breeze. That is how they always traveled, Port Out Starboard Home. The combination of the first letter of these four words formed the word POSH, connoting the privileged, luxurious, upper class.
Mahadevan wondered whom he would be sharing the room with, hoping it was not with a servant. Thankfully, his roommate was also going to take the exams in London. His name was Shantinath Banerji and he was from Calcutta. The two became good friends and even stayed at the same boarding house in their first year in London. Later that day, he met many more Indian boys going to England to take the ICS exams.
The second shocker came when the Indian contingent went up to the top deck for dinner. Although they did not have to eat with the servants, who thankfully ate in a separate mess, they were all put together in two tables in one corner of the room. Mahadevan felt demeaned. All of this — sitting for the ICS, going to England — was in ardent pursuit for acceptance by the ruling class, to become part of the British elite. In reality, to the British he was nothing but another Indian, inferior to the British Brahmins. It was like climbing a steep slope and moving one step forward and three steps back. By dehumanizing the natives, the British rulers alienated large sections of the local population who fervently sought their expulsion from their land. Right now, Mahadevan was experiencing the very indignation and deep humiliation that gripped the patriotic. But he recognized he was no Gandhi; he did not have the moral courage to languish in jail for a cause. Instead, he chose the path of least resistance, one that entailed mental enslavement to British colonialism, just like many Indian intellectuals all over the nation. He would become as British as the British. He would get into their minds and find what made them tick; he would show them that he was as good as any of them by becoming part of the cerebral elite.
The food on the ship was terrible. Apart from bread, vegetarians could choose from four boiled vegetables: carrots, peas, potatoes and cauliflower. At home they were accustomed to eating spicy, flavored vegetables and their taste buds were offended by boiled, unsalted vegetables. They consoled one another by saying they actually had plenty of choice; they could either have peas and carrots, carrots and potatoes, peas and cauliflower, peas and potatoes, carrots and cauliflower or potatoes with carrots. There were lots of choices. As a pure vegetarian, Mahadevan faced this plight for the next few months. Shantinath ate meat, so his choices were staggering. Lucky for him!
To make matters worse, two young princes hailing from small kingdoms in the north of India embarrassed the rest of the Indians on board. Indignant at being seated on the same table as the commoners and peeved at not being invited to sit at the Captain’s table, they made an appallingly ostentatious show of themselves. Dressed in their silk achkans and fancy turbans covered in pearls and gems, t
hey looked ridiculous. They were on their way to London, probably on a stipend that was a small fraction of what they were worth, while their treasury filled the already overflowing imperial coffers of Britain. On reaching England, they would waste the rest of their days in a debauched, indulgent existence, paraded as exotic puppets, trophies to demonstrate the might and reach of the British Raj. They had no concept of their own dignity, nor regret about being stripped of their rich cultural heritage, nor an inkling about the size of their inheritance, the jewels and gold that their ancestors had painstakingly collected for generations, now pouring into the Royal British Treasury.
Of course, it was Mahadevan’s deck that housed their retinue of servants. Kings or Brahmins, educated or ignorant, they were all clubbed together as Indians. Even the top observation deck had designated areas for Indians. With the room so stuffy and dark, Mahadevan and the others studied in groups on the top deck and by the end of the trip developed some strong friendships. Seventeen days later they spotted the white cliffs of Dover. They had arrived in England, ready to initiate a new chapter in their lives.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 14
